THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, September 6, 1995 TAG: 9509020160
SECTION: ISLE OF WIGHT CITIZEN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Linda McNatt
LENGTH: Medium: 78 lines
In the shade of trees, on a hot, summer afternoon, Jesse Stephenson turned a large plastic pail upside down, wiped his brow, set aside the metal walking stick he uses and plopped.
``Wheeee,'' he said, chuckling. ``I can't do all the things I want to do, but I can do a few things. And if I didn't have this to do . . . ''
Stephenson shook his head and sighed.
He had just finished feeding an assortment of ducks, geese, birds and a large family of black goats he keeps on his six Surry County acres. While the geese ate from Stephenson's hands, the goats nibbled corn and grain at his feet.
``I always have been an animal person. When I was growing up, the rest of the family never understood why I always had to have something under my feet.''
Stephenson hasn't always been blind. That happened in the late 1970s, when the Portsmouth native was working for the government and found out he had glaucoma. The disease took his eyesight quickly. By the time he retired, in 1979, he was already near blind.
Stephenson, now 71, was still living in the city then. But things had changed since he was a child. When he was growing up, the eldest of six children, there were no restrictions against having animals in a residential neighborhood.
So Stephenson, even though the rest of his family never thought much of it, kept the back yard filled with critters of every description.
``If you had a yard, you could have a dog. You could have chickens. You could have goats. I've always been country-minded. I don't think the rest of my family ever understood me.''
So when he retired, Stephenson took his country-minded self, his wife and the remainder of his five children still living at home and moved to the country. He settled first in Carrollton. It wasn't far enough out. Neighbors complained about the squawking, honking and barking.
That's when he found his Surry hideaway, at the end of a long dirt road with ruts large enough to lose a vehicle.
Stephenson chuckled again.
``You don't come down this road unless you know what you're doing. Somebody's gonna' watch you turn over.''
Stephenson likes the solitude. He likes the company of his animals and the small assortment of animal-loving friends he's made since he made the move.
His collection includes unusual chickens, ducks of every variety - ring teals, mandarins, wood ducks, Faubis tree ducks (they actually sit in trees) - geese, dove, pheasant. Add to that the dogs: a friendly, white mongrel that looks somewhat like a sheep dog; a basset hound; a beagle; and the two little, long-eared offspring of the basset hound and the beagle.
And, of course, the goats. Always the goats.
Despite his blindness, Stephenson can describe each of the feathered friends. He says he remembers what they look like from having poured through poultry catalogs when he still had his sight.
Now, he equips each of the goats with bells so he knows where they are all the time. He makes his way around the mini-farm by holding onto a rope he has running the confines of the animal lot. Or he taps familiar landmarks with his metal stick as he passes each one.
When Stephenson first moved to Surry, a friend made a wooden sign for his driveway entrance. It reads: ``Stephenson's Duck Town.'' Like everything else around the spread, the sign faded as Stephenson's sight faded.
But his enthusiasm for living in the county, and his love for his animal friends, hasn't dimmed at all.
Sometimes he gets up in the middle of the night and wanders around the tiny animal farm.
``Don't make no difference to me if it's 3 o'clock in the morning,'' he chuckled. ``It's gonna' be dark anyway.''
And Jesse Stephenson wouldn't be anywhere else. He's a man who loves the country. ILLUSTRATION: Photo by LINDA McNATT
Jesse Stephenson feeds his ducks, geese, birds and black goats.
by CNB