The Story of Falling Molly’s Farm

In Four Acts

Act One

There was a man and woman who fell in love.  They fell deeply, a freefall dance into the heart of Love.  They barely could breathe because the fall was so fast and terrifying and exhilarating.  They had never free fallen like that before.

The man had jumped head first into Love long ago and was shattered as he hit ground. Slowly he reconstructed himself.  And he built a tough outer shell to protect his heart.  Should he ever choose to fall again, he knew he would be safe.

The woman had flown on air currents, tussled with tornadoes and tamed them early on in her “falling in love” life.  Her love fall had mellowed into a gentle float. But life threw a heart shattering loss into her story.  She wept through years of grief because she had lost her Love.  And then she carried her mushy, yet heavily scarred heart out into the world – open to trying Love again.

The man and woman met on a bridge on a Saturday night in eastern Virginia. He broke open his outer shell and met her with total confidence that she was the one he begged God for a week prior. She walked out onto the bridge with a wide open chest, looking for all life had to offer. And so the whirlwind, the plunge, the spill, a stumble tumble plummet, the ultimate love wipe-out happened to them.

Two people, in the last third of their lives found Love.

And then the woman told the man about a dream she had, a dream of a small bit of land with a bubbling creek and a camper for weekend getaways… 

Act Two

When the woman met the man, she was not totally aware of his propensity for living life to the fullest. She had seen some minor incidents of this large living. Then she said that thing.

You see, the woman was a country gal at heart. Through a series of both misfortunate and positively serendipitous events, she had landed in the city of Portsmouth, Virginia with the man. They lived in a small house on a postage stamp sized lot. The woman felt claustrophobic. She needed land, air, clouds.  She craved trees to sit under, creeks to dabble in, and tall grasses to watch dancing.

She asked, “Do you think we could find an acre of land somewhere?  We could take the grandkids out there to camp on the weekends and have a campfire and play in the creek!”

The man went searching for this place for her. The flat, swampy land of eastern Virginia, with pine trees standing guard, was not the acre they were looking for.  The majestic mountains that the woman had called home for years was just too cold and snowy.  Then they heard about an auction in central Virginia with several tracts for sale. Off they went to peruse the land.

One particular tract was just what they were looking for. It was far more land than an acre. It had rolling hills, huge trees, and a blue vista full of cotton candy clouds. On the east side of the property was a creek– Mollie’s Creek. The northern boundary of the tract was the Falling River. It had an old desperate house sitting on a knoll, nestled between ancient walnut trees. It was exactly what they were looking for.  As the man and woman drove around, the man announced with great gravity and clarity, “This is going to be our farm –Falling Mollie’s Farm” (named after the creek and river that held the land on two sides).

And that could have been the perfect ending to this dreamy story.

But … an old, gravel-voiced millionaire, a tobacco tycoon, a silver haired man that had it ‘all’ bought every tract at the auction. ‘All’ wasn’t enough for his greedy soul. He snapped 1153 acres up and proceeded to rape the land by razing all the timber.  The verdant pastures and acres of elms and oaks became a desolate wasteland.

The man and woman did not get Falling Mollie’s Farm that day in May of 2018. The man was devastated. The woman knew the dream would still happen one day…

Act Three

A couple of months later the man and woman found a new place.  The old house, built on or before 1850, was nestled in a hollow. The woman walked in and knew this was home. The ancient wood floors smiled warmly at her.  The beautiful mantles called her name. The well-worn newel post invited her up the stairs.

And then they drove around the land. They drove down to Hat Creek and watched water rush over stones and slide along curved banks. They drove through meadows, lush and green. The sky hung over them, heavy with rain clouds. The silence pressed down on them like a warm, soft blanket.  The woman knew deep within that this was a place of grace and peace for her and her city guy.

And so, they bought the land and house and kept the name Falling Molly’s Farm.  Even though the reasons for naming the first farm no longer held sway, “falling” had become a theme in the man and woman’s lives together. They fell in love. Their wedding song included the lyrics “I can’t help falling in love with you”. The deal on the first farm had fallen through.

But, “Sometimes when it looks like things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place.” Everything fell into place. The man and woman moved to Falling Molly’s Farm in December 2018.

Act Four

The man, Mark, and the woman, me, have been living here close to 5 years now. In July of 2022, Mark and I started a flower farm. That is a new story that needs to be told. But as of today, Mark and I are living our dream.  We have been blessed with a piece of land, Falling Molly’s Farm, that welcomes people.

People, whether it be family members coming for the first time, delivery drivers, contractors, or termite inspectors, drive down the long driveway.  They emerge from their vehicles and look around, as if in a trance and say in a quiet, reverent voice, “Wow! This is beautiful down here.  You’d never know this was here.”  

Mark and I didn’t know… but now that we have found our farm, we have chosen to make it available to all pilgrims seeking peace, a quiet place to picnic, a beautiful field to take pictures in, or a gorgeous farm to pick bouquets at.  We await the arrival of all of you who need a place to have things “fall into place.”

© 2023 Falling Molly’s Flower Farm

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