What It Takes

John was never right in the head, or so the residents of Jefferson County said. But that was before his surname became Berryman. Years ago it was Jenkins or Jones or somesuch -- it's been so long no one really remembers. They do know Berryman well because it's under that name that the slow learner became the great berry farmer of the midwest. You see, when John inherited his father's hundred acres and planted raspberries instead of soybeans, the local farmers knew he was off his rocker, but did they ever learn different!

"Why, them prickly little things don't even grow in this soil," said Clem. "Not to mention there's no market for them."

"Right," answered Barney. "This here's soybean, corn, and pig country, and everyone who's sane knows it, too."

But because John didn't know any better, he put in ten acres of raspberries anyway.

The county Ag Rep asked him why and he said he didn't know. But come Fall young John paid his mortgage and all his bills.

So the second year he planted ten acres of blackberries. He didn't like to work with them as much as with raspberries because of the thorns and stout canes, but he liked the flavor and so did his customers. At the end of the season, what with the raspberries paying the bills, he bought new

equipment from the blackberry income.

The Jefferson County boys were still shaking their heads. That's the way it is with disbelievers and folks who've been doing things one way for generations. In spite of John's success, they still claimed he wasn't right in the head.

The third year, John What's-his-name put in ten acres of strawberries. Now everyone who wasn't convinced before knew the boy was whacko. But at the end of the season the unorthodox farmer built a new house complete with an indoor swimming pool.

Though the folks still believed he was off the wall, they now began to look at his operation with skepticism instead of disbelief. They couldn't understand how he did it. And after the fourth season, when John had ten acres of black muck shipped in by rail cars from Indiana and planted a whopping crop of blueberries, the people started asking questions.

Ole Clem suggested, "What does he know that we don't?"

To which Barney answered, "Derned if I know. But he's sure raking it in. Wonder if all them berries is just a front for some sneaky way of making money?"

"You mean he grows Marywanna on a back forty and sells it to the drug kings?"

"Something like that. Cuz ten acres of muck and blueberries inIowa? Whoever heard the likes?"

And so it went from year to year. John, now called the Berry Man or Berryman or just The Man, added ten acres of a new crop each season and reaped noticeable profits with every one. One year he added gooseberries, then a vineyard of juice grapes, the next of seedless, edible grapes, and even a whole field of Kiwi fruit.

By now John Berryman had a thriving business hiring more seasonal

pickers than any farmer in the county. He built luxurious shacks for the itinerant workers, dwellings better equipped than many a permanent soybean farmer's residence. And when he planted ten acres of sweet cherry trees and reaped their harvest, he was seen driving vehicles the old boys had never even heard the names of.

"By jingo," said Clem, "I don't know how he does it. Why, if this was Massachusetts a couple of hundred years ago I'd swear the Puritans wudda burnt him as a witch."

Along the way the berry man began capitalizing on honey. It was a natural extension of the crops he grew since there were so many blossoms on the fruit. Once that happened, the local farmers began to see a white semi with a giant raspberry hauling products.

"That feller's sure come a long way in a short while ain't he?" asked Clem.

"Sure has," answered Barne;y. "But I still don't know how. This here's corn, soybean, and hog country. All I can figure is he's use'n some kind of magic or witchcraft or he's inta drugs or the like."

Then one year John surprised everyone even more than before. He didn't introduce a new crop. Instead, he tapped ten acres of sugar maple trees and had his workers make syrup. Now the farm had one more product to haul by semi and bring a solid profit.

About the tenth year after he'd planted the first raspberries, John planted ten acres of giant garlic. When the folks heard the news they howled.

"I told you," laughed Clem. "The lad's completely off his rocker!" Everyone agreed, but at the end of the season, new fences were put in, four wells were drilled, and a shallow lake was created by bulldozers.

"Now what's the fruitcake doing?" asked Barney. "No one makes a lake

that shallow less'n he's completely whacko!"

"Told ya so," snickered Clem.

But the next Fall John sold wild rice for a substantial profit.

Another year the entrepreneur blew the minds of every farmer in Jefferson County even more than before. He had constructed a great maze of cement with blazing white reflector roofs low to the ground. Then he put cooling coils underneath the soil which he super-dozed with manure and rotten logs brought in from Louisiana. The crop this time: Ten acres of mushrooms.

"MUSHROOMS?" shrieked Clem. ""Whoever heard of farming mushrooms?"

"No one," answered Barney, stuffing his corncob pipe. "No one but a young feller who's completely bonkos."

Every crop John Berryman focused on flourished. By the fifteenth year he had enough money that he loaned it to his fellow farmers at a very low interest. Even Clem and Barney, who still hadn't paid off their mortgages, took advantage of the loans.

"Sure beats them bank rates," remarked Clem. "But I don't know how he does it. Charges such low interest he'll go under for sure. Feller's not right in the head, I tell ya."

Throughout the years several farmers tried to duplicate John's methods. They followed the principle that success breeds success. But crops failed or they couldn't pick them in time so the fruit often rotted in the field.

"That feller's one of a kind, ain't he?" asked Clem in his last years.

"Sure is," said Barney, leaning on a cane. "By jingo, I must admit though, he's done well for a kid whose mind ain't right."

"Yes siree, dern nice feller. But then, maybe it takes a guy a bit off his

rocker to get into this farming business in the first place. Whatta ya think?"