“I don’t know how
you manage, James,” a customer at the Watauga County Farmer’s Market laughingly
observes. “A farm, bees, a
professorship…and kids? I’d be in an insane asylum!” The man is a stranger to me but is apparently
well known to my companion, to whom this quip has been addressed. James Wilkes responds with an equally
warmhearted retort and proceeds to converse jubilantly with his customer. I look on silently as James interacts with
this man who appears to be an old friend, his hand movements complementing
every syllable—sometimes dominating his speech in an effort to more fully convey
that of which his words are evidently incapable. His hands slice and point commandingly through
the air with a persistence that rivals his comrade’s own amplified, sporadic gestures.
The backdrop for
this friendly scene (which is a typical interaction at the all-accommodating
Farmer’s Market) is one of a comparably affable atmosphere: A newly risen sun shines through the trees to
the east of us, providing a brightness befitting the collective attitude of the
mass of people. Though the wind is as
unpredictable as the October morning itself, with the temperature being that of
a typical Boone day (incessantly fluctuating), there is one constant at the
Market: the presence and abundance of
life. One might easily mistake the heat of
the sun for the warmth of the beaming, welcoming faces scattered about. The morning light only accentuates the sharp,
investigative eyes of the children weaving in and out of the silhouettes of
their parents, who are preoccupied with their own inspections of the products
before them: Bald Guy Brew’s coffee aroma
leads searching noses through the crescent-shaped arrangement of stalls, each
containing its own assortment of items—crops, pumpkins, art, ciders, baked
goods, and knitted and sewed goods.
A few of James’s seven
children welcome customers to the Faith Mountain Farm stall, smiling and
laughing amongst themselves while never relinquishing that fundamentally necessary
attitude of professionalism. They serve their
customers, faces they may have seen every Autumn Saturday or never before
encountered, with an energy that usurps their own father’s charming
eagerness: I observe Galen’s 16-year-old
face frown from the genuine regret he feels in informing his latest customer,
“We have just run out of blueberry muffins.”
In such an environment, James, like his children, remains constantly
concerned with his business and its success, but never ceases to treat members
of the community—including his customers, colleagues, and even his competitors—with
the utmost consideration. He must
appreciate these people he knows so well for they, like him, are vital parts of
the community in which he lives…and thrives.
* * *
As the light of
the last day of September wanes and the evening sun hides behind the Appalachian
mountains, I sit on a wooden porch swing and prepare to investigate the life of
a man who is currently a stranger to me in all but name and profession. He is decidedly less bearded and aged than I
expected a beekeeping, computer science professor to be. While I sit with my new acquaintance and
prepare to record our interview, I reflect that this is only an interview: Genuine
conversation must not yet be possible because we scarcely know one
another.
We begin. He answers my first question simply enough: “My name’s James Wilkes.”
“Isn’t that Doctor James Wilkes?” I ask, convinced that I already know the
answer.
“It is…if you want
to call me a ‘doctor,’” he laughingly replies.
“Depends on who’s asking.” I
soon discover that the remainder of his responses is all just as energetically
lighthearted and unabashedly interested.
As our conversation continues, I realize that it has become exactly that—a
conversation! Within minutes, James has
turned the timid interview into an involving discussion of his life and, in
doing so, uprooted all of my premature expectations. Soon, James Wilkes’s place of birth is
surprisingly revealed to be my own: He was
born and raised in Eden, North Carolina.
When I inform him that I was born in Eden and raised in Reidsville, a
neighboring city, his face contorts into a narrow smile as he laughs heartily
aloud.
“Reidsville? Really?” He jokes.
“Ah, my big high school rival!” Until
he graduated from Morehead High School, James lived in Eden, where his father
taught math (James’s original career choice), kept several bee colonies, and
maintained a small garden. In this
garden, Mr. Wilkes grew various crops and encouraged his son to be considerably
involved with this hobby. James clearly
has no qualms in admitting that his family-centric approach to farming has been
heavily influenced (and inspired) by his father’s similar efforts. When I ask James whether his father was as influential
in all areas of his life, he stares at me incredulously for a moment, as if
expecting the announcement that I am joking.
After all, how could I ask a question with such an obvious answer? Realizing that the question is sincere, he
grins. “Yes, definitely!”
Over a week after
our first meeting, I conduct our second interview, and I am considerably surer of
my investigative abilities, as well as of James’s cooperation. He continues to discuss his history—how he
came to live in Creston, North Carolina with a wife (who also attended Morehead
High School) and seven children—and begins to elaborate on his current
profession. James studied math and
science at Appalachian State University with the intention of, like his father,
becoming a math teacher. After deciding,
“like so many others” who fall in love with the high country, that he wanted to
raise a family in the mountains and teach at Appalachian, he attended Duke
University as a graduate student until he acquired his master’s degree in
1989. Three years later, at which point
he was already married to Shannon Blackwell and had had his first child,
Margaret, he began work at Appalachian State University.
James is
concluding his explanation of the progression of his professional life: “I have been here ever since as an assisting
associate and now as a full professor.
Also during this time, I was the graduate program director; now I’m
Chair. I’ve been Chair for five years
now and overall I’ve had a good career.
I’m kind of mid-career, I guess you’d say.” James whistles as he reflects that he has
been employed with the university for nearly 20 years. He seems happy with (and considerably proud
of) his current occupational status.
James Wilkes is currently the Chairperson of Computer Science at Appalachian
State University, but as the conversation turns to his farm, his bees, and his
family, he seems almost disinterested in this prestigious position. For James, home truly is where his heart
resides.
A month later, the
sun’s blinding rays are regrettably absent as I follow James and two of his
sons out of the humble Wilkes family farmhouse and onto a winding “country
porch,” patrolled by the less-than-intimidating Lucy, a friendly Corgy-Feist
mix. We continue out onto the visible
portion of James’s property, which is currently besieged on all sides by a
smoke-induced fog. Strewn about the
house are items that obviously belong to the children—an assortment of toys,
plastic vehicles, various balls, a small slide, and a fallen basketball
goal. Chickens prevail over much of the
yard; they roost in the trees, estrange themselves in areas of the barn, and
sleep in the henhouses—until they are awoken by James’s son Sullivan,
anyway. 13-year-old Sully explains that
the chickens scattered about live outside of their boundaries, while the ones
within the pen seem to relish in their confinement. We steadily near the center of the yard, at
which point the rogues scatter, allowing us to approach our first destination:
the dead crops.
As I inspect the
frost-injured corn stalks and the disheveled sunflower stems, I feel an
overwhelming sense of regret that I have not been to see the farm earlier in
the year. I imagine the life and
activity I might be observing had I met James months ago. The idyllic farm scenery I had previously
visualized has been absent from this place for months now. Yet, I still fantasize: Tall, green cornstalks erect themselves along
the freshly tilled rows, the nearby sunflowers towering just as high. Where the ground is not tilled, healthy summer
grass abounds. A myriad of every other mountain
crop imaginable lines the remaining rows of the farmed area. The Wilkes family bustles about, tending to
every section of the farm, and the bees…the bees thrive. They swarm all about
the farm, incessantly leaving and returning to their hives, concerned primarily
with the pollination of plants and proliferation of their colonies…
Probably guessing
the dejected direction of my thoughts, James leads me to the pigs’ pen in a
mildly successful effort to display life on his farm. The new piglets warily gather at the fence as
a 450 pound hog lumbers along behind them.
As James pats his largest hog, he nonchalantly explains that she would
already be “in the freezer,” were she not so lazy: She simply refuses to “get on the
truck.” I look to Sullivan, who is
filling the pigs’ water trough, and little 3-year-old Oliver atop his father’s
shoulders, expecting to see some expressions of shock equal to the one I’m trying
to hide. The children do not seem troubled
in the least by the deaths of hogs, though.
This dismissive statement concerning the life of this creature startles me;
while exploring the accommodating environment that is James’s farm, I had
almost forgotten what farmers do. The
reality of the farmer’s lifestyle hits me:
James keeps these animals because they are a source of revenue.
Still
contemplating the idea of raising an animal with such limited attachment, I
follow the father and sons trio to the lone survivor of the merciless frost—a
line of chard. James picks and offers
each of us a piece. The steady crunch of
teeth on leafy greens creates a pleasant dissonance with our footsteps as we walk
on.
Finally, we
approach my most heavily anticipated destination of our tour: the beehives.
James explains that the honey-making season is over: There are no longer any plants to
pollinate. Now begins the bees’ most
endangered period of the year—the cold months, during which a beekeeper must
remain especially attentive to his colonies in order to “keep as many as he can
alive.”
I gaze at the still
colonies, hoping to see some sign of the life I know exists inside. The bees are no longer active, and I begin to
fear that I wont get to see them. As my
attention is withheld once again by wishful thinking, James and Sully continue
walking directly past the hives and call me over to an arrangement of gallon buckets. Sully grins as I provide a questioning look;
my cluelessness must be quite amusing.
From my position, these appear to be buckets full of what appears to be water
and straw. James simply gestures, “Look
inside.” I draw closer to the buckets,
and look inside, only to discover that I am surrounded by a swarm of
honeybees. They buzz out of the buckets,
circle the air above, and return to land on the straw inside. My initial surprise at being surrounded by
bees is quickly replaced…by my fear
of being surrounded by bees. James
laughs I take a hasty step backward.
“That’s what we call
‘sweet water,’” the beekeeper explains.
Still
concentrating intently on the swarm, I ask, admittedly puzzled, “What are they
doing?”
James’ lips slowly
draw apart into that now familiar narrow smile.
“They’re eating.”
Minutes
later, we are inside the basement of the farmhouse, and Oliver is doing
everything in his power to divert his father from demonstrating the key parts
of the honey-making process. As the
sandy-haired child toys with every contraption in the room, I cannot stop
myself from laughing aloud at his antics as James attempts to restrain
him.
My short, first
visit to the farm draws to a close with the closing of the day. James and I discuss our next meeting as he
escorts me out of the house. I leave
Faith Mountain Farm with a bag of freshly made granola and eight new names to
remember.
On the 18th
of November, I happily return to the home of the Wilkeses to join the entire
family for a long-awaited dinner. Within
an hour in the Wilkes household, I realize that the brief encounters with
James’s family on my first visit did little to prepare me for this experience: James and his family could not display a more
attractive lifestyle than they do in the five hours I spend with them.
When I arrive and
enter the living room, James’s wife Shannon lights the wood stove that warms
the house. I sit and make conversation
with James and Sully, who seems ridiculously intent on becoming my friend. Through it all, I cannot stop myself from
smiling.
While 20-year-old
Margaret prepares dinner, Shannon reads a children’s Story Bible version of the
Book of Exodus to the four youngest children.
James has informed me before tonight that he, along with the rest of his
family, is quite spiritual. He is a
Christian, a “believer,” as he calls himself, and the influence of spiritual
values on his disposition is acutely evident:
His lifestyle, and therefore the lifestyle of his family, is
considerably based upon the tenants of Christianity. While he and his family are more humble and
accommodating than any hosts I could have hoped for, he seems justifiably proud
of the lengths he has taken to improve his community: He views his farming business as “providing
good food” with which he and his family may “bless people.” The Wilkes family household only seems more
inviting as I listen to the children responding to the Biblical story, answering
their mother’s every question with warranted enthusiasm.
Shortly after the
Bible lesson has ended, Oliver is galloping around the house in his birthday present
(a knight costume that Sully has helped him put on), seeking “the dragon”
(Galen) who must be slain. 10-year-old
Israel, 6-year-old Lillian, and 5-year-old Zion have assumed the personas of
Chicken, Pig, and Lamb, and are performing a puppet show just before we are
called to eat. After the food has been
blessed, I delve into a meal of indescribable taste, which ends with what James
calls “real” milk and freshly baked oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. Like Margaret, the other two older kids have
responsibilities as well: Sully performs
his chore by delivering dishes from the table to Galen, who washes them. Back in the family room, I am introduced to a
board game called “The Settlers of Catan” by Galen, Sully, and Israel. James and Shannon look on as Lillian, Zion,
and Oliver sketch pictures that are subsequently given to me as gifts.
Throughout my
incredible experience with this family, I steadily realize that I am beginning
to envy this lifestyle, as anyone who truly witnesses James’s family and farm
life might. James and his wife Shannon
have created a nearly perfect environment in which they may raise their family,
and they do so in what James believes is “the best way possible.”
* * *
One would most
likely never expected the descriptors “professor,” “ organic farmer,” and
“beekeeper” to occur in the same sentence cognitively, and therefore certainly
would not expect all of these adjectives to be applicable in the description of
a single person. James Wilkes is all of
these, however, and he miraculously manages to occupy each role
successfully. These roles are, of
course, his professions, and do not include his family-oriented roles of
husband and father, which are more important to him than “any farm, bees, or
professorship could ever be.”
