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CLIMAX — It's still early in the morning when John Handler finds the chicken with the mangled leg.

It looks like maybe a raccoon managed to reach in the pen and grab the bird, which is lying under a feeder in the shade.

"I'm going to put him out of his misery," says the weatherbeaten farmer with a deep tan from spending day after day under the sun.

It's not the way Handler, who runs a farm just across the Randolph County line, wanted to start the day.

But in farming, you quickly learn you don't always have control. You take what you get.

Handler and Sharon Weatherly started operating the farm several years ago on land she inherited from her father, the last few pieces of what was once a massive tobacco farm her grandparents bought during the Great Depression.

Much of that farm is now a trailer park and a housing subdivision. But there's good soil on what's left, Handler says.

They operate their WeatherHand Farm as naturally as possible, avoiding chemical sprays and hormones in favor of organic fertilizers and pest control techniques.

Growing up, Handler was taught in agriculture classes that you had to get big or get out. Specialize. The notion of selling directly to consumers on a small scale wasn't seen as practical. But he's found the experts were wrong.

"This is what I think will save the small family farm," he says.

Good times and bad

The sun burns down on Handler's balding head as he walks toward his strawberry field.

This year, the berries cost more to put in the ground than they brought at the market. Now, it's time to rip out the plastic they grew from and till the field.

Handler wraps a blue bandanna around his head, which by midmorning is sweating in the July heat.

The disappointments sting. It's not like a bad investment decision. A mistake on the farm means months of sweat down the drain.

"Sometimes, really, you're not even making a minimum wage, if you count all the hours you put into it," he says.

Handler heads back to the singlewide trailer in a nearby clearing, where he rinses the caked-on layers of red dirt off of his hands, then fills a glass high with water.

He drinks it, then fills it a second time.

Five minutes later, he's headed out again. Handler isn't one for long breaks during the day.

In fact, he and Weatherly, who have lived together for more than a decade, rarely take time off. There's too much to get done, and the only other person who works on the farm is her sister, Sammie Ainsley.

He takes a few trips each year to go deep-sea fishing. He freezes the catch. They might go to the mountains for a day once in a while.

The rest of the time, they are tethered to the 7 acres they work each day.

Weatherly, whose long hair is streaked from the sun, says farming life can be stressful.

"Sometimes it's like, 'Why did I do this? Whose idea was this?' " she says.

But at other times, the farm can be its own reward.

"Listening to the birds sing and being out here in the sunshine and just doing what I want to do," Weatherly says. "Getting to sit down and eat ... after watching it grow from a seed, it's a nice feeling."

Growing relationships

Like a growing number of local farmers, they run a share program. In exchange for a lump sum at the start of the year, members receive a box of fresh produce each week.

The regulars know to walk behind the house to a small shed where Weatherly has their boxes ready. The visits are occasion for a few minutes of small talk, a quick break from farm work.

It's also a chance for their customers to get to know them, to see the farm for themselves. The idea is, it's not just a business deal. It's a relationship.

Steve Wolfe, a neighbor, walks up. He kids Weatherly about not working hard, then tells her he's been enjoying the tomatoes that have come in recently.

"I've probably eaten two sandwiches each night for the last week and a half," he says.

Recent food scares have eroded his faith in much of the food supply, Wolfe says. "I don't trust the groceries anymore. In a great country like this, why do we need to import food?"

Steroids? No. Substance? Yes.

It would be easier, Handler says, to use conventional farming methods. Instead, they stick with natural fertilizers and rarely use pesticide sprays, and then only those made from natural substances, not chemicals.

That means a cleaner product. That also means it can be more expensive and troublesome to get the plants to grow.

But that, again, is part of the point. Handler draws an analogy: Conventional agriculture is like steroids in sports.

"They look good, they grow bigger, but the substance isn't there," he says.

In contrast to the football field-length buildings used by corporate operations, their chicken house is about the size of a single-car garage. Inside are about 100 chickens, with plenty of room to walk around on the dusty floor.

They eat pure grain, rather than the feed containing animal protein used in corporate farms, and they have beaks. Because they have space to move, they don't peck at each other.

Once they turn about a month old, the chicks move out of the house and into a wire mesh pen that allows them to walk around in the grass. Each day, Handler hops in a dented Dodge Dakota and drags the pen a few yards forward into a new patch of ground.

"They get to live the life a chicken is intended to live," he says.

Dawn to dusk — and beyond

At the end of a typical day, Handler will spend the last few hours making calls for his chimney sweeping business, Ash Busters. He and Weatherly might catch the news before going to bed.

Some days start earlier or last later than others. On market days, both are up at 3:30 to feed the animals and get ready before heading out. On other days, they might stay out late to pick in the evening's cool.

"Sometimes it's 7 or 8 until dark-thirty," Weatherly says.

In many ways, they're still getting started. Each year, they hope to buy something new for the farm. A walk-in refrigerator is the plan for next year.

The big purchases take planning.

"You don't really do this to make a lot of money," Handler says. "It's more for the lifestyle."

Handler, who grew up on a farm, says food tastes better this way.

"I grew up my whole life hearing my parents talk about how good the chickens were when they grew up," he said.

Now, he knows.

Contact Jason Hardin at 373-7021 or jhardin@news-record.com