Ben Dykema had only one obstacle to taking over the family farm in 1993 -- money.

The 190-acre family farm, just a quarter-mile from Lake Champlain straddling the Ferrisburgh-Charlotte line, had been pieced together by Ben's father, Cornie.

As the farm expanded, so did Chittenden County, and Charlotte had become a popular bedroom suburb for well-to-do professional people. The farm was worth more carved up into house lots than it was as a farm. Five-acre lots were being sold for $10,000 to $40,000 an acre.

The Vermont Land Trust wanted to save the Dykema land, primarily because of its proximity to another conserved parcel. Eventually, the state bought the land's development rights for $183,000. Cornie Dykema made a profit from his land and Ben paid a much lower price for his father's farm.

"It took the edge off," said Ben Dykema, 39.

Land preservation is the cornerstone of Vermont's farm policy. Since 1987, $90 million of state, private and federal money has been spent for development rights on 110,000 acres on 421 farms. The Vermont Housing and Conservation Board has spent $35.6 million of state money and the private Freeman Foundation, based in Stowe, has paid $40 million. The remainder has been paid by other grants and the federal government. The Vermont Land Trust arranges most of the deals.

The conserved land represents about 2 percent of Vermont's area and 11 percent of the state's farmland acres.

The effort is a race against time. Twenty years ago, Vermont had 1.6 million acres in farmland. Now it has just over one million, according to state estimates.

The practice of saving farmland is also not the same as providing assistance to farmers to save their businesses. There is no queThe benefit to the community is less tangible. In some towns land preservation helps maintain an agricultural base and the fabric of a farming community. In others, the practice keeps land free from development and inhibits sprawl. stion, though, conserving farmland has its substantial benefits.

Farmers receive money to help a relative take over the farm or to invest in new barns or equipment. Farmers gain the peace of mind that their life's love the land will be protected long after they are gone.

The benefit to the community is less tangible. In some towns land preservation helps maintain an agricultural base and the fabric of a farming community. In others, the practice keeps land free from development and inhibits sprawl.

The benefit to the state is broader. Saving land saves open space. Saving land helps farms and thus helps to protect Vermont's image and economy.

The direct economic benefits from farming are estimated at $1.5 billion. Indirectly, farming is critical to the surivival of the $2.6 billion tourism industry. Would the tourists come if the fields were dotted with houses and retail centers and businesses instead of cows and hay bales?

Farming also protects Vermont's sense of place.

"What we are talking about is our heritage as a state," said Darby Bradley, executive director of the Vermont Land Trust. "Sure, these lands have economic value. They have environmental value and aesthetic value. But it is the character of our communities that is determined by the use of the land."

The players

The Dykema farm lies next to Williams Woods, 63 acres of old-growth, lowland oak-hickory forest owned by the Vermont Nature Conservancy. It was the proximity of the farm to the woods that prompted the Vermont Land Trust to call the Dykemas in 1993.

The Vermont Land Trust brokered the transaction with money from the Vermont Housing and Conservation Board. The Land Trust is a private, non-profit group, and the conservation board a state organization, funded with money from a tax on property sales. The two groups are the stateæs largest buyers of development rights.

Nearly two dozen local land trusts also operate around the state and conserve smaller parcels.

The Land Trust's Bradley says the purchase of development rights is a kind of land protection that operates outside economic forces.

"Every generation is left with what the previous generation preserves," Bradley said. "There will be a need for wildlife habitat, open space and farmland in the future, and the market isn't necessarily going to leave that for future generations."

Bradley said the Land Trust helps farmers protect the improvement and hard work they have invested in the land over a lifetime of farming.

When a farmer sells development rights, he or she makes a legal promise never to carve the land into housing lots. The payment for such a pledge is typically the difference between the fair market value of the land and the value of the land if it is used for farming only.

Most farmers must apply to sell their development rights. Not all farms make the cut.

The groups use one formula to decide which farms qualify. The primary consideration is the soil. Farms with prime agricultural soils are always top priority. Proximity to other farms is also important. Preserving farms in groups, rather than in isolation, preserves some of the critical mass of farmers needed for support services, like veterinarians, feed stores, equipment sales.

Gus Seelig, executive director of the Vermont Housing and Conservation Board, says all the state's land trusts work with the same motivation.

"The notion of Vermont as compact villages surrounded by open countryside is fundamental to how we think of ourselves," he said. "Agriculture is a significant part of the economy, but it is also part of our identity."

Saving land, not saving farms

Not everyone thinks that buying development rights saves farms.

"The land trust hasn't saved farms," said Pawlet dairy farmer John Malcolm. "The land is saved, but it takes bodies to go in there and keep farming."

Seelig recognizes Malcolm's concerns. He says, however, that saving farmland is a first and necessary step toward making certain the land is available for farming in the future.

"If we don't protect farms now, given the pressures on real estate, 20 years from now we won't be able to have the debate about how we're going to save the farmers," Seelig said. "Our view is that we protect the best soils, because someone will farm them, rather than underwriting best farm operations. If we protect the best soils, it is most likely that the land will stay in farming."

Indeed, not all land deals save farm families. Some farmers leave farming even after selling development rights, although sale of the rights requires that the land remain undeveloped. The Land Trust has no easy way to tell if farmers who have sold development rights are still farming. Farmland can change hands and still comply with the deed restrictions that prohibit development.

Ethan Parke, former conservation analyst with the state's conservation board, said he could think of only two conserved farms in recent history that appeared likely to be forced out of business because of problems keeping the family farm going.

A 1999 survey conducted by the American Farmland Trust, a national group, found that about 13 percent of Vermont farmers who had conserved their land planned to sell the property in the next 10 years.

Some land deals are transacted with the intention to consolidate farms, eliminating one and making another one larger, Seelig said.

"The big point I would make is that the land has been needed by the farm community and the farm economy," he said. "There is virtually no protected land that has just lain fallow."

Conserving land can be expensive, compared with some policy alternatives.

Vermont has spent $90 million to save land on 421 farms. Massachusetts' Farm Viability Enhancement Program keeps land open by offering technical assistance and grants to bolster farms' financial success. The program has saved 350 farms with a state outlay of $7.5 million.

Seelig said the board is evaluating the Massachusetts program. He said, however, that the program is only part of the solution just as saving farmland is only part of the overall approach to saving family farms.

The Massachusetts program "does something very different, it does not provide you with protection of the land," Seelig said. "What it is, is a business development program. That is part of the equation, just like extension service is part of the equation, but it is not the whole equation."

Charlotte impact

The Dykema farm is now part of 2,400 protected acres in Charlotte. Nearly 8 percent of the town protected from development. In neighboring Ferrisburgh, the farm is one of 19 farms that have sold development rights on 5,200 acres, or 13 percent of the town's area.

The land preservation program "has made a huge difference in Charlotte," said Frances Foster, executive director of the Charlotte Land Trust. "Some of these farms have been in families for generations. They know that the land they care so much about isn't going to be developed."

Farms are one important reason Charlotte residents like their town, Foster said. About 20 farmers till Charlotte land. Many of those farmers work their own farms and lease other Charlotte land that has been set aside under local conservation easements as part of housing developments.

One unexpected result of Charlotte's preservation is higher land prices, said Dean Bloch, town planner.

"The assessment on everything else has gone through the roof because Charlotte is such a desirable place to live, he said.

If Charlotte shows the benefits of protecting farmland, it also shows what happens when farmland is transformed into housing lots.

Subdivisions with names such as Claflin Farm and Black Willow Farm allude to the land's past. The Claflin Farm, once more than 300 acres on U.S. 7, is now 22 3.5-acre lots. As part of the deal, developer J. Graham Goldsmith set aside 146 acres for open space.

Some former Charlotte farmland commands impressive prices, in part because of its scenic vistas of farms. Two 10-acre lots off U.S. 7 are being offered for sale by Lang Associates for $399,000 and $449,000.

Sometimes, expensive house lots and neighboring farmers make for an uneasy marriage.

"I can't imagine someone spending a couple hundred thousand dollars just for a house lot and wanting to have manure spread right next to their house," Bloch said.

Dykema thinks his Charlotte location has worked well. He can rent acres from housing developments to grow hay or corn. Landowners are grateful their land is kept open, and Dykema reaps the benefits of cropping land without having to own it.

Renting land "gives me an option of extra feed to sell in good years, and enough feed in bad," he said.

Ferrisburgh impact

In Ferrisbugh, housing pressures are less intense and farming is a much larger piece of the town's economy. Some of the state's larger farms have sprouted in Addison County. Some of those farms have been conserved.

Assistant Town Clerk Pam Pierce can pinpoint all of Ferrisburgh's farms. She knows the farmers and knows the land. Many of the town's farms are conserved, she said.

Ferrisburgh is home to not one, but two farm equipment dealers. Alan Langeway works at Devine Sales and Service, one of the equipment dealers. He says having conserved farms makes a difference to the business.

"It helps they aren't building houses on the land," he said. "It helps everywhere."

Dykema says he feels sorry sometimes for his neighbors in Ferrisburgh.

"There is just no land left in Addison County with all those big farms," he said

Vermont impact

Twenty-four years of farmland conservation is beginning to add up. One hundred twelve towns are home to at least one protected farm. In some communities, protected farmland is 10 percent or more of the entire town's acreage.

The Champlain Valley's fertile soils, rolling fields and moderate climate make the region tops in terms of successful and preserved farms.

In Shoreham, land deals have protected 25 farms and 7,205 acres; in Fairfield, 16 farms and 5,779 acres; in Ferrisburgh, 20 farms totaling 5,217 acres; and in Orwell, 18 farms adding to 5,232 acres.

David Kaufman is president of Vermont Tourism Network, a for-profit company that helps businesses market themselves to tourists. He says the agricultural landscape is the underpinning of Vermont's success.

"It is critical that we maintain our sense of place, our beautiful scenery, and quaint towns and landscapes," he said. "If we lost that, we will no longer have the key thing that makes people want to come here and vacation here and have a good time."

The future

A drizzly morning earlier this month brought a mix of familiar routine and challenging diversions to the Dykema farm.

Dykema's days aren't always serene. A 1998 fire destroyed the farm's main barn and nearly burned the house down. A heart attack in February killed his 16-year-old son.

Through good times and bad, he's kept on with the cows, managing his time and herd well enough so each year, his family of four children manage to travel for a week or two to far-away places, even Europe and Africa.

He dreams of the day when he'll be able to add cows and have a stable work force so he can milk three times a day, not twice as he does now. That means better hours and more profit, he says.

He doesn't know if one of his children will take over the farm some day, but at least he knows his farm will be affordable if they do make that choice.

"You don't wish this on anybody," he said, "but I offer my kids the opportunity. You teach them you can make a living here. It is a challenge, but you can do pretty much what you want, as long as you can work it around the cows."