Fiasco Farm

By James V. Bibbo

Fiasco Farm is a charming story about a piece of land nestled in a small hidden valley of hill country in northern New England which dates back to the nineteenth century. By the mid-twentieth century, the farm had become a weekend and summer home for a banker from Boston, and subsequently for the author's father. The author, James V. Bibbo III,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Savvy International Inc.
• Release date: Mar 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891900455

James V. Bibbo

JAMES V. BIBBO III was born and raised in Sleepy Hollow, New York and now lives in New Hampshire. He is a graduate of New England College, Plymouth State, and the University of New Hampshire. His career started as a teacher and he subsequently became an elementary, middle school, and high school principal before ultimately becoming a superintendent of schools. Thereafter, he retired to pursue a childhood dream of breeding horses, dogs, and other farm animals. This is the author's first published book and, as he says, "is an accurate account of his attempt to live his dream."

Book preview

c.jpg

Copyright © 2024 by James V. Bibbo III

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, by photostat, microfilm, xerography, or any other means, or incorporated into any information retrieval system, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the copyright writer.

All inquirers should be addressed to:

Book Savvy International Inc.

1626 Clear View Drive, Beverly Hills California 90210, United States

Hotline: [phone]

https://booksavvyinternationalinc.com/

Ordering Information:

Amount Deals. Special rebates are accessible on the amount bought by corporations, associations, and others. For points of interest, contact the distributor at the address above.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN-13

Paperback: 979-8-89190-046-2

eBook: 979-8-89190-045-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023920102

I

Fiasco Farm

Fiasco Farm is nestled in a small hidden valley in the hill country of northern New England. The farm was first established at the turn of the 19th century. Pictures from the late 1800s and early: 1900s show extensive fields and a large barn. By the mid-1900s the farm had become a weekend/summer home for a banker from Boston and then for my father, a dentist. I, a white-collar dreamer. wanted to reestablish the farm. This was a long-held desire that began to come to fruition at the turn of the 21st century.

Although highly confident and optimistic it is also acknowledged that Murphy’s Law, if something can go wrong it will is a reality to overcome. My mother also used to say, No matter what goes wrong or what problem you encounter there is always someone worse off. There were days however that I felt I was last in line.

Every person has a dream but few live it. Although, when dreams are lived they become reality and reality is rarely a dream. Thad to try. I was not born into farming nor did I school for it but int the back of my mind that is what was always my passion. No one would have suspected that this middle-aged school superintendent would toss in the towel on his career and take to the mountains to farm. Initially, friends and relatives called the farm Green Acres with visions of a three-piece-suit farmer but as time wore on, the farm became affectionately known as Fiasco Farm to those that knew me and my farming expertise.

My father gave me the farm in 1993. I moved in during the winter of 2000 after my father’s death and my mother’s move south, and I began farming. The small farm hadn’t been a true farm in years. It had been a going concern from 1811 until the 1930s when a lot of mountain farms disappeared when the woolen mills closed and then moved south. The mountain farms had primarily. been pastoral and sheep had been the most profitable farm animal due to the geography of New Hampshire and the wool market being so close. It was also that geography and the advent of large farm machines that made it almost impossible for these mountain farms to compete with the large flat farms of the south and west. The shift to coal and oil for heating ruined the market for firewood that had been sold in abundance and was important to farm subsistence.

My dream had been to turn back the clock and make it a working farm again. My dad knew this; since I was a child and I always said I wanted a farm. Dad had encouraged me to pursue goals other than farming but knowing my love for animals suggested becoming a veterinarian. I jumped at that idea but due to an accident 1. was unable to follow that path. I held onto my dream of living int the country and raising animals but pursued a professional careering education. There was no way that a farm was affordable with a large family on an educator’s salary. Raising children and advancing with my career was enough, but the dream lived on.

Drucker’s Peter Principal that people tend to rise to their level of incompetence is widely accepted. However, it is also true that the highly educated and high achievers in a complex world can switch to a more simple and relaxed way of life and find themselves, as I did, ignorant of many of the simple everyday things that we used to depend on the less formally educated to do. Then again, one would think that a man with three college and university degrees should also be able to outsmart a horse, a pig or a goat, which I was to find out, was no easy task.

My dad knew and respected my dream and in his own way made it possible for me to pursue that dream. I am also certain that he had no idea that my dream would include mishap after mishap but he knew me well, so maybe he did.

When I took over the farm, I brought my two horses and housed them in the old barn, which was the only hint that this had ever been a working farm during the nineteenth and early twentyeth centuries. Shortly after moving in but without immediate intension. I began a collection of critters and commenced to develop the farm. I knew I had a chance to live my dream and was willing to gamble that I could make a go of it and prosper as a farmer. Little did I know farmers don’t prosper. Ignorance is bliss at any age. I would be outstanding in my field.

And so, my story begins. My vision takes shape and I am in rare form and a bundle of laughs for everyone who watched this plan and Fiasco Farm take shape. As my friend Sonny said of me, no one would ever believe that so match misfortune could happen to one person in one lifetime and still be alive. But I am alive and this story is true.

II

Goats

A friend of mine knew of someone who wanted to give two miniature doe (female) goats away and asked me if I was interested. Of course, I was interested. I didn’t know any better than to be interested. The goats were cute and how much damage could two miniature goats cause? I went and picked them up and drove home with them in the cab of my pick up. They rode well. After a month or so I had a brilliant idea. Why not get a buck (male) to put with the does? The does would produce offspring and the offspring could be sold as pets. Great idea, or was it? Well, Bosco, the buck, did his duty shortly after entering the barn and within five and a half months there would be kids born and profits made. Dollar signs rolled around in my eyes.

Three miniature goats were fine. They took some maintenance but not an overwhelming amount of time. They didn’t eat much and were kind of fun to have around. However, the plan was to clear cut ten or twelve acres and have some goats to keep the re salting pasture open and prevent the forest from reclaiming the land. So, off I went in search of larger goats. I found some Boer goat crosses that were prime meat goats and bought three young ones, two does and a buck. Boer goats are the only meat breed and all I could see was dollar signs as I envisioned filling the niche of an ever-expanding market.

They prospered. However, while looking at the Boer goats I became aware of two more miniature does that were reasonably priced and bought them as