THE DRIVE TO KEEP ON FARMING

BY MATT PACENZA

DAILY RECORD

3:43 P.M. HILLVIEW FARMS

It's the last farm in Long Hill Township, and he is tired.

Tired of waking before dawn every day, tired of driving four hours to his other farm in Vermont twice a week, tired of yelling at the pick-your-own peach customers who grab an apple even when they've been told not to, tired of wrestling with family over the future of his parents' land and tired of fighting with his ex-wife to see who gets the boys in the summer.

A Thursday that began for Skeeter Kielblock at 4:45 a.m. is almost over, and looking out over the scene in front of him -- his two sons cooling down fresh-cut broccoli, an elderly woman and her granddaughter contentedly picking peaches, the late-afternoon sun highlighting the fertile hills his family has worked for more than 130 years - you can almost hear the conflictive voices which pull at a farmer's heart.

Yes, farming is endless, backbreaking work. Yes, the financial rewards are minimal. But it's also in your blood, and you don't know what's going to happen first: you'll stop doing it because it'll kill you, or you'll kill yourself because you stopped doing it.

Kielblock runs Hillview Farms, 57 acres of fruit orchards and vegetable fields along Meyersville Road. It's not just the last working farm in the township, but it's been owned and operated by his family since 1865. Kielblock's parents, in their 70s, continue to live and pitch in as they can on the farm, and other family members help out. But at the end of the day, Hillview Farms is Kielblock's responsibility.

Most of Hillview's produce is sold at a large farm stand on the premises. Kielblock also owns and operates a 50-acre vegetable farm, Marie Hill, in Vermont, which also supplies produce to the stand in Meyersville.

The farmstand's sales today are managed by Nicole Toto, 24, of Meyersville. She will begin graduate studies in philosophy this fall at City College in Manhattan. She's looking forward to her studies, but, she says, laughing loudly, "I'd also like to take over the farm with Kielblock's sons."

In through the door, clad in T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, slides Jamie Mills, 11, who lives across the street from Hillview.

Jamie buys two ears of corn -- 98 cents -- and says, "Thank you, Ms. Toto." She is speaking not just to the clerk at her neighborhood farm stand, but to her former substitute teacher.

"She comes to see me almost every day," chortles the exuberant Toto. "Yet she will not call me Nicole!"

"OK, Nicole," Jamie says bravely, but shyly.

On Hillview's shelves are a vegetarian's paradise: potatoes, red onions, vidalia onions, garlic, corn, green peppers, broccoli, zucchini, cauliflower, peaches, nectarines, apples, grapes, strawberries, raspberries and watermelons. Most of the produce is grown at Hillview or Marie Hill, but some is bought from other growers to fill out the stock.

The hill behind the farmstand is crowded with tractors and farm equipment in various states of disrepair -- the relics of a life largely-disappeared from suburban New Jersey.

"That's all my dad's fault," Kielblock says, "He's a born tinkerer."

At first glance, the grizzled Kielblock seems a farm boy, working loyally on his parents' land, repeating their methods and hoping to scrape out a living. But hear him describe his work -- apple trees grafted using New Zealand strains combined with a Polish variety, or an explanation of the half-lives of the chemical compounds he applies -- and it's clear he embraces modern techniques.

The farm does not use organic methods, but Kielblock participates in an integrated pest management program run by Rutgers University.

By monitoring the pest species that damage his fruits and vegetables, Kielblock and the Rutgers staff choose "very selective herbicides." He confidently says that modern chemical sprays pose little threat to consumers.

Pesticides do nothing to ward off deer, however. Kielblock applied a stinky garlic and fish spray successfully to protect the vegetables he grows in Vermont, but the same liquid did nothing to prevent New Jersey deer from chomping on his plants.

Kielblock has a special permit to shoot deer that threaten his produce, and he uses it, but it seems like there's always more. "If I shoot 100 deer," Kielblock says, "200 more will come to the funeral."

The pick-your-own option at Hillview, although successful, wears at Kielblock.

"It used to be locals would come and pick a bunch for canning," he says. "But now it's all about entertainment and people have less and less respect for private property."

His face reddens as he describes people who ignore the instructions they receive from Hillview staff. Daily, he says, customers fail to obey these rules, and will snag an apple off a tree that may have recently received pesticides.

"One person gets sick from that," Kielblock says, "and I lose my whole farm. Do people think at all?"

The future of Hillview Farms is uncertain. It will never be developed into condominiums -- it has permanently-preserved farm status, Kielblock says. But his own involvement in Hillview, considering that he bought Marie Hill in Vermont last year with his new wife, may change.

The day's work is almost done. The sun dips. Kielblock looks like he's not sure he can keep moving. But it's time to wrap up today and get ready for tomorrow. He'll drive back to Vermont: There are 3,000 broccoli seedlings to plant on Friday.