For as long as I can remember I've known my mother's family has farm land in South Central Kansas and Oklahoma. Wheat land in the heart of America. And, as long as I've known known that, I've also known that this land means a great deal to my mother and her sisters. This land, near the small town of Kiowa, Kansas was home to them. For four little girls who spent much of their childhoods living in northern India, that meant a lot.
The land has been in my family since the great Cherokee Run, when a relative many grands back, ran for free land. The run was held in 1893 and was the largest event of its kind in the history of the world. Over 100,000 land hungry white men (and a few women) ran to stake their claims. And for several generations, my relatives actually farmed it. This ended during my grandmother's generation. While her mother (my great grandmother) also spent time as a missionary's wife in India, she was a farm girl at heart and yearned for home. My grandfather also had the mission bug and a 2nd generation raised their daughters in India, a country as unlike the farmlands of Kansas as one could imagine.
There were long awaited furloughs home and, for a four year period, during the war, my mother's family lived in Kiowa. Those days were among the best of my mom's childhood. Despite those periods, mom didn't land permanently in Kansas until she left India to attend college. Except for a brief time early in her marriage, spent in Colorado, where I was born, my mom has lived the rest of her years in the state she loves. Even so, she has never lived anywhere near Kiowa, as have none of her sisters. They all married men who don't farm and who took them far from their family homestead.
During my childhood, my grandparents (retired from service in India) lived in California, another place nearly as exotic as India to a Kansas girl. Despite living so far away, my grandmother continued to take great pride and had much affection for the wheat land that served her ancestors so well.
Over 50 years ago, a young man was hired by my grandparents to manage our farms and unbelievably this same man, now in his mid-eighties, continues to do so. In recent years it's become apparent that this can not continue much longer and it's time to pass on the management of our family farms to another.
My mother and the man who farms our landThis brings us to my generation. My mother has three sisters who between them bore 11 children. Ownership of any type of land or property gets trickier when it's shared among 11. The reigns have not yet passed to our generation but the transition has started. One of the four sisters recently sold her shares, bringing us to 9 future heirs. In all reality, this needs to be further reduced to make it practical and truthfully, at all lucrative for the remaining shareholders.
And once again, not a one of my generation are farmers. My cousins live all over the country. I have cousins who have never stepped foot on the farms. I also have cousins who have and, like me, this land has meaning. We've been taught this land is to be valued and cherished.
While I've lived in Kansas my entire life and even lived in small towns as a child, I've never lived on a farm. My adult life has been spent in cities. I am a city girl. I'm not even an outdoorsy city girl. I like roofs over my head. I'm kind of a homebody that enjoys walking the dog now and then. I do limited gardening and while I enjoy digging in the dirt, it's a flower bed, for pete's sake. A flower bed located in a city yard, surrounded by a privacy fence.
As the eldest grandchild, I am beginning to take on a role in the future of our farms. In doing so, I've found it necessary to educate myself. This is vital because I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FARMING. I am educating myself out of fear... fear and necessity. Because someday, possibly soon, I will be at the helm of the corporation that oversees management of this family land.
Until recently I had only been to Kiowa a handful of times, primarily for burials of elderly family members. I remember a hot summer day when I was maybe 11 or 12 standing in the Kiowa Cemetery as my great grandmother was laid to rest. I didn't know her well. Sadly, she spent her final years in a nursing home in Hollywood, CA, close to her two daughters who lived nearby and very far from the home she loved so much. What I remember about that day was the heat and the promise of ice cream if we were very, very good. As an adult I stood at that same cemetery twice for the burials of my beloved grandparents.
It was during that time that I started to look around and began to understand the history of my family and what this land meant to those who'd gone before me. A seed was planted and it grew to become a genuine desire to save this heritage. Because this land now has the potential to be passed on to many, it has been thrown out that the smartest thing to do is sell it. And, we could... sell it in a heartbeat. There are potential owners waiting in line to get their hands on this rich soil. I am of the opinion that we should not go this route. That selling our land would be like selling a part of our history. A history that has never had a direct connection to my life, but a treasured history nonetheless.
This brings me to why I am sitting here writing in the first place. The time has come for management of the farms to be passed along to another devoted farmer. As land owners it's our duty to see this transition through and that means- We need to hire a farmer... WWWhat? That onerous task fell to my mother and me.
When I told my sister I was heading to Kiowa to interview farmers, she laughed so hard she had to put the phone down. While barely controlling her mirth, she said, "What the hell are you going to ask them?" Barely able to speak at this point, she threw out standard interview questions.
"Tell me your strengths and weaknesses." followed by peals of laughter
"How do you handle conflict in the workplace?" chortle, chortle
More questions flew from her mouth, followed by uncontrollable laughter. She was unstoppable.
While I too could not contain my own laughter, I agree she had a point. How in the world does one interview potential farmers, when one knows nothing (and I mean nothing) about farming? I recalled visiting our farms with my mom this past April and the entire time we toured our land, I kept thinking, " Where does it start and where does it end?" How do people know this? If it was up to me, I'd put a huge purple fence around it just so I'd know. Just so I'd know where it starts and ends. Farmers know this, they know this just by looking at natural boundaries- like tree lines and creeks and dirt roads. I suppose I would come to know this too if I spent any amount of time there. But, the point is, I don't. It's all just very confusing, entirely out of my realm of comprehension.
With trepidation, Tuesday last, off my mom and I went for the 5 hour drive to meet the men our farm manager recommended to replace him. We met in a bunkhouse- paneled walls, 1970's carpet, a sofa, table, fridge and bathroom. This is where our farmer spends time on hot summer afternoons, taking shelter during harvest. Or, on cool fall days, following a morning of planting. It was a manly man's hangout. A place to shower, have a beer and talk farm talk. I'm not particularly finicky, but I couldn't have felt more out of place.
Soon, the interviewees arrived and the questioning began. I am happy to report these were really likable, intelligent, educated men. All eager to take over the responsibility of farming our land. They were never condescending and mom and I learned more in that afternoon about farming than either one of us had learned in a lifetime. It was enlightening and encouraging and made me even more determined to hold on to this land.
Now, decisions must be made. Who do we trust with this land that has passed from generation to generation? Who do we trust to honor this land and how will we ever find another like the man who has tended our land for over 50 years? A man who loves it the way you love land that you've tilled and planted and harvested for half your lifetime.
In the end, the interview process wasn't laughable at all. Our questioning was direct and reasonably intelligent and the men who sat before us took it very seriously. This land, this soil of our ancestors is ours and while we don't have farming knowledge, we do, in fact, treasure it. I think they understood this.
VSL- Landowner
Anyone who knows me knows I am a city girl. Despite growing up in several small Kansas towns,
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