Second Generation Contemplation

Time, as far as our current understanding goes, is a line continuum moving forward. Sometimes this passing is hard to recognize in our own lives as we step through the daily tasks, but if you root yourself at a location for a long enough period of your life, you begin to see the passing of the seasons in more than just human terms. I, Rufus B. Haucke, am a second generation owner of a chunk of land we named Keewaydin Farms, meaning “north wind” or “home wind”, after the stiff northern wind which whips outside our winter windows and rattles the loose tin on the back of the barn, our constant companion most days of the year. But the translation of this beautiful word which touched me the most was “home wind”.

After a several year stint as a ski bum in Winter Park, Colorado, I felt the call to return. The truth is my Colorado escapades set the stage for a return to the farm. It gave me some time and space to see it for what it really is, true natural beauty, and so those Keewaydin home winds blew me back to this place, my place of residence for at least 35 years of my 40 year life.

The story goes... Grandma Elva, my mom’s mom, heard about this wonderful piece of property in the rural Viola area. The year was 1976 and my parents had been diligently searching for just the right farm since the early seventies. They were driven back-to-landers who had a passion for dairy farming and an eye for good cow genetics, poised to run a successful dairy farm. They only needed the farm.

After many unsuccessful farm visits, they reluctantly hopped in the car with Grandmother and took a drive to visit the Looker Family, who owned the property at the time. This visit was life changing. They knew the moment they turned down Pine Lane, it was “the one”! It was everything they were looking for; a modern (at that time) dairy barn situated in the middle of the land, 200 acres, pasture, forest, and best of all, a dead end gravel road affording about as much privacy as you could hope for in this modern world. Somehow, some way, they became the next owners. In short succession, they had a family. I am their middle child, almost born in the house I live in now in 1978.

For over twenty years, my parents performed the unimaginable task of daily milking chores. My brother, sister and I grew up healthy and strong, learned to work hard, fend for ourselves, and eat great food. It was mostly a feral life with the freedom to roam almost anywhere. At times, it was a tough life. We learned to work early on and were expected to help with the daily chores no matter how much school work we had. In time, politics and policy dramatically changed the farm landscape. All the beautiful little 60 cow dairy farms were going out of business, doomed by the cheap food craze and a“production above all”mentality. By the time I graduated from high school in 1996, a life on the farm was a reality I wanted nothing to do with.

Of course, life has a funny way of changing our minds. At some point in the early 2000s, I too drove down the same lane as my parents, now Haucke Lane, with the same sense of awe, and the audacity to think maybe I could have a run at ownership. I would try to write my chapter, the fourth overall. To sit in this old farmhouse and think that four different families have lived, laughed, were born, and yes sometimes died right here in this very house fills me with a sense of insignificant significance. Each generation adds their own touch. We tear down old buildings, repurpose others, and of course build our own. The dairy operation is long gone, replaced by organic vegetable farming. Greenhouses replaced night pastures, and the old hay storage shed became a machine shed.

In 2008 I became the sole owner of this family farm. It was, and still is, surreal to me to play this character. It’s a role I have never been quite comfortable with, yet I have worked extremely hard to maintain. This, I’m beginning to understand, is one of the roles you assume if you become a second generation land owner. Yes, I assumed ownership of the farm, but have never really had the farm to myself. Each decision you make to alter this building or cut down that tree is met with a chorus of opinions from the ones who used to live here. And I love them so I listen to what they have to say. Each day the former owners (my mother and father) are around. Even though they sold the land to me they still have stuff here, still want to tinker on something, offer an opinion, have a project. And I love that (mostly) so I give them their space.

I’m not really sure how much more time I will be allowed to live here or whether or not my children will ever have any interest in this place. Time passes so quickly and before long, it will be someone else’s tour. The farm name will change, maybe it won’t even be a farm. This is not for me to say, I am just a space holder of a particularly beautiful place at a particularly wonderful time.