F E AT U R E S
SALT OF THE EARTH As a sixth-generation farmer, Fred Greer set out long ago to leave the land better than he found it. His life and career may have taken many unexpected twists and turns, but the 6-foot-3 Southern gentlemen never strayed far from his roots. by NAT HARWELL I have always loved the land. As a social studies teacher in one of my lives, my favorite pursuit was to study geography in magazines like National Geographic, reference books like Encyclopedia Britannica, atlases, contour relief maps and now Google Maps via the Internet. As a Boy Scout, I was taught to “pack out your trash” and to “leave the campsite better than you found it,” along with many other invaluable teachings. Growing up in the Deep South, my favorite time of year was the dead of winter. That was when I could actually see the hills and the lay of the land and clearly follow water’s course, as the summertime foliage no longer obscured the view. A couple decades ago, I wrote a newspaper column in which I talked about the different sound the wind makes as summer departs and autumn announces its arrival. I had been sitting on an eastern Newton County hillside near the Charlie Elliot Wildlife Center wondering what to write, and I heard that distinctive sound of the wind rattling the leaves. That sound and the slant of the sun in the late afternoon—it brings an ethereal yellow-orange glow, almost like a fog—inspired the column. It came as a soothing balm the following week when I took a phone call from a fellow by the name of Fred Greer. He told me the column really spoke to him, which led to our having lunch together and launching a lasting friendship. I knew before we met that there had to be something special about someone who would call me out of nowhere, and I could not wait to see what manner of man would be so appreciative of a few hundred words expressing a love for the land.
14 The Newton Community Magazine
