My grandson read the paper over the phone twice, then said, Grandma, dont sign anything, Im driving down tonight, and when he got here he set it on the kitchen table and said, they cannot build a thing on this ridge, because Grandpa protected it forever in 1998.
The developer in flip-flops called Otiss orchard a vibe and told me it was perfect for luxury tiny homes, that the county had approved short-term rentals all around me, that my little cider press would not make it.
He did not know what Otis kept in the back of the cider ledger.
In the back cover of the ledger, in a pocket Otis made from an envelope, was a conservation agreement he signed with a government agency in 1998, permanent, with one line highlighted about any future owner, which means this orchard can never be developed, subdivided, or turned into a glamping resort, no matter who owns it.
Otis built the cider press house stone by stone and ran it every October for the whole county, and he was no fool about what people would someday want to do with a pretty ridge. In 1998 he put the orchard under a permanent conservation agreement and kept it in the ledger, and my grandson, in law school at UT, read it and knew exactly what it meant.
A permanent conservation agreement binds any future owner. The developer could put Airbnbs on three sides and it would change nothing, because the orchard itself can never be built on, not by him, not by anyone, ever.
When the developer came back, I did not argue. My grandson handed him a copy of the 1998 agreement, the any future owner line highlighted, and said, you liked the cider. Have another cup. But this orchard is under a permanent conservation agreement. You cannot build a single tiny home on it. Ever. Take your resort to a ridge my grandfather didnt protect.
He had a second cup of cider, because that is how Otiss cider works, and then he left, and the ridge is safe forever. My grandson and I still run the press every October, and the whole county still comes.
Well get this ridge one way or another, he told me. He would not, because Otis got it first, in 1998, and highlighted the words any future owner so that a widow and a grandson in law school could stop a glamping resort with one line on one page.