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Exploring life in
Bedford County
Editor’s Note
‘Stuff that works, stuff that holds up
The kind of stuff you don’t hang on the wall
Stuff that’s real, stuff you feel
The kind of stuff you reach for when you fall’
— by Rodney Crowell and Guy Clark
T wice a year we embark on an editorial journey. We call it of farming in Tennessee. He grew up on his granddaddy’s farm, 30
miles north of Knoxville. His granddaddy’s generation was pretty
Bedford Life.
On this journey, we search for stories about people and much the last of the sustenance farmers.
places of Bedford County that make it unique. In describing his granddaddy, John said “I made every step he
There’s nothing better than pursuing something you love and made. He was the best college professor I ever had.”
getting paid for it. To that end, this spring I began riding around After talking to John, as I drove away from the extension office,
on the side roads of Bedford County (I love driving on back roads) I was again drifting back in time. I recalled the all night card games,
looking for old barns to take photographs of. I love old barns. jittery from too many cups of coffee, at Bucky Ludorf’s home up
There is great beauty in old things. I love the patina of old, well on the West Purchase of Southbury, Connecticut. I recalled nights
worn tools. I love the look of old people – seasoned citizens. And playing music with my friend Abe Coe, playing our guitars to
I love the look of old barns. There is great beauty in advanced age. accompany Bucky’s dad, John Ludorf on his fiddle. Uncle John
Yes, part of the attraction is in the weatherworn wood but the was a sustenance farmer like Teague’s granddaddy. He raised hay
best part of these old barns is the stories that are embedded in and corn. He had a big garden. He had cows and horses. Uncle
them. John, as we called him, was also the most sought after fiddle player
As you look at the wood in an old stall you’ll often see the chew at the barn dances in western Connecticut.
marks left by generations of horses – it’s called ‘cribbing.’ As John Teague and I concluded our conversation about old
If you grew up as I did you may be flooded with memories when barns we got on the subject of authenticity.
you walk into an old barn. In one ramshackle Bedford County We discussed what we both see as the loss of a culture in
barn, I suddenly was overwhelmed with memories from 50 years which many more people worked on farms, doing what we see
ago. It was like I was once again helping Glenn Morris bale hay as meaningful work. We mourned a little the changes that have
on a 3-century-old New England farmstead. I was probably about resulted in just 2 percent of the population producing the food for
12 years old. I hadn’t thought of those days for a long time. I the other 98 percent. Most people nowadays would not be able to
remembered picking up each bale and tossing it onto the flat bed produce enough food to provide for themselves. How many people
hay wagon and then unloading each bale into the barn’s hayloft. today know how to cure a ham? John wonders. Not
Most of those bales were winter feed for Glen’s Morgan horses and many, I think.
draft horses and some were for my mom’s Saddlebred mare, Ginger, It seems to me that there is much less dignity
and her foal, Mitsy. The work was hard and all these years later I can in retail than there is in milking a cow. But that’s
still smell the sweet odor of grass hay mixed with my own sweat. probably just the complaint of an old man. l
After collecting hundreds of photos of Bedford County barns, I Terence Corrigan is the editor of
wanted to layer on a story to add context to the concept. the Shelbyville Times-Gazette.
I decided to interview county extension agent John Teague.
John and I are about the same age. John knows a lot of the history
Summer 2018 l Bedford Life 5