The Abandoned Farmers: His Humorous Account of a Retreat from the City to the Farm

In Short

Irvin S. Cobb’s comedic memoir details the misadventures of a city dweller attempting to buy, renovate, and run a rural property in Westchester County, New York. Moving from urban life to a wild plot of land, the narrator faces an endless array of uncooperative contractors, predatory antique sellers, useless well-diggers, and unreliable hired help. Alongside a neighborhood of fellow "amateur husbandmen," he quickly discovers that the quiet life of a gentleman farmer is an expensive, chaotic illusion. The work endures as a lighthearted, deeply relatable satire on the timeless urge to flee the city for a romanticized countryside.

The Story

Driven by a desire to escape the cramped routines of New York City and its suburbs, the narrator and his wife set off to buy a quiet rural haven. Imagining peaceful afternoons on an idyllic abandoned farm, they quickly learn that real estate in Westchester County offers only two options: properties that are hopelessly out of their financial reach, or cheap plots that are utter ruins. Eventually settling on a overgrown piece of land dominated by decades of thick brush and a dilapidated house, their romantic dream immediately collides with reality.

The physical labor of clearing the land proves monumental, requiring a crew of workers and horses just to hack through the jungle of thorny underbrush. Soon after, the couple is inducted into the "Westchester County Despair Association," an informal fraternity of city-bred transplants founded by their neighbor George Creel. Members of this club share a common bond of agrarian failure, commiserating over dry wells, burnt silos, dying blooded livestock, and useless home improvement projects.

Building and renovating the farmhouse brings its own set of absurd challenges. Enthusiastic acquaintances and aggressive builders insist on absurd architectural additions, declaring that no modern home can possibly function without a clear "vista through" or multiple sun parlors. Managing the project becomes a battle against creeping scope, ballooning costs, and endless delays. Furnishing the residence turns out to be equally perilous; the narrator and his wife fall hopelessly under the spell of Fifth Avenue auction houses, competing frantically against other obsessive buyers to purchase overpriced Italian antiques and obscure artifacts they neither need nor fully understand.

The practical realities of country living present one crisis after another. Water management becomes a primary headache. After an initial spring abundance of gushing runoff fools them into expecting an endless supply, the streams dry up by late summer. Desperate for a steady source, they consult local well-borers who charge by the foot with zero guarantees, scoffing at the neighborhood "water witch" and his magical peach-tree divining rod. To make matters worse, an overly eager local pessimist nicknamed "Old Major Gloom" drops by constantly to deliver unsolicited advice and predict immediate catastrophe for every new project they attempt.

Despite every setback—from the revolving door of incompetent hired help to the exorbitant cost of trying to outdo neighboring farmers in blooded livestock and high-tech dairy equipment—the narrator remains hopelessly hooked. The book concludes on a triumphant, self-aware note: though the financial strain is relentless and the labor never ends, neither he nor his fellow urban transplants would ever trade their chaotic rural acres to return to the life of a city apartment dweller.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins Weary of twelve years spent shuffling between Manhattan and dull commuter suburbs, the narrator sets off to hunt down a classic, low-cost abandoned farm in the nearby countryside. Instead of quiet pastures, he encounters clueless locals, misguiding road maps, overpriced estates, and real estate options that range from impossibly expensive to completely uninhabitable.

Clearing the wilderness After securing an overgrown plot in Westchester County, the new owners hire a crew of men and horses to hack away decades of wild thorny underbrush. During this chaotic land-clearing phase, they are introduced to their neighbor's "Despair Association," a club for city-bred amateurs whose farming ambitions inevitably end in dry wells, dead livestock, and burnt silos.

Constructing the dream Attempting to renovate the existing structures and design a home, the narrator finds himself at the mercy of enthusiastic advisors and an overly patient architect. Builders force absurd features onto the blueprint—such as a mandatory "vista through" and multiple sun parlors—while the budget swells and construction proceeds at a glacial pace.

The auction obsession To fill their future home, the couple descends into the high-stakes world of urban auction rooms, developing a full-blown mania for antique bidding. They spend endless afternoons competing against fanatical strangers for Italian brocades and carved furniture, accumulating crates of costly decorative items that end up stored in the attic.

The search for water When their lush spring stream dries up completely in the summer heat, the household faces a severe water shortage. Rejecting the mystical methods of a local "water witch," the narrator hires a cynical, noncommittal well-digger who charges by the foot to drill deep holes into the rock with no guarantee of hitting a stream.

Lessons in livestock and help Navigating local rivalries, the narrator explores neighboring farms where wealthy owners spend fortunes on pedigree cows with elaborate genealogies and expensive cream separators. After trying to manage a constantly shifting staff of eccentric hired hands, the couple accepts the humorous reality that they are landed suckers who will never return to city life.

The People

• The Narrator: A witty, self-deprecating city dweller who longs for a simpler life on the land. He wants to construct an affordable, peaceful country home, but his gullibility, lack of agricultural knowledge, and tendency to get carried away by absurd trends leave him at the mercy of contractors, antique sellers, and local busybodies. He ultimately embraces his identity as an enthusiastic, hopelessly hooked amateur.
• The Narrator's Wife: A supportive partner who joins wholeheartedly in the agrarian venture. She shares her husband's intense obsession with bidding on antique home furnishings at city auctions, though she occasionally suffers the consequences of overzealous purchases, such as lugging unwanted crates around. She strikes the first official shovel of dirt to break ground on their new home.
• George Creel: A local neighbor and the perpetual president of the Westchester County Despair Association. He represents the voice of experience among suburban transplants, organizing a community of fellow city refugees who find solace in bonding over their shared agricultural disasters.
• Old Major Gloom: An elderly neighboring resident who makes a habit of visiting the narrator's property uninvited. He acts as a relentless harbinger of bad news, constantly offering unsolicited warnings, criticizing ongoing improvements, and predicting inevitable failure for every new project on the farm.
• The Well-Borer: A profoundly cynical, noncommittal contractor hired to drill for water on the property. Armed with thirty years of experience, he refuses to make any promises about finding water, happily billing the narrator by the foot regardless of whether the drill yields a gushing geyser or a dry, expensive hole.

In Its Own Voice

"If he builds a fine silo and promptly it burns down on him, as so frequently happens--silos appear to have a habit of deliberately going out of their way in order to catch afire--he joins automatically."

The narrator explains the automatic qualifications for entering the local club of failed city-bred husbandmen.

"Under the spell of his eloquence and compelling personality, I had already decided that first we would build a vista through, and then after that if any money was left we would sort of flank the vista through with bedrooms and a kitchen..."

Describing how easily pushy advisors talk him into absurd, non-essential architectural additions during house planning.

"...none of us would give up the pleasures of a landed proprietor's lot--the word landed being here used to imply one baited, hooked and caught; i.e., a landed sucker--for the life of a flat dweller again."

Summarizing the enduring affection he and his neighbors feel for their expensive, highly impractical countryside lifestyle.

What It's Really About

Beneath its observational humor, the book skewers the romantic American dream of escaping urban stress by buying a country place. It examines the deep friction between nostalgic idealism and practical reality, showing how city dwellers often project their romantic fantasies onto a countryside that is demanding, costly, and completely unconcerned with their comfort. The narrative also explores the absurdities of consumerism and social status, mocking how quickly newcomers fall prey to competitive hobbies like collecting antique furniture, breeding pedigree livestock, or installing high-tech farm gadgets. Ultimately, it asks why people willingly endure financial loss and endless physical frustration just to feel a sense of ownership over a patch of earth.

Why Read It Today

This book will appeal to anyone who has ever dreamed of abandoning city life to fix up a old house in the country, as well as fans of classic American humor and observational memoirs. Irvin S. Cobb writes with a brisk, conversational cadence, filling every chapter with sharp comic timing, witty hyperbole, and lighthearted satire.

The reading experience is smooth and accessible, though modern readers should be aware of a few period-specific hurdles. Cobb's style relies on lengthy, winding sentences and decorative vocabulary typical of early 20th-century journalism. Readers will also encounter dated cultural stereotypes and light ethnic caricatures when the text describes local laborers, antique dealers, and service workers.

Despite these period artifacts, the central premise remains fresh and surprisingly modern. The absurdities of home renovation, unexpected contractor fees, competitive neighborly rivalries, and impulse shopping are as relevant today as they were a century ago. It leaves the reader with a warm appreciation for human stubbornness and the joy found in embracing one's own chaotic mistakes.