The old farmers sat down to eat sandwiches and ice tea on the picnic table.   The table had been placed in front of the Victorian house by the youngest in the group that had gathered at the old homeplace.  The house was surrounded by older buildings and pastures with grazing cattle.  The surrounding Blue Ridge Mountains provided a peaceful backdrop. 

The farmers  ate in silence  until one man suddenly thought of something important to share.

   "Got a call the other night from that Florida developer. He wants me to brush hog his land."

   "So,  that subdivision's not going to be built?"

   "Nope, guess not."

   "What about that gate?   What did you say he  paid to have that built?"

    "$10,000."

    "$10,000!  What's it made of-gold?"

    " No--just fieldstone pillars with a wrought iron gate--very fancy."

     "Makes no sense to me--you can buy a perfectly good metal gate for $70 down at  Tractor Supply."

The farmers shook their heads.   They sat in silence  contemplating such foolishness as they ate  pecan pie that had been prepared that morning by one of the farmer's wives.  The first farmer speaks up again.

    "What really burns me up about the whole deal is this.  That guy paid $12,000 an acre for the land.  The last few years it's been that way--developers buying up land at ridiculous prices."

    "Yep, that's right.  Then, our land gets reassessed at those high prices and then we get higher real estate taxes.  It's  getting so we can't afford to farm no more."

    "Well, maybe that's one good thing about the economy.  It's put a stop to  that nonsense." 

   "For now anyway."