lifelong farmer

stories from Maine

An 84-year old man glances up at me, and across a piled-high, oil-clothed kitchen table, shares: 

He speaks openly, and as if he is discovering the meaning of these words as he says them. 

In this moment, I want to tell him not just that there is hope he can adapt. But also that his community offers concrete, accessible loneliness antidotes.

But to determine what those antidotes are, to figure out how to engAge him, we need to ask him, as I did: Tell me a bit of your life story.

One day, he comes home with dinner for him and his wife. He is overcome by dizziness, and keels over backward. In a telling reflection of his life philosophy, he recounts of the incident:

In the wake of this, he makes a life-changing decision: sell 100 milking cows and much of his land holdings. This is freeing… until tragedy.

When I ask him what the word ‘loneliness’ means to him, he talks about his wife’s passing to make sense of it.

He has not found a partner to share this unique connection with once more. Though he was open to it once, he expresses hesitation about the responsibilities of a relationship now.

Another loss came when his beloved dog, a companion after his wife’s passing, was killed in an accident. Luckily, family members’ dogs, constantly in the house, lie under the table while we speak.

Many people stop in to see him now, be it for business or just a friendly hello. He thus feels that he is “lonely,” but he is not “lonesome.” He seems to remark on the difference between having many, versus meaningful, friendships. There is still a void in meaningful company, which his wife once filled.

As we spoke, I gained insight into his loneliness antidotes.

Though his heart has much improved, some other physical limitations don't make it easy to do what he loves: working in the barn beside his son. Though he can walk selectively, when we spoke he was in a wheelchair.

He still has lunch with fellow farmers and locals he ate with for years. They meet at a part-gas station and part-restaurant, an albeit nontraditional but relevant meeting place. It is pivotal that the doors stay open to this third space (versus a home as a first space, work as a second space).

He is also civically-engaged, harnessing his accrued agricultural knowledge as a conservation board member.

And last, strong family ties keep him connected. The interviewee had 4 sons, but lost one to cancer 9 years ago. One son lives on the property and keeps up the farm. Another two live just down the road.