Pressing Past the Problems

It takes courage to become a farmer

It wasn’t that I thought things wouldn’t be hard; it was that things were harder than I expected.

As an Appalachian woman, and a petite one to boot, I am familiar with the physical demands that come with a hard day’s work. When I first considered renovating the trailer, it was to host herb classes. This requires running water and a restroom. I also need a place to rest during a hard day at the farm.

With my workers Cory and Thomas in the wind, it was time for me to step away from my dream and take a hard look at what it would take to see this project through to completion. I would need a roof, one built atop the flat 1960s trailer, and an electrician.

Rewiring in the traditional sense would mean removing all the ceiling tiles, which was still the original material complete with delicate flower-shaped adornments that covered the screws. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to rip out the ceiling which only needed a coat of paint to prettify. I also didn’t have enough money in my dwindling budget to tackle a project of this nature. There was a “box” running from one end of the trailer to the other. My hopes was to somehow put the wires in there and use floor lamps throughout.

For the electrician, I chose a person who, like many contractors, had moved to the area. He was licensed and stated he would not cut corners. “Your safety is my upmost concern,” he said. I agreed. There was nothing wrong with the original wiring except it was older than I am and wouldn’t meet code. It made me nervous. I didn’t want to invest my savings into a building that would burn to the ground because of old wiring.

The problem with the contractor is that he didn’t apply for a “reconnect” permit as he should. He applied for a “new service.” All of the sudden, inspectors came at me sideways demanding for proof of a septic tank.

Do what?

In addition to two daughters, my grandmother birthed three boys: James who, worked with my dad for the Nantahala Power and Light Company, and my two other uncles, Billy and Edgar, who owned Styles Bros. Septic Services. The very name of their company confirmed the existence of a septic tank, for no self-respecting Appalachian would straight pipe their mother’s sewage into the creek

As you can see, there was power to the building previously. A “reconnect” was the correct application. Not a “new service.”

However the inspector, unfamiliar with the Styles Bros., required me to prove the septic tank had been installed by way of producing a completed inspection, or by digging up the tank!

I wish I were making this up.

My mother was a hoarder of paper in the highest regard, but Poppa had recently completed a significant purge. This meant asking the Health Inspector—also new to the area who hadn’t worked with “the brothers” —if they would, kindly, go through their archives in search of anyone by the last name of Styles or Stiles. She said she would get back to me in a week to ten days.

I was once the Assistant for the Code Inspections office and so I have worked closely with the Health Department. In the 80s the office had two employees who worked two counties. At no time did either woman make someone wait a week to ten days for anything. Now, this department has double the staff and only work one county. Desperate, I offered to sit in the office and go through the files myself. My offer was politely refused.

In the meantime, it was time for a roof estimate. Not far from my house is a family owned company that installs metal roofs. They are highly recommended, but after ten minutes with the man it was obvious he wasn’t interested in building a roof atop my beloved Granny’s trailer. He kept making excuses, reasons why he didn’t want to do it. I countered with, “you have an excellent reputation.” Essentially he did what all contractors do who don’t want to bother with a job, he priced me out of the job. His estimate to build a roof for a 10’ by 50’ area, 20 thousand dollars.

By now I’m headlong into a serious funk. What if they couldn’t find the completed septic inspection? How could I afford a new roof and who would I find to build one? One day while traveling to the farm I passed Mitch Jenkins. I remembered he had recently retired and was taking jobs around the area. I found his number, gave him a call and prayed. Oh how I prayed he would come in with an affordable estimate.

During the wait, I kept asking, “Lord, is this what you want me to do with the land, or am I getting in my own way here?”

Friends, how do we ever truly know we are doing what we are meant to do? Am I the only one who struggles with this?

Was I so blinded by my desire to “do right” by my Granny and treat the land with respect, that I was making poor decisions?

Was I in over my head (yes)?

Should I just stop and let the dream die?

It wasn’t that I expected an easy road; I just didn’t expect multiple obstacles which seemingly appeared at every turn.

In the end, the inspector found a faded copy of the septic tank approval. To be honest, I wanted to stick out my tongue and say, Told ya! But I was too busy breathing a huge sigh of relief.

A roof. A precious roof. And yes, I kept the clothesline.

I also went with Mitch and crew who installed the most beautiful roof in all the land for a fraction of the cost. Surely now I could be free to design the plan for the farm and begin working the land.