Written by J. Mitchell Brown
Photgraphy by Donna Huffman

y grandfather was a rich man --filthy, stinking rich. I never knew how rich he was until about last year when I started my own company. It all makes sense to me now.

My maternal grandfather, “Papa,” as he was known to his grandchildren, grew up on the same farm he died on. The farm, not massive by any stretch of the imagination, was called Four Oaks, named as such for the four naturally grown oak trees that grew next to the original family farm house that sat in the middle of the land. God planted those oak trees in such a fashion that the base of each one was equidistant from the other and formed a perfect square of trees. The trees died of old age and were removed in the late 1800’s and in 1900 my Papa’s grandfather planted four tiny oak trees in the same holes that the originals stood. Today, some 108 years later, those second-generation oak trees tower over the same farmhouse that my great-great-grandfather was born in.

In my childhood, the farm had dwindled in size and been sold off over time, where it only consisted of several dozen acres of land on the outskirts of Lexington. The land had been split up and parceled out to the brothers in the family. Our family owns only a portion of what’s left of some King’s Grant land that was given to my ancestors generations ago.

Papa was just a boy of sixteen when his father dropped him off at the foot of Tillman Hall at Clemson College, then a military institute. He studied agricultural education at Clemson and graduated in 1938. From there, Papa joined the Army and this farm-boy suddenly found himself in strange lands like Baltimore and California.

After serving his country, Papa returned to South Carolina to teach agriculture in Kershaw County. The pull of the farm was too strong, however, and he returned to Lexington and continued teaching agriculture to war-weary Veterans in night classes.

His parents gave him a strong, history filled name, as was the custom in previous generations of our family. Papa, formally named Francis Tillman Mathias, Jr., was named after South Carolina’s own Swampfox, Francis Marion and Benjamin Tillman. (Incidentally, I have a cousin who continues with that tradition as Francis Tillman Mathias, IV, but I think it may be the end of the line for that name-chain.)

Papa lived a life as strong as his name. He had an entrepreneurial spirit and the work ethic of a Trojan. But he never invented anything. He never made millions, being the first out of the gate with the next wave of world-changing technology. But, he was rich. I tell you what, that man was rich.

After teaching the Veteran classes, Papa and his father and brothers opened a feed and seed store in Lexington. Sort of like the Bluffton Scott family, the Matthias’s were since “forever” the proprietors of the local grocery store. The first Mathias grocery market started through Papa’s grandfather, and then his father. The feed and seed store was a natural extension of that.

Papa never had a huge desire (that I’m aware of) to venture too far away from his home. As such, the feed store was only several hundred yards away from his house. But even that was too far and the brothers eventually tired of the commute and built a new feed store within steps of Papa’s home. It was about that time that they began breeding Berkshire hogs and doing some farming in earnest and opened up a country store to sell their vegetables and meats. (Picture Cahill’s market some 75 years ago.)

This was the life my grandfather led until he retired some couple of dozen or so years ago. Doesn’t sound like the glamorous life of a rich man does it? But he was. Great day, if I could be that rich!

The original brothers have all died now and the sons of those brothers, and their sons below them, continue the legacy. There’s a small part of me, which misses being a daily part of things at the farm.

After Papa “retired” – and by retired I mean he didn’t walk the 130 feet from his house to the store every day – he didn’t just sit at his breakfast table counting cars in the parking lot. He still got up every day before 5 AM, fried some sausage or ham and had a cup of his Folgers, and went to work. But now, instead of cutting pork chops or curing hams, he went back to his roots, so to say, and began growing vegetables in earnest.

Papa had forever had some pots of things growing outside of his house, or in the field, and when he was in his 60s he built a 100-foot long greenhouse and proceeded to fill it from stem to stern with vegetable plants grown from seed. He never really didit, I don’t think, with the intention of starting a business, but he couldn’t just sit there and be idle. He was RE-tired, not tired. Well, word got out about his plants and the people began to come in droves. They came to get tomato plants for their gardens. The came to get broccoli, cantaloupe, cucumbers, watermelons, peppers. The vegetables caught on so good that he decided he’d try some bedding plants. And then the people came for geraniums, begonias, petunias, and portulaca, just to name a few.

Papa never meant for all that to happen. He just enjoyed being out there before the sun came up and playing in the dirt. And then the people were there buying his plants and he enjoyed meeting them. And then at the end of the day, he enjoyed watering his plants, sipping his Old Milwaukee, and reflecting on the blessings that God had bestowed upon him.

Later, after the sun would go down, he would enjoy about 5 more of those Old Milwaukee’s, read the Book of Psalms in the Bible, and rack down for the night. And tomorrow would be the same routine.

Like I said earlier, Papa could work like a Trojan and did, but he did it for the love of the work, not the chase of some dream. He never set out in his retirement
years to begin a nursery business that would still be thriving long after he was gone. But it happened that way. And as a result, he never lacked anything. He was fulfilled. He was happy. And as such, he was rich beyond his wildest dreams, though you might not have been able to tell it from reading his bank statements.

I’ve always sought solace in my gardens. It is there I have a place to reflect on the lessons I have learned in life and the ones I have yet to learn. I spend much of my time reflecting on my relationship with Papa and his simple, yet refined, way of living. I’ve finally figured some things out. Not the least of which is I am in want of nothing.

And now I’m working at something I love to do and something that enhances that same entrepreneurial, hard working and creative spirit that I inherited from my grandfather. And using his life as a guide, I know that I’ll forever have everything I’ll ever need.

As I water my gardens in the evening, I catch my self smiling. I feel the changes happening in my life. I feel closer to one of the men I admire most in my life. I feel the burden of chasing things for the sake of progress being lifted from my shoulders.

I might even have to start drinking Old Milwaukee beer like my Papa,because, as the commercial goes, “It don’t get any better than this.”