Wolf Pen Mill at Wolf Pen Mill Farm
This is the reason I put my 420 acres, including the old water-run mill, into conservation easements forty years ago when the sprawl was just beginning; it is also the reason I feel discouraged. Nothing can stop the spread of sprawl: enormous housing developments, with roads named things like “Starflower Drive”—what is a starflower, if it exists?—representing, perhaps, a useless nostalgia for the destroyed land.
This is not the Bluegrass but an area of old dairy farms that probably became economically unviable three generations ago. Now the black heifers that invade my farm from time to time through a broken fence and scare my tenants belong to a banker living in Denver; they are, at best, ornamental, and the absentee owner doesn’t care what they do or where they go. But the existence of these cattle in the midst of strip malls, gas stations and subdivisions attests to a sentimental attachment to the agricultural past—sentimental and useless, because it doesn’t mean any concept of preservation.
Kentucky is a poor state, rooted in conservatism; during Trump’s last campaign there were posters bearing his name on many small lawns, and a boy I saw today was wearing a t-shirt with the slogan, “God changes the game” and a reference to a psalm although the language seems implausible. And a recreation of Noah’s Arc attracts many tourists with no acknowledgment of its status as a myth.
All this leads me to believe that climate change may be considered another myth here. Certainly there is no evidence of an awareness of its drastic effect in the enormous new houses; no solar panels, no passive solar or any other acknowledgment, like shade trees, of the hot humid climate; air conditioners are already grinding away and will be on night and day for the next six months.
The old horse farm which was bought by a developer, the barn and arena torn down and replaced with houses, was probably economically unviable but the owners taught generations of girls how to ride, increasing their self-confidence; they were all probably white girls whose families could pay but if the farm had survived, that might have changed. But I doubt it; Louisville is still rigidly segregated. People fought hard against the integration of the public schools years ago and parents with means automatically send their children to thriving, well-funded private schools that make a few gestures towards inclusion. I see more African Americans in downtown Santa Fe than I see here.
There was slavery in New Mexico but not on the scale practiced in Kentucky. This notorious history was ignored until recently—I heard growing up that there were no slaves here, literally true, but blotting out the flourishing slave market in Louisville on the banks of the Ohio which gave meaning to the term, “Sold down the river” to the dreadful cotton states further south. I learned details about this trade in Kathy Schulz’s The Underground Railroad in Ohio since many escaping slaves crossed the Ohio from Kentucky, sometimes jumping from one patch of ice to another. Harriet Beecher Stowe’s escaping Eliza who took this way out was not a fantasy.
So why hold on?
Primarily so the Blue Heron can go on roosting at my pond, so the Great Horned Owls still have a place to call their own and the hawks I saw pursued by little birds who flew over their backs, dropping down to deliver hard pecks, can go on defending their nests.
And also for the children of my tenants and my own grandchildren who at least have one glimpse of “the way it used to be,” with all its poverty and struggle and perhaps inadvertent preservation of the land.
[For information on seasonal tours of Wolf Pen Branch Mill farm, visit River Fields’ website. My discussion with Kathy Schulz about her book is available on my website.]
I am one of the fortunate women who sought to make art at HopscotchHouse. It, and you Sallie, provided many hours of feminists retreat and gatherings. Thank you for such an opportunity to feed our souls and grow our Kentucky Feminism.
Bravo on this analysis of unchecked development expansion. I am from Middletown and that stretch of Shelbyville Road From Middletown to Eastwood and out pass Long Run road Is absolutely unrecognizable. The vast expansive farmland of my youth has disappeared. The untouched woods where we rode our beloved horses are now gone forever. Paved over. Pity for the wildlife who once coexisted there, with the First Nation people thriving where the Krogers parking lot is now. Congratulations on your kind and altruistic decision to make your property a conservancy.
Sallie, I too, am appalled by the growth of all of the beautiful land being chomped up by developers. From our house on Mint Spring Branch Road, we used to enjoy the horses running right behind us. They were a beautiful sight. But now our view is hindered by the houses being built back there. Huge dirt mounds. Loud machinery pounding all day long. I’m so happy you at least protected your land. We live on the outskirts of it and I hope it’s never developed. Thank you!
Sigh.
Yes, it’s heartbreaking and angering that this patriarchal system has destroyed a beautiful planet. “Locusts” at work.
In 1946-51 I was lucky enough to spend summers at a magical all-the-arts camp in Interlochen, Michigan. A big land area, lakes, trees, sandy dirt underfoot, fresh (mostly cold then) air free of industrial contamination, and music filling the air day and night. The name for many years was National Music Camp. Anyone else go there, experience the wonder there? (Much later the name was changed to Interlochen Arts Camp.) Joe Maddy, the man whose vision created NMC, knew the importance of the arts taking place in Nature. “Rustic” was popular then, for much of life was rural, or still close enough to rural, for people to still feel and know the importance of Nature, of living “in harmony with Nature” — that phrase crafted into a handmade, hand painted tile over one of the stone practise cabins scattered among the trees at NMC. After Joe Maddy’s death, Camp was soon given over to corporate men, to keep it going. Some of us tried going back, years after we’d been campers or staff there, but we couldn’t bear the sterilization we saw. Those corporate men utterly lacked what we had grown up experiencing, learning. “Rustic” had come to mean “poor”, something to be ashamed of.
Money was what they valued. Their ruler. Earth was paved over. Corporate looking signs gave paths “official” names. Wooden benches handmade by a man who loved NMC were torn out (yes, they were uncomfortable, but kept you awake during long symphonies) and replaced with metal ones. GRASS was sown, trees cut down. Those of us who’d known the real Interlochen had to stop going back. We simply couldn’t bear the heartbreak. Recently I pulled the IAC site up on the computer and was horrified to see the completion of The Mall look, down to small flowers edging the cement borders. Heartbreaking for those of us who knew better, but also heartbreaking is how many people will have never known life lived, to some degree at least, with, among, in Nature.
Your tale of land you’d loved and feel responsible for protecting was poignant. As you see, it put me in mind of a place I’d loved which has been altered to the point of destroying what had been and will never be brought back. You saw the odds you faced and did what you could. By going to the conservancy, you were able to protect the land whose importance you had known, land which you loved. Well done, I say. But such losses hurt.
Your foresight in placing your farm into a conservation easement 40 years ago is fortunate and commendable. I’ve always thought judges years from now will strike down these contracts using eminent domain for the so-called “public good.” If you have seen Lexington recently, commercial and housing developments are taking over the horse farms. Same thing in Northern Virginia.