“See that? That’s a detassler. That’s how I almost killed myself. I tipped it over. Right after I got back from the Galapagos. I was happy I guess, wasn’t paying attention.”
His pumpkins are on display in front of a small cabin just outside of Reading, PA. To the left of the cabin is a stand with various squashes, gourds, and every type of pumpkin. Front and center, a can is labeled the “Honor system can,” for people to leave their money when Tim’s away. Considering he’s also a practicing lawyer, the stand goes unattended rather frequently. Unloading a trailer of several dozen potted mums, he says people go crazy for them. He buys them for a couple of bucks from a woman in town and flips them to passersby. The pumpkins are a different story, however. “Next few weeks we’ll see if I’m gonna break even…”
The 50-acre farm has been in Tim’s family since they emigrated from Germany in the mid-1700s. As he unloads, his mother and aunt show up to grab a few mums for the grave of an uncle who recently passed. The two ladies are quick to laugh, as Tim lightly teases them about the flowers and says they should be interviewed about the election, instead of him. “You should really interview my old man,” Tim says, with a chuckle, “That’d be a good one.” His father has Parkinson’s.
After the ladies depart, two young high schoolers, his employees, arrive to help mind the stand. “Always show up when the work’s done,” Tim jests, as we follow for a tour of the property in his truck.
There are four houses tucked behind the pumpkin stand and Tim’s law office. Next to those of his immediate family – mother, father, and an aunt and uncle – his home is the first stop on our tour. It has a pool, “Well, really, my wife has a pool,” he says, laughing. He hands over a couple of Yuenglings beers, and grabbing an iced tea for himself says, “I ain’t in the Tea Party, man. This is the only tea I drink.” He says he’s a teetotaler nowadays. His wife stops home briefly, says hello, and with a laugh, apologizes for her tie-dye shirt (it’s spirit week at the kids’ school). Later, Tim tells us she has stayed with him through good and bad, “I’m just real lucky,” he says.
Behind the bar in the basement is a collection of shot glasses that Tim collected from his travels. “We took an RV like yours up to the arctic circle,” he says. “By the time the kids were ten years old, I had ‘em in every state.” “I wouldn’t say I’m well traveled, just an advancement of my parents generation.” He says they were a product of the 50s, when just going the two hours to Jersey or New York City “was a big deal.” Tim doesn’t travel as much anymore, partly because he doesn’t feel as safe as he used to.
While touring the farm, Tim talks politics, farming, and the history of the land and the area. On the subject of 2016, Tim says, “We have, I think, a kook and a crook running.” Regarding Hillary’s “deplorable” comment, Tim asks, “Why are you offending people?” And on the other side, “Half of the things Trump says are stupid.” He talks about our dependence of fossil fuels: “I don’t want to ruin the environment, I’m a farmer. I just don’t think we have the technology yet to completely get away from these things.” On divisiveness in the current election: “Bush’s win in 2000 has set off a division in our country that has never been solved.” On privatizing social security: “I trust the American people more than I trust the government.” On GMO: “I’m a big believer of GMO, we could feed the world. There would be no starvation.” On Chief Justice Roberts upholding the Affordable Care Act: “He’s a traitor.” On gay marriage: “I don’t have a problem with any of that, but it’s thrown the whole system off kilter. The system isn’t set up for some of that.” On God: “There’s something that guides shit… and I’m not a religious freak.”
Tim likes to talk.
He’s hilarious, friendly, and knowledgeable. He drives us by several aqueducts that were built on his property in the 1800s — by German and Irish masons, as far as he can figure. He talks about the effect of planting GMOs; the damage avoided and the value retained; the price of sweet corn. “In an ideal world, we’d be getting $2,200 an acre.” We pass the broken detassler that pinned him to the ground – almost killed him – a few weeks back. Pointing to an underperforming patch of pumpkins, he says, “This is where the farmers would say ‘dumbass lawyer trying to grow pumpkins.’”
Tim loves California but hates Nancy Pelosi. He’s a self-described workaholic and had a heart attack two years ago. He was the first one in his family to go to college — he attended Temple. Walking his property and looking for artifacts relaxes him. “I’m really happy all the time, despite my demeanor,” he says. With the tour of the farm over, Tim takes us to his law office to meet his colleagues. In the office, at one point, Tim fishes a pen off of a desk, removes his shoe, and pops a nail out of its sole. He smiles in triumph.
Then he tells us to take a few pumpkins and gourds for the trip. Back at the stand, he reaches into the honor-system-can, pulls out a wad of bills, and says, “It’s like magic, I swear,” and then he wishes us well on our journey.
Tim plans on voting for Donald Trump in 2016.
Birdsboro, PA:
• Population: 5,150.
• Per capita income: $30,419.
• 93.6% white, 3.2% Latino, 1.5% two or more races, 1.3% Black.
• Percentage below poverty line: 10.6%.
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