​Since it’s difficult to drive, talk to strangers, eat, sleep and also write, I’m going to try to combine a few of these tasks. Well, I’ve already been eating while driving for much of this trip (and I’m not proud of my diet so far), but from now on when I get to lonely stretches of highway I will try to dictate my notes. Unfortunately, I left my laptop on the kitchen table back home, so I am reduced to dictation or thumb-typing on my phone.
I started today slowly: resting, getting organized, and having breakfast in Dodge City, Kansas. I drove around Dodge, but decided to opt out of the touristy things like seeing a reenactment of a shootout or go to the Boot Hill Museum. Instead, I contacted the Ford County Historical Society. They were closed, but I was led to the Kansas State archives and the basement of the Dodge City library.
Amongst the dozens of books chronicling the history of Kansas, there was virtually no mention of either of the two Concords in the state. However, the archivist, John, brought out three magnificent plat maps, each one older and more magnificent than the last. It was difficult to find which map was representing Concord Township in Ford County, since each page was unlabeled and not cross-referenced. However, I was able to deduce which maps represented Concord, and the effort was worthwhile. These maps tell so much in their own little ways. One can almost see the ambition of the early pioneers with their sections – 640 acres. Each section had a home or a barn or both.
Concord Township in Ford County, Kansas was laid out to have room for about 300 different parcels and most if not all had been claimed by 1887. Interestingly, there didn’t seem to be any churches in Concord Township, though a closer inspection might reveal some.. What I did find remarkable was the four separate schoolhouses. The modern Google Map showed only two places in Concord Township: a cemetery and a business, “Redneckedified Firearms”
It was a 20-minute drive into the heart of Concord in Ford County. I was greeted by an expanse of green, brown, and gray, extending to the horizon. The location of the cemetery was obvious: a strand of scraggly trees, regular enough to indicate that this was neither farmhouse nor farmland.
As I turned up a dusty road to the cemetery, there was a farm vehicle with spindly wings on the field to my right. We reached the corner of the cemetery similtaneously, him from a dusty field and me from the road. I jumped out and ran to the tractor, and the farmer must’ve been watching me since he made a U-turn and slowly came to a stop. He swung open his glass door, flipped down six seps from the cab and slowly approached me.
“Hi, my name is Rob.“
Bulky and bearded, with dark glasses and khaki shorts, Coby extended his big right paw. He and his father had owned over 1000 acres in Concord Township. He was irrigating his field while looking after his two young children. They remained cowering in the cabin of the irrigator. Coby had lived in Concord Township all his life. Again, like most people, Coby loved his home because of the people around him.
“What do I like best? You can see the sunrise and the sunset. The biggest change is - as you can see – the windmills.” Two-bladed wind turbines tower in clusters in select plots throughout the plains. Wind is the easiest crop to harvest.
I was struck by Coby’s warm demeanor and optimism. Unlike most farmers, Coby had no complaints about the weather or the government or China. He was appreciative of my project and not too eager to jump back up into the cab of his irrigator, so we chatted a while. It felt like a miracle that he had appeared out of nowhere and was standing here talking to me in Concord Township. The latest census of the area in 2000 reported only 160 people living in Concord, and I was with three of them.
“ Is there anything left in Concord except the cemetery?”
“ Not that I know of.”
“ Do you know where I can find the Redneckified Firearms?”
“ Never heard of it.”
I had run out of 2X Concord T-shirts so I gave him my last XL to squeeze into.
There were three sad untold stories in the cemetery: the little lamb grave marker from the early 1900’s, the freshly dug grave of a 16-year-old boy, and the dignified marker for “unknown. “ The last one triggered imaginings of hobo life on the rails in depression era Kansas.
I drove up and down all of the possible streets where The Redneckedified Firearms could exist, but as I searched Google maps on my phone, I saw such strange shapes denoted as water on the other side of the county. It clearly wasn’t a natural lake, so I figured it was worth checking out. When I opened the car, I was assaulted by the aroma of stale urine. At first, I couldn’t see the source, but then I saw the sign –” Dodge City Waste Treatment.“ I looked around for someone to talk to. There were a number of white pickup trucks, but the “TRESSPASSING FORBIDDEN” signs and the stench persuaded me to get back in my car.
I turned down a paved road and headed out of town. I passed a farm that looked like more than a farm. It had a warehouse and there were a couple of people milling around outside so I banged a u-turn and pulled in. By the time I parked, the lot was empty, but I wandered into the warehouse and chatted with Toby who worked there.
“ No, I don’t live in Concord, but my boss Jeremiah does. He’s inside, in the back office on the left.”
Jeremiah was seated amongst screens and stacks of paper. He was the fourth generation in his family to own this farm, and he gradually opened up and told me about the extended family’s multifaceted business. Not only did they grow the usual assortment of farm produce: corn, beans, and sorghrum, they also had 100 heads of cattle Tthe family also ran a feed business and an environmental remediation company with enterprises in Australia, and New Zealand.
Jeremiah kept a close eye on commodity prices.
“In the past, the price of corn would not change seven cents in a year, and nowadays it can change 40 cents in a week. The biggest problem we are facing is deteriorating commodity prices along with inflation.”
“We are in a semi-arid climate out here, so it takes a lot more land to produce. I’d say the average farm is 4-5000 acres.”
“I don’t knowmuch about the history around here. You should talk to my dad, but he’s out on the tractor with my kids. Maybe you should talk with Lane.” He called up his neighbor who took a little convincing to meet with me.
As I was heading to my car, I met Jeremiah’s sister Cammy. She is a co-owner along with her father and brother. “What do I like about living out here? It’s just about being able to have land. I can’t afford a place of my own anywhere else.”
I got in the car, then bounced back out again and headed back to Jeremiah’s office. “Do you know this company, “Redneckedified Firearms”?
“No, never heard of it.”
We used his computer to zoom in on Concord Township, and there it was, not far away, the Redneckedified Gun Shop. He zoomed in further and studied the farm outlined on the map.
“No, no you don’t want to go there. Do not go there.“
So I headed off to Lane’s house instead.
I retreated back down the road and through the gauntlet of sewage pits. Lane's farm was surrounded by tidy outbuildings, and a few old trees. I was greeted by a massive beast.I later learned it was a Spanish mastiff named Clyde. There was no sight of Lane or anyone else to call him off. It felt like a challenge. How eager was I to meet this reluctant stranger? I took a breath and opened the car door.
We had a good laugh when I realized what he meant was that he had started working full-time on the farm when he was eight years old. He loved basketball until he discovered girls. He took a school bus to a two-room schoolhouse a couple of miles down the road until they closed that and then Lane had to go into Dodge City. “I was the first one picked up in the morning and the last one dropped off. It was over an hour, so sometimes I intentionally missed the bus and then I would have to drive the pick-up to school. I was 13. I took the back roads, but the police didn’t really mind. My dad couldn’t take time off the tractor to drive me to school.”
“I have three hired men. I’m the fourth. I spend two hours a day just paying bills. I meet with my banker every week, sometimes over a beer.” I tried to steer the conversation away from politics, but immigration, the Chinese, gas prices, and inflation kept creeping back into our chat.
“If you voted for Biden, I’ll have to shoot you!” I responded with telltale silence.
What’s it like to have a farm around here?” I asked.
Well I have three hired men; I’m the fourth. I started around 8:00.” I wasn’t too impressed considering I had been up since 5:30 and farmers are notorious early risers. We had a good laugh when I realized what he meant was he started working full-time on the farm when he was eight years old. That broke the ice a bit.
Lane loved basketball until he discovered girls. He took a school bus to a two-room schoolhouse a couple of miles down the road until it closed and then he had to go into Dodge City. “I was the first one picked up in the morning and the last one dropped off. It was over an hour, so sometimes I intentionally missed the bus and then I would drive the pick up to school. I was 13. I took the back roads, but the police didn’t really mind. My dad couldn’t take time off the tractor to drive me to school.”
The conversation flowed in many directions, but mostly around the hardships he faced farming. He was proud of the fact that he was feeding the world with 80,000 bushel of wheat per year. He raised 150,000 bushels of corn and 60,000 bushels of “milo” a type of sorghum used in cattle, swine and chicken feed. It’s also used as sheetrock glue and vodka.
“We grow the finest quality wheat in the world. Each bushel of wheat can produce about 90 loaves of bread. I make only the cost of 1-½ loaves of bread with each bushel sold.”
I finished my diet Coke, and Lane walked me back to my car with Clyde by his side. “Yeah he was a rescue. Thanks for stopping by, and good luck with your travels.”
I had low expectations for my visit to tiny Concord Township in Ford County, Kansas, but I came away feeling much enriched having interviewed 4% of the population of the township. It was late afternoon and I faced an 8 hour drive to Concord, Missouri.