The Bank

It's January, and my goal for January was to get moving on the financing of the farm/house purchase. It was a mixed week, but it ended well today!

On Tuesday, I phoned our credit union, which has held three car loans, a home-improvement loan, a home-equity loan, and all our paychecks for the nearly 18 years we've been married. We're at the point with this credit union that, when it's time to buy a car, we call and say, "we're going car shopping," and they say, "okay, you can spend up to XXX. Call us when you need the check." And their XXX figure is always outrageously more than we'd ever spend on a car. (It's just a car, for chrissakes!)

So we have a history, a good credit rating, and a familiar relationship.

So I called on Tuesday to ask for a sit-down to talk out the eccentricities of buying this farm thing. It's an odd deal, since we're buying into partnership on the LLC that owns the land of the farm, and then asking to borrow more money to put up our housing...on the land that is owned by the Farm LLC, into which we've just bought... so, it's a little more complicated than just a regular mortgage, particularly since we've decided on the double-wide...those are a whole other kettle of fish. So we need a sit down.

So I call up and introduce myself and say I'd like to schedule a time to discuss financing around our purchase of a farm. The girl says, "Is it a working farm?" And I, all proud as can be not to be one of those poseur hobby-farmers say, "Oh, yes!" and the girl says, "We don't loan to working farms."

"Huh?"

So I say, "well, really we're just looking for financing of a residence at the farm, not financing for the farm itself." And the girl asks, "Is the residence going to be on a working farm?" "Uh, yes." "We don't deal with working farms."

So I said, "Seriously? Not at all? Not even a home equity loan against our current, non-farm house?" and she says, "Hold on, let me ask," and puts me on hold. Pause. Pause. "Um, ma'am, we can't do any lending with working farms."

Wow. I am thunderstruck. No idea this would be the response. And after being thunderstruck, I start to get anxious. Shit...our primary lending agency won't have anything to do with us... WTF do we do now? Holy crap, is the mortgage crisis in America so screwed up that we're dead in the water before we get started?

So...I send an email to the Bank, yes, Bank, not Credit Union, different entity entirely, that holds the Farm's business banking accounts and detail the entire plan-- that we're buying into the LLC, that we want to put up a double wide, what our estimates are, what our credit rating and current debt load are, what our city house is valued at, and the fact that we intend to sell the city house AFTER moving into the doublewide that we're asking to finance. I figure, shit, get it all out there in the email and see what happens before even getting terribly involved.

So in about an hour, I get a really friendly email back from the branch manager, who is also a loan officer, that he's pretty certain they can help us out, and he'd love to sit down and talk with us-- when would we like to come in?

Well, that's a friendlier reception, so I'm at least optimistic about that. I set up an appointment for Friday morning before work.

And then I fret for the rest of the week... running scenarios, agonizing about the weirdness of the transaction, worried that our credit, while rated really well, is just a sham and that we have no money and no one will think us a good risk.

And then my car craps out on me. Current estimate-- $400, but we won't know until that work is done whether more work needs doing, and the parts for the $400 job have to be ordered, so I'm out a car and looking at putting the next paycheck, which was supposed to go to paying the school taxes at the city house, into the damn car.

Fret, freak, stew, worry.

Finally Friday comes this morning, and it's snowing a bastard out. The usual 30-minute drive to the farm takes 50-minutes, so I stop in, grab some financing paperwork, throw some carrots at the kids, and hope to be able to get the loaner car back up out of the farm driveway, over the plowed-to-the-side hump of snow, and get to the bank in time. Or at all.

Get to the bank, ask to meet with Mr. XXX, and the teller goes, Mr. XXY? Yes, that's it; I suck at names, particularly when I'm nervous. Mr. XXY comes out, has me into his office and we begin.

And it all gets better from there. He's got a full rundown of what I sent him in the email--- he paid attention, knows who I am and what I want. That doing of homework is so often NOT done these days that I'm super-appreciative.

Then, he says he is 3rd generation dairy farmer. His kids are in 4-H. His wife runs the 4-H horse group in Waverly. Wait a minute, I say, didn't we host them for a farm tour and demo last December? Yes, yes we did.

His kids ride horses; his daughter is looking for a horse to upgrade to now that she's outgrown her pony. He knows exactly where our farm is, and even knows what kind of trailers we use-- "the little ones, right? Look like you could put a bale of hay in them, and that's all?"

So this guy speaks our language, knows us, knows farming, knows inter-generational succession-planning issues inside and out.

And he thinks financing this operation is a no-brainer. From the great credit and collateral that we bring to the table to the incredible investment any land purchase is in the era of gas-lease-mania, to the immaculate condition we keep our fences in, he thinks this is a brilliant opportunity for us, and something the bank should back.

Holy shit.

We talk more about some of the legal buggery and the hitches and bumps to get past, but he's convinced we can do it. The only question for him is whether this is a commercial mortgage loan (since the LLC owns the land) or a personal mortgage loan (to a partner in the LLC). He has to talk to his commercial lending guy and will get back to me on Monday.

And then we keep talking. He's a farmer; his dad, uncle, and brothers are farmers; his granddad ran the farm, with the farm checkbook in his shirt pocket in the hospital until two days before he died. He wants his kids to have a secure future, but sure as hell wants them to have the farm, too. He gets it.

And then he mentions a neighbor of ours, and I say, "Oh, Paul-- he's our contractor; he's doing the site prep!" And he goes, "Beetle! Oh, he's great; he'll do a great job for you!"

It's all small-town, friendly, farm-oriented, familiar... and I am so relieved.

So much of this stuff, all along the unexpected, unfamiliar way, has felt pre-ordained, like someone has laid out this path especially for us... today was another touchstone along the way. Try to cling to the familiar, the safe, the established (like our Credit Union) and get rejected. Step out into the ether, and find a beautiful safety net stretched out below.

Who knows? It could all fall apart and turn to shit, but right now it feels like it might just work out.