According to the most recent accounts we have, our forefathers migrated from Regmi village in Bajhang district, coming first to Kathmandu and Dhading. Later they settled in Belkot, Nuwakot, where they established the family deity. This inheritance at Madanpur, Nuwakot — under our ancestors' stewardship for nearly two hundred years — came to us as today's "Captain Regmi Farm House" after the passing of our mother and father.

As children, we would set out for our studies early in the morning from the village house, lantern lit, walking alongside porters carrying supplies — and only by evening, again by lantern light, would we reach the family home in Lainchaur, Kathmandu. In those days the village had none of today's schools, roads, or electricity. Though piped water has now been arranged, back then we depended on the pandhero — the stone spring — and in a pinch, we use that same spring still.

In the 2030s of the Bikram era (the 1970s), His Majesty King Birendra's government called on the hill regions to take up fruit cultivation, and a soil conservation campaign was underway across the country. On the western part of our own land, a landslide had been running from top to bottom. Since planting promised not only economic benefit but soil conservation too, after family discussion — and with our late father leading the effort — we brought saplings of ten kinds from various government nurseries and planted them: mango, lychee, banana, papaya, lemon, macadamia nut, and avocado among them.

To all who gave our late father and mother courage and companionship in that planting — our late elder sister and brother-in-law, brothers and sisters, our late uncle's family, Acharya Guru of Madanpur (now of Pharping), the late Hem Bahadur Dware-ba and the late Jhankri-ba of Deurali, and horticulture development officer Surya Bahadur Thapa dai — I offer remembrance and gratitude. And to all the good people of Madanpur and Deurali who each contributed a basketful of manure for the planting: remembrance and gratitude to you as well.

The trees began to bear fruit — but with no transport, moving the harvest and managing its sale became a real struggle. Somehow we got it to Kathmandu. We began selling from the house itself. We carried fruit on our backs to the starred hotels near our home. After office hours and on days off, we took the fruit to the Ratna Park bus stop and sold it ourselves. Colleagues who saw us selling fruit at Ratna Park on a day off were astonished; they teased and laughed — and then they too bought our produce and lent their support.

The economic gains never matched our hopes. With father's contracting work and our own government service keeping us mostly in Kathmandu and other districts, the farm could not be looked after properly. After the untimely passing of our mother and father, and amid the country's political upheavals, the farm's condition grew ever more fragile.

But in one aim, I believe, we succeeded. Because the land had been fenced, the fruit trees — and the other trees and plants alongside them — regenerated. Erosion was halted, and the whole hillside turned green. You can see it clearly today on the Google satellite image.

"You will all settle in the city, won't you — what will become of this farm when we are gone?"

We had never forgotten that worry, spoken by our late father and mother. Father would tell us, again and again: the Kathmandu house is ornament and honor — necessary for the children's education and for holding a job. But the Madanpur land is our support for living, because the grain it produces is enough to eat; and when your salary covers education, health, and the household, you can serve honestly, without corruption. That is why both places matter. I believe it was exactly this kind of thinking that led our forebears to live mostly in Kathmandu, serve in the army and police, and keep the village land under cultivation without interruption. I myself have gathered the experience of five generations. Nor were we unusual: traveling the districts of this country, I met many soldier brothers who took their leave in the monsoon season to go home and plant the family fields.

Some time ago, we — brother Nirakar, myself, and the other members of our family — talked it through and resolved to carry forward what our late father and mother began. Our long-term goal is to keep the farm alive by maintaining its environmental balance. For that, programs to build the farm's economic life were urgently needed. We discussed plans and alternatives with those who wished to take part, and brought them to walk the land. In the midst of this, two enthusiastic young men visited the site, studied the situation, and sent word that they were ready to manage the farm. Work began at once — though with COVID-19, the plans could not gather the speed we had hoped. For staying at the farm through most of that period, growing what vegetables could be grown and starting the nursery, I thank from my heart Technical Officer Arun Bist, and for his support at the local level, advisor Ratna Bahadur.

Under the leadership of brother Nirakar and sister-in-law Mana, and the management of two energetic young men — Subash Gautam and Nischal Narsingh Rana — we have come this far: bringing Captain Regmi's Farm House back to life and pressing ahead to make its work a success.

— Amir