Donald C. Greenland

Donald C. Greenland, Jr., of Vilonia, Arkansas, wore out on the morning of Dec. 30, 2024. To properly honor him, this obituary should be written on a 3x5 card with a stubby pencil, his life-long favorite way to make notes and record scientific data.

Born Oct. 8, 1934, he was preceded in death by his parents, Usona Violet Rochefort and Donald C. Greenland, Sr., his sister, Patricia Ruth Greenland Mullens, and his high school sweetheart and wife of 64 years, Annette Ross Greenland.

Born in Topeka, Kansas, he was old enough when the dust bowl blew through the family’s dairy, grain and hog farm to remember the family’s possessions being auctioned off. The auction company set the kitchen table in the yard with buyers in one line and creditors in another. The last thing to be auctioned off was that table. The family headed west in a panel truck full of necessities and landed in the state of Washington, as far away as they could get.

Don was always an outdoor kid. His childhood was full of school and scouts and bikes and dogs. He was a crossing guard in elementary school until he was injured in the line of duty by a kid on a bike. There were the chores of a small farm to do, fish to catch, and his sister to antagonize. He graduated from Centralia (Washington) High School and Centralia Junior College, and then enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps, ostensibly because it offered the shortest hitch. He never told the story of the tattoo he got during that time, but he spent much of his enlistment typing, so it couldn’t have been too wild. He earned the rank of corporal.

After his military service, he and Annette married and earned their degrees from the University of Washington. His was in commercial fisheries management, but he always referred to himself as a fish biologist. While still in college, he spent an adventurous few months in Fairbanks, Alaska, studying arctic grayling. He and his boss worked a series of community events while there, displaying a frozen bobcat for some reason. They would stand the bobcat on the table, but during the day it would start to thaw and droop, dripping water from its nose. Overnight they would freeze it solid again.

After earning his degree and the birth of his daughter, he found employment with the U.S. Bureau of Commercial Fisheries in San Diego setting up an operations research program for the tuna fleet. He was disappointed to discover that he got seasick on tuna boats.

Don always found a way to grow something, even if it was a few tomato plants outside an apartment window. He would grudgingly grow flowers, but his real interest was in growing things he could eat. And drying them. And freezing them. And canning them.

With a son on the way, the family relocated to Portland, Oregon, where Don worked on fish passage facilities (fish ladders) in the Columbia River Basin for the U.S. Marine Fisheries. His garden got bigger, he remodeled the house, and he raised crawdads in a recirculating system of plastic shoe boxes in the basement.

In 1969, a job opportunity arose in Arkansas. The family pro and con list at the time contained one pro: Dad wanted to go. So the family went, leaving the Pacific Northwest for McGehee. At the nearby “experiment station” in Kelso, Don worked on catfish harvesting techniques. There was more house remodeling to do, Webelo scouts to lead, fundraising bike

rides to Tillar to organize, and the garden at the McGehee house took up the entire empty lot next door. He established a new city park from a small piece of land that the city wasn’t using.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service transferred Don to Stuttgart, where the lab at Almyra worked on breeding a sterile hybrid of Asian grass carp (white amur) to clean waterways of vegetation. His garden was as big as he could make it in a city back yard, and soon there were beehives on the roof of the carport and catfish growing in solar-heated 55-gallon drums in the laundry room. The neighbors were acutely aware on the days he turned the substantial compost pile. His Stuttgart endeavors included helping establish the Rice Depot there. Food security causes were important to him throughout his life.

During years of Don’s community involvement in endeavors too numerous to list, the kids grew up. It was time for the next adventure. He and Annette moved to Hadley, Massachusetts, where Don laid the groundwork for a new lab, the Connecticut River Research & Development Project, with the purpose of restoring migrant Atlantic salmon and shad. The winters there were hard for an outdoor guy, so he took to woodworking. He bought chairs that interested him at auction, never paying more than $5 each, and restored and re-caned them to entertain himself. He retired from the Connecticut River post at a remarkable 52 years old, as Annette was completing her doctorate.

The next move was for Annette to take a faculty position in Charlotte, North Carolina. Don stewed around in a rent house with no garden and no projects for about a year before they bought land near Concord, outside Charlotte. Then the fun began. He built a greenhouse for hydroponic tomatoes, then a two-story shop which turned out well enough that they made it their house. He built the cabinetry from poplar harvested from their land. A tractor purchase was required, and lots of things needed planting and harvesting. The only drawback was sinking the well. Turned out there was not enough water on the property to farm fish, so the place was dubbed NottaLottaWatta Farm. Don joined the Master Gardeners program and was one of the “holy goats” who took care of repair projects at the church. The church bordered the NASCAR track and, to fit in with the local culture, Don became an attentive NASCAR fan.

When Annette retired, they moved back to Arkansas “to be a burden on their children,” they joked. They selected a small farm on a ridge just outside Vilonia and dubbed it Downhill Farm because the access road was the highest point. Don stocked the farm pond with catfish, planted a massive garden, kept bees, grew shiitake mushrooms, had chickens until the predators decided he shouldn’t, and acquired a small flock of hair sheep for breeding. He sold his produce at the Faulkner County Farmer’s Market for a few years, acquiring a wardrobe of clever t-shirts to wear while selling. When he died he was wearing a favorite that simply said “okra.” The day before, he wore one of his Bigfoot-themed shirts. He judged vegetables at the county fair, spoke to school kids (usually about bees but sometimes about aquaculture), hung out with the Master Gardeners and the Bee Club, and met weekly for breakfast with his Circle of Wisdom. He grew heritage seed for Baker Creek Seed Company, including 100 plants that produced snot-green cotton and required him to register with the cotton growing authorities. He could often be found in his recliner processing seed while watching football or RFD-TV, accompanied by a cup of coffee and a dog.

For decades, Don and Annette sent out one of those love-it-or-hate-it Christmas letters. Don included highlights gleaned from his careful records of farm life, including “first tick bite,”

“first snake in chicken house (I moved too fast for him to identify me),” “deer ate some of the pansies,” and “deer ate the rest of the pansies.”

He was a great cook and a wonderful bread baker, leaning towards hearty whole grain loaves. After his daughter left for college, he used her bedroom to brew beer. Don gave talks on many gardening topics to civic groups and Master Gardener conferences and visited three continents for the Winrock International Farmer to Farmer program, sharing his knowledge in Nicaragua, Senegal and Nepal.

Don had triple bypass surgery at 81 (his only previous surgery had been when he was 9) and lymphoma at 87. After the heart surgery, he was advised to give up bacon. With a twinkle in his eye, he said he did the math, and that the sacrifice would add only four days to his life. He chose bacon.

Don is survived by his daughter, Jann Greenland, of Little Rock; his son and daughter-in-law, Don Greenland III and Angela Greenland; grandchildren Megan Williams (Drew) and Carter Greenland; and his great grandson, Oliver Williams, all of Conway.

No service is planned. Memorials may be made to Arkansas Foodbank or, as Don often did to honor someone, donate a shelf-stable protein like peanut butter to your local food pantry.