Fort Worth Daily Gazette

Georgia's 'Possum Farm.
Where William Throckmorton Raises the Toothsome Animals for Market.

Griffin, Ga., Letter to Atlanta Constitution.

Have you ever seen a 'possum farm? If you have not, take the first train and come to Griffin. You will never regret it.

A few miles west of Griffin is the home of Mr. William Throckmorton. Mr. Throckmorton is the proprietor of the most unique and remunerative farm in Georgia. It is the "Lime Creek 'possum farm."

On the very crest of a well-wooded hill is a comfortable cottage surrounded by beautiful shade trees. At the foot of the hill is a pretty branch running through the very center of a ten acre persimmon grove, inclosed within a high board fence. The persimmon trees are interspersed with a quantity of old hollow trees and hollow logs planted in the ground. This is the 'possum farm.

It was in the early afternoon when we arrived, and to the uninitiated the farm appeared to be an immense fruit orchard bearing an oblong, whitish sort of fruit hanging from the dead limbs of the trees by a long, black stem. But appearances were deceptive. It was not fruit, but between seven and eight hundred 'possums taking their afternoon siesta. Our party, the guests of Messrs. W. J. Kincald and Seaton Grantland, who are, by the way, interested in the farm, were somewhat unacquainted with the Georgia 'possum, and consequently plied question after question to our highly amused hosts. I now consider myself an expert on the 'possum, and here is what I learned and saw:

The 'possum, when desiring to take a nap, simply climbs the most convenient tree, walks out on a limb, wraps his tail one and a half times around and swings his body out into space. His legs and feet are drawn close in to his body and his head drawn up between his shoulders until it forms an almost perfect ball and appears to be a great pear covered with white fur.

The sun was slowly setting below the distant pine mountains and we were still gazing at the 'queer objects in amused wonder when a half dozen little 'possums emerged from the pocket of the mother, ran up her tail and commenced playing on the limb above. In a few minutes this marsupial stretched her head and then her fore feet out. She swung herself once or twice, grabbed her tail with her fore paws, and climbed up to the limb, which she caught with her claws, untwisted her tail and pulled up. Hardly had she balanced herself when the half dozen young ones climbed into her pocket and were hid from view. She then climbed down the tree.

While this was going on more than seven hundred others had awakened and were coming down from the trees. Reaching the ground each one made for the creek, drank and then ran up the hill to a pen in which they were to be fed. They were of all sizes. Some would barely weigh a half pound, while others would tip the scales at thirty. The 'possum, when hungry, utters a sound which is a cross between a mew and a moan. Over seven hundred possums were together, so thick that the ground could not be seen between them, and the small ones had been forced upon the backs of the larger. All were uttering this peculiar sound, reminding one of an army of soldiers moaning over the death of their general, when through a gate a negro pushed a wheelbarrow, heaping full of all kinds of trash and slops—consisting of fruit peelings, vegetables, meats, bones and bread. As he hove in sight the scene among the 'possums reminded one of feeding time in a menagerie. The little ugly animals screamed and scratched and bit at one another until the negro had scattered the contents of the wheelbarrow over the ground. Then, although it was well scattered, all wanted to eat in one place just like hogs, and there was considerable more scratching and biting. But this did not last long, for the rations were soon consumed by the 'possums, and they commenced to disperse, seemingly contented, and this time climbed the persimmon trees. During the persimmon season the 'possums are not fed at all, for it is on this fruit they become rolling fat and ready for market.

Mr. Throckmorton will probably ship 500 to Eastern points and the cities throughout Georgia this winter. They will average him $1 each and he makes quite a good thing out of it, as they are practically no expense to him. In shipping to Atlanta and Georgia points they are generally dressed, but the majority go to Washington and are shipped there alive. The large shipments to Washington are perhaps due to the average Southern congressman's fondness for 'baked 'possum and 'taters.' Congressman Stewart, who comes from Griffin, and Congressman Barnes, of Augusta, are perhaps the most inveterate 'possum eaters in congress, and it has already leaked out that these two distinguished Georgians have ordered two dozen of Mr. Throckmorton's finest and a couple of bushels of sweet potatoes to be sent to them at the Metropolitan hotel next Christmas. It is supposed they intend giving an old-fashioned Georgia 'possum bake, complimentary to the Democratic minority in the Fifty-first congress.