In a 2022 study by a national group called Farms Under Threat, it was estimated that an average of 2000 acres of farmland is lost every day in America. Another way to look at this figure is monthly–60,000 acres lost; yearly—720,000 acres lost. The study recorded 1.3 million acres of farmland disappeared in 2021.
We were recently roaming the outskirts of Greenville, NC, one afternoon and realized hundreds of new homes had been built since we had last traveled that area several years previously. We realized that the land was once thriving farmland. Gone were the tractors and barns and sheds. Gone were the wildflowers lining the roads with surprises of color among green cow pastures; and towering pines, sycamores, and sweet gums surrounding fields and farmhouses were no longer standing. I remembered wide-bricked barns chinked with clay or boards cut with trees that had been growing since possibly the early 1900s. I missed the beauty of the roofs rusting quietly from silver to russet and old homeplaces wearing snug jackets of Virginia creeper.
Family farms grew strong in the area where I have lived most of my life. Family farms grew strong, hard-working and determined people. Many of us over 60 know the endless hot days and dusty rows of peppers to be picked and tobacco to be cropped. We know of the countless prayers sent up when rain failed to make a much-needed appearance or stayed around too long for its own good. Peanuts, blueberries, strawberries and early corn—sometimes blistering and often difficult work back then. And certainly, for the farming families, the bread and butter for
the whole year.
Land is often sold in my locale for housing developments: begetting more and bigger schools, expansive shopping areas, additional roadways. These things become necessary as the population grows rapidly each year. Children will need to go to school, and groceries will need to be bought. Some people say, “more is better” and some just say, “it’s progress, old girl.”
Sigh. I’m already missing the farms—the stately barns, the old equipment, the rusting fences. Life doesn’t stand still, I know that. Life is moving these days faster than my mind can grasp. Yes, change is inescapable. But let my heart grieve a little here. My mind’s eye can see clearly the beauty. My heart can feel the home life I once cherished—and, perhaps, took for granted. Memories are true blessings, aren’t they?
