Chuckwillow Farm

On April 22, Jordan and I finalized the purchase of the five acres adjacent to the Sanctuary on its eastern border. We now own the whole dead end. if that sounds like I'm gloating, I absolutely am. I am so excited--building my farm, at long last.

Shortly after I bought the Sanctuary in 1995, another man bought that land next door. His name was Rodney, and he was a classic central Florida redneck. He had mad homesteading skills and connections and quickly cleared, fenced and rolled in a single wide. He built a run for his hunting dogs and at one point brought home a stud colt, black with white markings like lightning strikes down his shoulder. Nice colt, but Rodney was clearly not an experienced horseman.

After a few years, Rodney's crack addiction got the worst of him and his life ran off the rails. The land was repossessed and he vanished, leaving behind some of his hunting dogs and a couple pitbulls--including a little white one with a black ear, who ended up being my best dog, Camille. Camille lived with me for 14 years and was my dearest companion.

Before long, the land sold to a woman named Connie, who arrived from California with 17 aging cats and a the desire to live deliberately, in homage to Thoreau. She pulled in a small RV, and lived in it for a little while while trying to decide how to build a house. In the long run, she got a yard shed and fixed it up for habitation, and she lived there for nearly 10 years.

Connie's beloved friend Chuck took care of the land like it was his own. He planted hundreds of ornamentals--gingers, bamboo, azaleas, gardenias, hydrangeas, fruit trees, ferns, and much ore that I'm just now starting to figure out. He was a sweet, kind, hardworking, tenderhearted man. But only a few short years later, he fell sick, and died. Connie changed her name to Kit and grieved. Chuck's boyfriend Duke stepped in to help with maintenance and mowing, but again after a few years, his life became too busy and he wasn't able to do as much. Kit herself lived quietly, working at a hardware store and taking care of her cats, now down to six. A couple years ago, she too got sick, and had to move into town to undergo surgery and chemotherapy for cancer. She began to talk to Jordan and me about buying the place, and we agreed that we had always wanted to, but it took another 3 years before we worked ourselves into a financial position to afford it.

I started work on it this week, clearing out all sorts of old lumber, junk, broken tools, overgrown storage areas--you name it. There is a ton to do--some of the detritus dates back to Rodney. While I work, Kit is sometimes there, moving her things and her remaining two cats out, and she walks around with me naming plants, and showing me the important landmarks: property corners, her cats' graves, and the area where Chuck's ashes were scattered. Today she handed over some treasures: Chucks arrowhead collection, and a manuscript her friend wrote and beautifully illustrated, all about Florida native plants and their uses as food or medicine.

During our morning walk today, Jordan named the place: Chuckwillow Farm. For Chuck, and for the chuckwillows, long absent, that returned this spring to sing home the dusk each evening.