A League of Their Own: Lou and Robin

A League of Their Own: Lou and Robin

So many of the characters of our story remain on the pages in the chapters they occupied in our lives. Neither Rich nor I is any good at long distance and tend to get swallowed up in the 'here and now' of wherever we are. While complimentary in ways, we are highly enabling in the way that we lose touch. Neither of us is personally involved in social media, maintaining a farm business page on Instagram to stay in touch with our customer base and friends of the farm. I am a miserable phone communicator, and after having various phone numbers during the course of my moves, largely due to the fact that living on the tip of Michigan's thumb meant switching to Thumb Cellular (the only provider that could access service up there on the edge of the world), I've become untraceable to those who I haven't been in regular touch with.

But how often those characters are present in our reminisces, reminds me that they are very much part of our ongoing plot. One such person was seemingly lost to us. His name is Lou, and he was one half of the couple who taught us how to grow vegetables. But that would hardly be giving such an important character credit in our story.

Back in January of 2013, we moved to Interlaken, New York...a tiny village halfway up Cayuga Lake. We were attempting to nestle there in a place convenient to Cornell, where I would be studying agriculture, and proximal to a property where Rich would be working for a farmer and hatching his own baby veggie operation. As it turned out, we had put our faith in the wrong place and Rich's opportunity fell through. But fate had something better in mind and he was tipped off on a farm couple who needed a pair of hands to join their seasonal crew. Fate was guiding us to the most valuable educational experience we would have in the Finger Lakes.

Lou and Robin, partners in life and in business, ran a ten-acre organic vegetable farm within their 80-acres of enchanted Finger Lake terrain. Vegetable beds with pathways of clover, enclosed by deer fencing and surrounded by woodland wild enough to host a massive variety of bird species. Maintained trails guiding you alongside the gorges that the area is known for ("Ithaca is Gorges" and all that). A massive, cultivated raspberry patch and songbirds just a walk from the farmhouse, and off the beaten path: barred owls and a waterfall to be found deep down the forested trails. The people and the place existed in such harmony, like they brought out the best in each other.

After returning from town, I'd wait for Rich, tanned and exerted from a day of good, physical work at Blue Heron Farm, dying to hear about it all. It became clear that Rich was working for an intriguing and smart duo, characters to be sure...masters of their craft even. And it wasn't until they had the need for yet another pair of hands that I got to know how unique Lou and Robin were. My jealousy of Rich's applied education in the field was managed when we were invited to move out of our dodgy country apartment in Interlaken and into the whimsical barn apartment built in the loft of Lou and Robin's wash-and-pack barn, overlooking the high tunnels and beyond that, the expanse of woods. They typically only hired a seasonal crew but had enough work available that winter to keep Rich on. After tagging along as a desperate volunteer, I was offered a position come spring too.

Living tucked in the country, in upstate New York snow country to be specific, you get acquainted quickly. I didn't know it from experience yet, but a more relaxed, personable side comes out of farmers in the off season, when the guard is down, and time slows. I had been intimidated by Lou, a nearly seventy-year-old, strong, quiet, highly intelligent man, skin deeply browned from the sun, tall stature and long, grey and fluffy hippie sideburns telling their own story. Robin was astute and calculated, academic-looking, always wearing a hat to shade her eyes from the sun, those eyes that seemed to see everything. She was a keen observer, likely why she was so proficient at looking out for the farm's best interests. I always felt I had achieved something great if I could get those eyes to smile; they were honest eyes.

After decades of building their farm business from the ground, Lou and Robin had grown accustomed to seasonal farmhands coming and going. So much attention was given to training all of us, such diligence and a generosity of knowledge and stories told, and debates over current events in the field. Comradery, all the produce you could eat, the very best produce. But seasonal work and hard work lend to turnover. Unfortunately, this can keep farmhands at arm's length from the people they work for. It wasn't until Lou brought Rich and me our first batch of donuts in the barn apartment that I felt we were maybe within arm's length. Freshly crafted in the farmhouse kitchen, fried to perfect crispness, and lovingly nestled in one of their beautiful ceramic bowls. He ran across the yard, with Gramma (originally Granite, then Granny, then Gramma) the dog on his heels. A knock on the door and a deep, slow, "Hellooooooooo. I've got donutssss".

Who knew Lou's extremely methodical and diligent mind which leant him to greatness in the field also hyper-focused on perfecting a donut recipe? How sweet that he thought of us, perhaps warming to us and respecting Rich for his curious mind and willing hands in the wild winter of Lodi, New York, and the good company too. He'd call on Rich for random winter jobs: splitting wood, of course, for both of our stoves, farm sitting duties while he and Robin deservedly got away, washing root vegetables for winter csa customers and the co-op in Ithaca, keeping the walking trails cleared for all of our winter walks.

Lou and Robin, dog-lovers and rescuers, found us our first rescue: Mel(dog), a little cattle dog mutt-girl. We picked her up in a strip mall parking lot in Pennsylvania and drove her back to the farm where she joined Gramma and the old hound dog Roccoe, who all ran as a pack while our farm crew worked in the fields. Those dogs taught her how to "mouse" and to pluck raspberries alongside us...but only as many as they deserved. It all felt very familial, making it a bit bitter when we took an opportunity to try our hands at managing a farm ourselves in Michigan.

Within a year of our move, we got the horrible news that Robin succumbed to the emperor of maladies and found our way back to Ithaca to celebrate her and to hug Lou. While our life was wild with change and upheaval, Lou's was too, even more so. He farmed one more season, then sold the business and property. All of us during the course of that year had gotten new phone numbers. And Rich and I had only ever known Lou's farm email address which was defunct. We were in over our heads on the new project, at least with Mel by our sides. Lou was surrounded by family, his kid and many friends, and we did what we do and let time go by.

We would get pregnant, move to Ohio in pursuit of land, find land, start Foxhole, get pregnant again. And four years later, last winter while Rich was deep diving into farmer forums on crop rotation minutiae, he came across a video, a conversation between agricultural wizards and heard that cosmic, low, wonderful voice we hadn't heard in forever. Lou :). We had found him right where he belonged, amongst a sea of deep thinkers, digging into farm philosophy. Rich was able to get his contact through the forum and suddenly the two of them were in it...If I know them, likely hashing out the subject matter of the video, then catching up on lost time.

Lou had moved into town, down the way from his daughter and her family. He was keeping a mini Blue Heron Farm in his yard, which instead of us, he and his granddaughter picked berries from. In his emails, we learned he was managing the garden with his same Lou-level of diligence that he cared for his 10-acres by. And then, because half of an acre isn't enough to keep his boundless mind busy, he began debriefing Rich on our Foxhole venture. And then in between farmwork I'd find Rich, a diehard diy-er, deep in email correspondence with Lou discussing the farm.

Months later, we hosted Lou at the farm. Having driven cross country with a friend and fellow bluegrass enthusiast for a music festival in northern Ohio, he asked if he could swing down for a visit. Lou, a legend immortalized by my memories, in the flesh! Those same great, strong and whimsically expressive hands of his were knocking at the door. He toured the farm, and I couldn't bear to be there, too self-conscious to experience his reaction. Instead, I began to put dinner together, the kids showing our other guest all corners of the house. I wouldn't hear about Lou telling Rich, "You have a good thing going here", until after he left the next afternoon. Because once darkness started to fall, and May retrieved Rich and Lou from outside, we sat down to make up for lost time over glasses of wine and a long meal, just as Lou and Robin had hosted us in their farmhouse more than once.

Lou meets Jack

Just two weeks ago, Rich and Lou were on the phone discussing how we plan to step into this new growth of ours on the farm: two new high tunnels built at the end of 2024 and a couple of big market opportunities to rise to. He has more than a little insight into the complexity of such progression...raising a couple of kids by way of farming vegetables for an everchanging market, while remembering the reason you started in the first place. If there is any character from our story who I am honored to have in our corner, it's Lou. And forever in such a special place in our hearts, Robin.


Thank you for reading.

My writing is free for all to read. If you would like to support it you can do so below: