It’s by far one of the most entertaining days I’ve had covering Calhoun County for The Journal. The intended subject of the feature story was remarkable on its own, but Brittian Conley provided so much more.
It was 2005 and someone had suggested to me I should do a story on Mr. Conley, if he would let me, suggesting he has a unique method for growing some of the best tomatoes you will ever taste.
He didn’t have a phone but several had offered directions to help me find his home so I drove down one sunny, summer morning and found the markers along the gravel road I had been told about between the Horsepen Community and Bradford Chapel near the Calhoun-Grenada county line.
Pulling in the driveway I knew I was in the right place as I could see a maze of tomato plants seemingly 8-feet high in every direction. I stepped onto the front porch and the door was open with just a screen door closed. A big pair of rubber boots sat by the front door. I knocked on the door frame and Mr. Conley emerged from the darkness of the house and approached the screen door.
His appearance was striking. Despite his 85 years, Mr. Conley had the build of a professional boxer. He was bare-chested, bare footed wearing a pair of old, faded jeans. His gray beard and hair shot out from his head as if it was electrically charged. He reminded me of the pictures of Fredrick Douglas in the history books – the one time slave who became an abolitionist leader.
As he stepped to the door, with a stern look on his face he shouted, “Who are you? What do you want?”
I explained I was from The Journal and was interested in learning about his tomatoes. His demeanor changed.
“I can do that,” he said. He threw on a shirt, without buttoning it at all. Dropped a red cap on top of his head and stepped out the screen door into those rubber boots. He led me into his vast garden where tomato plants were planted in every kind of bucket and barrel imaginable. A spider web of garden hoses and PVC pipes ran through all the plants for his unique watering system. He had more than 3,000 plants on the 10-acre farm explaining he just loves to see them grow.
“I love to work with them and share them with other people,” he said. “I sell some to get my money back, but I give lots away for friendship.”
His farm was purchased by his grandfather Jimmy Conley. He said his grandfather purchased more than 100 acres of flood land for 50 cents an acre. The land was eventually divided up among the 10 children. Conley was still living in the old house his parents, James and Maude Alice McCain Conley, lived in.
Conley explained the container system produces bigger, healthier tomatoes, but it does require more water than planting in the ground. His ingenious watering system was a product of his 23-year Navy career where he became proficient in pipe work.
“I did some work laying pipe with civilians around Norfolk, Virginia,” Conley said.
He joined the Navy right out of high school and was aboard the USS Shaw (DD-373) in Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked.
Conley said the USS Shaw was raised out of the water in the floating dry dock, which caused it to attract the unwelcome attention of several dive bombers.
“I guess I was lucky to survive,” Conley said.
Conley was meticulous about everything he did.
“I learned in the military how to do it right the first time and it will be there forever,” he said.
Our tour lasted a couple hours with breaks for a Navy story or for him to explain in detail the intricacies of growing tomatoes from how far apart they must be planted, exactly how much water they need, and the best time to pick them. I was enthralled.
As we walked he filled a 5-gallon bucket with tomatoes he picked with every few steps. He just kept carrying the overflowing bucket with one hand as if it were nothing. I wondered if I could even pick it up. I found out later when he gave it to me to take home.
I explained my yard is mostly shaded but even in the sun I’ve never been very skilled at growing tomatoes.
“They seem simple to grow, but every plant’s a stranger,” Conley said. “You never really know them.”
We were walking back toward the house when he invited me to stay for lunch. I would have stayed for supper to hear more of his stories. Before we got to the house he said, “Wait, come in here and let me show you something.”
We stepped inside a small storage shed with a dirt floor. There was a big kiddie pool, like you would buy for a toddler at the dollar store, filled with muddy water in the corner. He reached down in it with both hands and lifted up a giant Alligator Snapping Turtle. The shell alone must have been three feet across. It’s head snapped from side to side and legs were kicking as Mr. Conley just laughed.
“I pulled it out of the creek yesterday,” he said.
“What are you going to do with that?” I asked.
“Eat it,” he said matter-of-factly.
I spent around six hours at Mr. Conley’s house that day. On the drive back to Bruce, all I could think about was I have the best job in the world.