Why Joseph Alan Smith was nicknamed “Daddy Pete” is a question that even his great-grandson Alan Smith doesn’t know the answer to. But the name stuck to the 102-acre farm that Joseph bought in 1907 to raise beef cattle, and today, the historic Century Farm outside of Statesville is known as Daddy Pete Farms. Second-generation Sledge Smith began raising turkeys, and third-generation Gar Smith maintained the farm as well.
In 1972, fourth-generation Alan Smith created a dairy farm on the property. Today, 700 Holstein cows occupy nearly 500 acres, and Alan’s son Joe — the fifth Daddy Pete generation — lives a stone’s throw from the milking barn, in his great- great-grandfather’s original clapboard farmhouse.
A distinctive, familiar tang scents the air on Daddy Pete Farms. That’s because, no matter what else happens — weather, prices, tariffs, trade deals, taxes — one product on any livestock farm is a constant: manure. In the late ’80s, Alan began exploring cow manure compost. Scientists and colleges came calling to see what he was doing with his cows and his triangular, four-foot-high windrows of compost, carefully tended and turned inside former chicken houses. “We were composting before it was cool,” he says. By 1991, the Smiths shipped their first package of Daddy Pete’s Plant Pleaser. Today, the farm produces 22 kinds of certified organic manure compost — including Mushroom Compost and Kickin’ Chicken — carried in more than 400 independent garden centers and nurseries. You can’t miss the white bags splotched with black, designed to resemble a Holstein’s hide.
Mere feet from Daddy Pete’s office windows, the actual Holsteins wander contentedly between daily visits to the milking barn and their individual sawdust beds. “We pamper them real good,” Alan says. “Got to keep the ladies happy.”
For information on where to purchase Daddy Pete’s Plant Pleaser, call (704) 585-2355 or visit daddypetes.com.
In North Carolina, spring brings the scent of fresh-cut grass and memories of helping Dad mow the lawn.
Nostalgic burger joints are like time machines, delivering something extra special that keeps us coming back.
This tiny city block in downtown Greensboro once had a gigantic reputation. Not so much for its charbroiled beef patties — though they, too, were plentiful — but for its colorful characters and their wild shenanigans.
In the 1950s, as Americans hit freshly paved roads in shiny new cars during the postwar boom, a new kind of restaurant took shape: the drive-in. From those first thin patties to the elaborate gourmet hamburgers of today, North Carolina has spent the past 80 years making burger history.
