Greene Acres Farm SC

Greene Acres Farm SC Always looking for more additions. If you have an orphaned beef calf that needs a farm, please reach and I am certain my father felt that he lost me.

"Putting my own Twist on a Passed Down Dream"


Welcome Everyone! Greene Acres Farm was originally Ashe Est and has been in the family since 1920, if I have my dates right. When my great grandfather passed away in 1991 my father inherited the property with hopes to keep his grandfather’s “cow dream” alive. I know my great grandfather would be extremely proud of the man he raised. My father drove

a truck for a living but was home every night. He worked 40hrs plus for a paycheck, he worked the rest of his time on his farm for a much greater reward. Although my father never stopped, he was very much present in our lives. He always put himself last and I’m sure it got in the way of this dream. As a child I remember “helping” him with Saturday chores, he referred to it as “piddling”. I loved piddling with him, I can hear the conversation in my head, me saying, “the day is almost over” and his response, “time flies when you’re having fun”

As I got older “piddling” just wasn’t as interesting as friends, boys, parties, drinking etc. Truth be known I was lost and wasn’t sure I would ever want to follow in his footsteps. More time went by, he sold out a few times and got back in, still I had very little interest in his “passed down dream”. To be honest we fought more than we got along, we both had a problem with being right. I graduated in 2006 and thought I had it all figure out. I moved out, played house a couple of times but knew no matter what I did or how many times I left, I could come back home. In 2009 I had a son. You would’ve thought that a new baby boy brought us closer together and it did at first, but I still pulled away. We butted heads on my parenting skills, and I felt he always took my mother’s side on every argument she and I had, whether he agreed with her or not. I felt like my parents wanted to me live through them, their way, or no way. I am not proud of the way I spoke to my parents in the past, I am ashamed of it. Father’s day of 2011 I made a deal with myself to simply stop arguing with my parents. No matter what they had to say or how much they disagreed with my decisions, I would show respect and hear them out. I’m not saying I always took their advice, although many times I wished I had, I just didn’t react to their advice like I once did. This improved our relationship but where was the interest in farming that I once had as his little girl?!? Season after season went by and dad was well on his way to retirement, but February 2018 took us all by surprise. My father just started his new position driving a dump truck at a company he worked at for 18 years. He had been sick all week with a cough and congestion but refused to visit the doctor. We never pushed him to a doctor’s office, he was a healthy man. I got the call on Feb 7th at 9:22am, he had wrecked the dump truck, crossing over traffic and landed in a brush pile. There was barely a scratch on the company vehicle and I was told he was fine. I drove as fast as I could to the scene but before I could get there his supervisor called me and said the ambulance was taking him to the hospital. Why would he be going to the hospital by ambulance if he was ok? His supervisor told me the paramedic believed he had a stroke. The hospital is only 25 minutes away but felt like hours. I cried at the unknown the whole way there. I entered the emergency room entrance and a nurse walked me back to where they had him. Who was this man? Is this how my father felt when he thought he had lost me? How would anything be the same anymore? How was my mother going to live the life she was accustomed to? How would my almost nine-year-old understand that his Pop is going to be different? We didn’t know the extent of it until the doctors told us he would need to be transported to a hospital that better understood strokes. He couldn’t be transported by helicopter because of the weather, so my sister and I followed the ambulance to another hospital 45 minutes away. Timing was everything that day. As soon as they admitted him, he went back to surgery. He had a massive stroke caused by a tear on the artery which formed a clot, one cough is all it took for the clot to hit his brain. He was in the hospital for 2 weeks and then moved to an in-patient physical therapy center. He was in such hurry to get home for his grandson’s 9th birthday party. We received many offers from friends and neighbors to help us two sisters, but we knew he was a “do it yourself” kind of man. Without realizing it giving my father a “cow report” every day was the highlight of mine. I was happy it rained the majority of time he was hospitalized, he didn’t have to feel like he was missing out on “good working weather”. He rang the bell at physical therapy and walked out ready for that birthday party he had been so eager to get out for. The stroke left some permanent damage, paralysis on the left side, complete loss of peripheral vision, and expected depression. I was happy to have him home, but I felt nausea at the thought that my father couldn’t do the things he once could. It took time to adjust to everything, but we all did the best we could. He is still weak on his left side and can’t see unless its directly in front of him, but we don’t let it stop us. 2018 winter was coming and that meant calves. It was going to be the first time for one cow. When that time come, she couldn’t have the calf. We thought the calf was dead after guessing 3 or 4 hours of labor. Normally my father would have just pulled the calf himself but with his changes, there was no way. I couldn’t help because I didn’t know how, remember I was absent when I was needed in the past. We called the vet hoping to at least save momma cow if not both. When the vet arrived with his helper he looked as if he believed too the calf was dead. They started pulling, me holding the tail and out came a gasping for air, baby bull calf. Without hesitation I scrambled for towels and scooped up my newfound love. Ferdinand the bull was the first thing out of my mouth. We tried to get momma cow to take her baby, but she wanted nothing to do with him. I drove to the dairy down the road, got colostrum and begin bottle feeding my new hobby for the next few months. Ferdinand, now 2 years old is ready for action in the fall. I can’t wait to see how he performs. I convince the rest of the family that Ferdinand should stay every time we sale. I’m no longer lost because of Ferdinand. Since then, I’ve gained seven other bottled calves from other farms, my father has a nice sized herd and my family does most everything together. My father got his daughter back and when you’re looking through my silly photos just know I’m not a crazy cow lady, just putting my own twist on a “passed down dream”.

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York, SC
29745

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+18034170704

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Bottle Barn @GreeneAcresFarm

Welcome Everyone! I am excited to share my love for Cattle with you all. Greene Acres Farm was originally Ashe Est and has been in the family since 1920, if I have my dates right. When my great grandfather passed away in 1991 my father inherited the property with hopes to keep my great grandfather’s “cow dream” alive. I know my great grandfather would be extremely proud of the man he raised, my father. My father married my mother in July of 1977 and a few years later came my sister, four years after that I was born. I grew up on this farm watching my father work from sun up to sun down. My father drove a truck for a living but was home every night. He worked 40hrs plus for a paycheck, he worked the rest of his time on his farm, for a much greater reward. Although my father never stopped, he was very much present in our lives. He always put himself last and I’m sure it got in the way of this dream. As a child I remember “helping” him with Saturday chores, he referred to it as “piddling”. I loved piddling with him, I can hear the conversation in my head, me saying, “the day is almost over” and his response, “time flies when you’re having fun” :)

As I got older “piddling” just wasn’t as interesting as friends, boys, parties, drinking etc. . . and I am certain my father felt that he lost me. Truth be known I was lost and wasn’t sure I would ever want to follow in his footsteps. More time went by, he sold out a few times and got back in, still I had very little interest in his “passed down dream”. To be honest we fought more than we got along, we both had a problem with being right all the time. I graduated in 2006 and thought I had it all figure out. I moved out, played house a couple of times but knew no matter what I did or how many times I left, I could come back home. In 2009 I had a son. You would’ve thought that a new baby boy brought us closer together and it did at first but I still pulled away. We butted heads on my parenting skills and I felt he always took my mother’s side on every argument she and I had, whether he agreed with her or not. I felt like my parents wanted to me live through them, their way or no way. I am not proud of the way I spoke to my parents in the past, I am ashamed of it. Fathers day of 2011 I made a deal with myself to simply stop arguing with my parents. No matter what they had to say or how much they disagreed with my decisions, I would show respect and hear them out. I’m not saying I always took their advice, although many times I wished I had, I just didn’t react to their advice like I once did. This improved our relationship and I believe my father thought he’d finally found his lost little girl. But where was the interest in farming that I once had as his little girl, it still wasn’t there.

February 2018 hit the whole family like a ton of bricks. My father just started his new position, driving a dump truck at a company he worked at for 18 years. He had been sick all week with a cough and congestion but refused to visit the doctor. We never pushed him to a doctor’s office, he was a healthy man. I got the call on Feb 7th at 9:22am, he had wrecked the dump truck, crossing over traffic, and landed in a brush pile. There was barely on a scratch on the company vehicle and I was told he was fine. I drove as fast as I could to the scene which was only 5 minutes from my house. Before I could get there his supervisor called me and said the ambulance was taking him to the hospital. Why would he be going to the hospital by ambulance if he was “ok”? His supervisor told me the paramedic believed he had a stroke. The hospital is only 25 minutes away but felt like hours. I cried at the unknown the whole way there. I entered the emergency room entrance and a nurse walked me back to where they had him. Who was this man? Is this how my father felt when he thought he had lost me? How would anything be the same anymore? How was my mother going to live the life she was accustomed too? How would my almost nine year old understand that his Pop is going to be different?

We didn’t know the extent of it until the doctors told us he would need to be transported to a hospital that better understood strokes. He couldn’t be transported by helicopter because of the weather, so my sister and I followed the ambulance carrying my father and mother to another hospital 45 minutes away. Timing was everything that day. As soon as they admitted him he went back to surgery. He had a massive stroke caused by a tear on the artery which formed a clot, one cough is all it took for the clot to hit his brain like a paint ball. He was in the hospital for 2 weeks and then moved to an in-patient physical therapy center. He was in such hurry to get home for his grandson’s 9th birthday party.