My grandfather, Joe E. Greene, a physician by trade, had farming in his blood. In 1964 he bought a piece of land outside of Marshville, North Carolina, where he built a beautiful home and life for his wife and five children. He lived there until he passed away in January of 2020, two weeks shy of his 100th birthday.
My grandfather, Joe E. Greene, a physician by trade, had farming in his blood. In 1964 he bought a piece of land outside of Marshville, North Carolina, where he built a beautiful home and life for his wife and five children. He lived there until he passed away in January of 2020, two weeks shy of his 100th birthday.
Grandpa would often remind us
When you visit the farm, the first thing you encounter is the driveway. It’s long and straight. The pecan trees lining each side lead you slightly up hill to the circular drive around the house. When I was a kid, coming up that driveway the first time each visit seemed to take forever. I remember when the trees were small. It’s taken a long time for them to grow tall.
Most of my earliest memories were formed at the farm. My siblings, cousins, and I all came to know it as the greatest place on earth. In our minds, it couldn’t be topped. It seemed to be an endless summer with spontaneous swimming, fishing, and cold Coca-cola.
We’d stay up late each night watching TV in Grandpa and Grammy’s bed while he peeled apples and fed us candy he had stashed in closets and his wardrobe. “Junk,” he called it. We never wanted to leave.
My older brother Joshua and I would spend hours in the woods exploring all the farm had to offer. We had a constant eye out for fishing worms, animal tracks, snake skins, and boyhood treasures like discharged shotgun shells, arrow heads, or the perfect stick. My brother usually had something interesting to teach me about the things we found.
The greatest place on Earth.
