Death on the Hartford

In the days of the Northern Pacific Railroad, it was called the Hartford Branch. It was a line that skirted the eastern edge Seattle and Lake Washington and ran through the northwestern Washington interior all the way to the Canadian boarder at Sumas. The formation of the Burlington Northern made large portions of the line redundant and thus they were abandonned. One reminant survived however, the two mile stretch that ran from the junction of the Burlington Northern east-west mainline, up into the town of Snohomish.






















Central Feed, a longtime provider of milled grain for the dairies in the Snohomish Valley is what kept the Hartford alive. Twice a week in the late afternoon, one of the Burlington Northern locals would cross the old Snohomish River swing bridge and switch the mill. It's work done, the train would back down they way it came and continue into Everett.


Then came 1998. With the local dairy economy crumbling, rumors began to circualte about the fate of Central Feed. The longtime family ownership dissolved and the facility was taekn over by Co-op giant Harvest States/Land-O-Lakes. In as much as they already had a mill in the area, we all knew it was just a matter of time for Central.






The time clock ticked down to zero on May 7, 1999. The mill used the last of its inventory and closed their doors forever.



Two days later, the last train on the Harford made it's way into Snohomish and picked up the final empty car from Central Feed. The Hartford Branch saw its last train.




Through the winter of 1999 and into the new millenium, the mill sat vacant. Those of us in the feed business hurried from farm to farm like a group of vultures, trying to pick up what little business Central left behind. All of us were thinking,"better them than us", but all of us knew, Central would not be the last mill to close its doors.





Sitting on valuable real estate, it wasn't long before the property was bought. The mill had to come down. The talk in the Red Barn Tavern now turned to how long would it be before even that watering hole would see the same fate as the mill. It lasted the summer...
















With the old machinery having little value beyond scrap, the mill came down without even the dignity of a part by part dismantling. Cranes with wrecking balls tore at the structure, exposing it's inner workings and scattering it like road kill.





As the mill came down, the weeds grew up around the now useless rails of the Hartford Branch.


The last step was the paving over of the rail crossing. The sections of rail were lifted out, ties and all and cast aside so the black toppers could insure a smooth road where once cars bumped across the tracks. It was finished. The last of the Hartford Branch was left to be forgotten.

There's a new library and shops where the old once stood. Whenever I pass by I wonder, when will the last car be pulled from the spur behind my employer, Conway Feed? We all know it's not a matter of if, but when. I have a feeling I'll be there to record the last of the siding at Fir as well.

Make Mine Regular Coffee,....Black

It is not exactly news that where I live is no longer considered a rural, or farming area. Some time back Skagit County, Washington "progressed" into a suburban life style. We are now a bedroom community for the Seattle/Everett metropolitan sprawl. We still farm some, and always will, but nothing like it was even as recently as 20 years ago.




On the corner of Avon Allen and Highway 20, the Country Cafe, (Now called the "Valley") sits empty. The old gravel parking lot that was once jammed with farm pick-ups during the week and yuppie transplants during the week-ends is vacant. The last of the farmer coffee shops is about to fall victim to suburban growth. There are just too many cars on Highway 20 for two lanes. The road is about to be widened to 4 lanes and the Country is in the way....it must go.




The farmer coffee shop was about like the local livestock sale barn. It was where you met your neighbors, did business, swapped lies about how well your crops were doing and gossiped about whoever wasn't present to defend himself. Politicin' was conducted with local elections won and lost depending on the whims of the coffee shop constituents.



But that has all changed. The Midway House, a long time hang out for the farmers in the north county is now an antique store. And now the Country is going to be bulldozed to the point nothing will remain. I even have to wonder, how long will the feed mill and fertilizer plant across the highway be able to hang on. Reflected in the dirty windows of the Country, like so much of ag here in the county, when will they have to be removed for the sake of the increase in population.



So where do we get our coffee these days? Well, it's not at a sit down counter where breakfast was served all day. No, these days you'll see our pick-ups, farm trucks and even the occasional tractor at any number of local latte stands. With so many of them scattered about, no single establishment attracts the numbers of farmers as did two or three coffee shops. In this world where being "connected" is paramount, the end of the local coffee shop has definitely disrupted what was once a vital form of rural communication.

Back at the latte stand, I still hold to the old ways, I'm proud to say. When it's my turn at the window, I hand the cute young thing inside my dirty, greasy tanker and proudly say,

"Make mine regular coffee, black."

Winter Fallow

Winter. The land sits fallow, last year's crops long harvested, this year's crops still in my mind. Like the land, it seems the older I get, the more I want to just wait out winter. Fallow just like the soil. I put in my required 5 days a week at the feed mill, but to tackle the list of winter jobs during my evenings and week-ends, time when during spring, summer and fall I devote to working the land, requires more effort than to farm.



Winter. Occasionally snow covers the mud. Occasionally breaks in the overcast brighten my mood for a moment.

Winter. It seems even my mind goes fallow.

Winter. It is when I have the time to pursue personal goals yet it is the time I have the least energy to put forth the effort.

Winter. I need a dose of spring to make it through.