WHILE THE fields no longer stretch unbroken to the horizon, what remains is rooted deep. The land carries the weight of generations — hands that cleared the first fields, feet that walked familiar paths, lives shaped by war, drought, and the steady rhythm of harvest. The past is pressed into the soil. It’s in the worn path to the barn, the house built with a soldier’s wages, and in the names etched into weathered headstones. Though time has divided the land, its hold has never loosened. Seasons pass, but one family’s commitment to the land remains steadfast.
Today, Gary Damron raises cattle and tends the land that remains in his hands, just as his great-grandfather Charlie, grandfather Fred, and father Alwayne did before him. Across the way, his second-cousins, Barbara Damron Stovall and her sister, Anna Damron, carry forward the legacy of their grandfather, Phon, and father, Giles — the first women in the family to own and farm what had always been passed from father to son. Their sister, Brenda Damron Hutto, owns yet another portion of the property, all of which is part of a land grant that first entered the family in 1809 when Joseph Damron and his son John arrived in what would become Lincoln County.
Back then, there was no town, no paved road — just an old Native American trail running through what would become their farm. Stones turned up by plows were stacked at field edges — arrowheads and grindstones rising to the surface like reminders, as if the land remembered who had come before. The Damrons built homes, buried their dead on a quiet rise, and gave land for a church that stood until the Depression.
It’s a history Gary still feels when he walks the land. “I was on the hill looking off at those bottoms of the farm and wondered what my ancestors thought, looking at this same ground,” he said. “I love this farm, and I love farming, as hard and uncertain as it is at times. It’s been a good life and a way to raise my family.”
Barbara knows how much was poured into the land before it ever reached her hands. “I just feel so happy to have this that my parents and grandparents and five generations of family before me worked so hard for, raised their families, and made their living on. I’m so proud of all of them and grateful for them.”
Anna, who still lives on the land, carries the stories and the spirit of those who came before. “I have lived on this farm all my life and feel blessed every day to have had my parents and grandparents for so much of that time. I love their stories about farming this land and the life lessons I learned from them and their lives here.”
While Gary, Barbara, and Anna press the present into the soil, the seeds of the future lie waiting. With the quiet strength their family has always known, the Damrons will tend this land until the deeds no longer bear their names. Even then, the land will remember — its roots intertwined beneath the soil of time, whispering their stories to all who will listen. Stewardship is not ownership, but a sacred trust — one that lives in stories, in soil, and in soul. GN
