It was Halloween, late afternoon. The shadows were getting long. A farmer walked out to his pasture to check on his cows.

He was the last farmer in the land.

All alone. No other farmer left.

It was just him and his cows.

Every other farmer had been rung dry and bought out. Land sadly sold to ravenous developers. Costs too high - feed, equipment, seed - to do anything but. Despite warnings - there are only 1,200 acres of cropland remaining! - all the region's farmland had been paved over, townhome-d up and asphalted down.

Except his.  

This Halloween afternoon, like every other afternoon, the last farmer in the land walked over his fields, among his cows, and gazed off into the distance.

There, he'd whisper to himself, that was where Farmer Brown raised hogs. And over there, he'd point and whisper, was where Farmer Smith grew fruits and vegetables.

They're all gone now.

The cows mooed, as if understanding.

Then, the last farmer in the land would close the gate for the night.

The cows watched him leave.

That night, he ate his dinner (beef stew with potatoes), watched a game show (Ken, I'll take "World War II Poets" for $400), then, washed his plate and glass, brushed his teeth and climbed into bed to read (Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None).

Around midnight, he awoke, ramrod straight.

A knock at his door. A loud, erratic, scratchy knock, no noise he'd ever heard a human hand make.

He rustled out of bed, took the stairs two-at-a-time, flipped on the porch light. There, standing on his front porch, was one of his cows.

"Mooo-ve," the bovine said.

"Say again?" the farmer said.

"Mooo-ve," the bovine said.

"Once more?" the farmer asked. (He was hard of hearing.)

"MOOO-ve!" the bovine roared.

The cow got closer, closer. Hooves clop-climbing the porch steps, one at a time. The farmer could smell its breath. (Red clover, with a hint of ryegrass.)

"MOOO-VE!" the cow cried.

The cow got closer and closer. Almost to the door. Almost nose-to-nose with the farmer, who felt like the whole world was closing in.

"MOOO-VE!!!" ...

The farmer woke up.

Shaking his head, sweating, as his shaky hand reached for a sip of water, he realized: it was only a dream.

The next morning, the farmer finished his chores, then came back in for breakfast (two eggs, scrambled, toast, strawberry preserves.)

Sipping his coffee (black), he heard something off in the distance. It got louder. It was loud and erratic, no noise he'd ever heard a human make.

A rumbling noise that pulsated, it got closer, closer, as if the whole world was closing in.

It was the sound of engines, an army of bulldozers, coming his way, their throttled pitch sounding perfectly, ominously, like one word:

"Moooo-ve!"

The bulldozers were right outside his door.  

The End.

(Thank goodness.)

• For several months, we've had an in-house wager on whether or not I could write a decent Halloween story. Since you're thinking it, I'll go ahead and say it: I lost the bet.

Here's some good news to rebalance today's frighteningly poor post:

• This afternoon, the Main Street Farmers' Market hosts its annual Falltoberfest Halloween Market.

Face-painting. Live music from the incomparable Ukeladies. Boiled peanuts, caramel apples, pumpkin scones, dog costume contests, goats and baby ducks.

Enormous pumpkins from Roy Jones and Jones Farm. Guess the weight and win a Niedlov's gift card.

Plus, all the meat, vegetables, dairy and fruit you can imagine.

Like this cushaw squash, grown by Eric Hanson of Hissing Possum Farm.

It even makes a great costume.

After the market, head over to Unknown Caller for its Harry Potter World pop-up.

The Cherry Street joint has created a fabulously fun menu: Polyjuice Potion, The Golden Snitch, a Tri-Wizard Cup that serves two, even mocktails: Gillyweed, butter beer and one drink I must try: Dobby's a Free Elf.

A few updates ...

• Hamilton County leaders were told by a Nashville firm that developing McDonald Farm for industrial purposes was not in its best-use. This is good news for the many residents who envision the 2,000-acre farm has primarily agricultural, agri-tourism, a refuge from, well, the kind of development that plagued our poor Halloween farmer.
• In Walker County, Georgia, Duane Horton and Scenic Land Company removed a proposal for a firing range near Mountain Cove neighborhood, Camp Adahi and our friends at Circle S Farm. (See last Wednesday's post and Letty Smith's blog.)

The Walker County Planning Commission heard from concerned citizens last Thursday. Horton must wait six months before re-applying, according to DiscoverWalker.com, which also reported that every person who spoke was against the firing range.

• Our first Little Coyote + Food as a Verb Farm-to-Table Speaker Series sold out in less than 24 hours.

No worries. We're planning on offering more - probably every other month.

Plus, you can still see Brooks Lamb - author, educator and American Farmland Trust's Land Protection and Access Specialist - earlier that day.

Thrive Regional Partnership is hosting its annual Tri-State Summit, which gathers leaders from across the region to provide tools, connections and resources for responsible growth.

At 10:30 am on Nov. 14, Brooks will join a panel of local leaders to discuss farmland loss.

• We're announcing a new name for our Wednesday column. Inspired by a conversation with our friend Julian Kaufman, we settled on ... Leftovers.

Julian suggested we call it avanzati, Italian for leftovers. I like that, too. Leftovers always have that special taste. Not as good as the first meal, but in some weird way, also better.  

• Finally, we want to end with a proper Halloween short story. This one comes from 1948, when Frederic Brown wrote an early piece of flash fiction weighing in at two sentences.

The last man on Earth sat alone in the room.

There was a knock at the door.

Food as a Verb, he definitely wins the bet.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Story ideas, questions, feedback? Interested in partnering with us? Email: david@foodasaverb.com

This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.