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Seafaring farmer loves fruit of his land

Blueberry plants keep Dan Ebbecke, a sea captain for years, rooted in the growing business.

By JENNIFER LIBERTO
Published January 30, 2005

MASARYKTOWN - A man of the land and the sea, Capt. Dan Ebbecke III is a study in opposites.

Dirt habitually cakes his fingernails and knees, an occupational vestige of his blueberry farm, D&S Blueberries Inc.

Yet, with seafaring legs, Ebbecke could probably navigate the Hernando Beach channel to the Gulf of Mexico blindfolded, if the channel weren't so narrow. He owns a charter boat company with his father.

Ebbecke is not a tall man. But his branch-scarred hands spread thick and large enough to encompass cupfuls of berries, which he shovels to his mouth once they've ripened.

"I must eat 50 pounds of blueberries during the season, and it really does improve the memory," he says.

Ebbecke, 47, has spent most of his adult life on the water guiding deep-sea fishing boats off Hernando Beach or running supplies to offshore oil rigs in Mexico. It's only over the past six years that he has developed a blue thumb on his 11-acre blueberry farm in Masaryktown, producing enough to intrigue Driscoll's, one of the largest U.S. blueberry distributors.

Last summer, Driscoll's company leaders praised his plump berries and treated Ebbecke and his wife, Susan - the "S" in D&S Blueberries - to a free trip to California to visit the company's major growing regions.

Ebbecke's love of the sea began to falter to his fields. He now declares himself more farmer than captain - even as winter freezes threaten his crop.

"I just became more and more focused on blueberries, because this has gotten more and more exciting," said Ebbecke, who earned his captain's license in 1977, a year after he graduated from high school.

Now, Ebbecke walks through rows of 6-feet-tall berry bushes, touching branches and whispering softly in a voice he used on his children when they were younger.

"Grow, little berries, grow," he says.

While Florida blueberry farming has increased fourfold - starting at near nothing - over the past decade, the state offers one of the smaller crops of berries nationwide, said Jeff Williamson, a University of Florida professor in horticultural sciences. About two dozen Hernando County farmers grow blueberries, far fewer than the major blueberry-producing counties of Alachua, Highlands, Polk and Hillsborough.

Ebbecke's career blossomed quite by accident, after he caught sight of a weather-worn farmer in a white straw hat hawking $2 blueberry plants at the State Road 52 exit off Interstate 75.

It was the summer of 1999 when Ebbecke stopped his clunky, brown, 1983 Ford Crown Victoria station wagon on his way home from an errand - probably for the boat - in Tampa.

"Yeah, you can grow blueberries here," said the farmer, Herman Ash, in a low, cigarette-stained voice.

Ebbecke paused. He and Susan had just launched a vending machine business. But their biggest sales seemed to be coming from neighborhood kids who plunked coins into the machines that were plugged into the Ebbeckes' kitchen wall. The idea of growing something appealed to him.

He had already given most of his life to the water.

Ebbecke was born in a Philadelphia naval hospital, but grew up a military brat, moving all over the country. His father, Capt. Dan Ebbecke Jr., began his career in the Navy and became an Army officer, surviving two tours in Vietnam, as well as a couple of terms on the Hernando County Port Authority board.

The Ebbeckes landed in Hernando County in 1980, falling in love with their Masaryktown properties - father and son still live next door - and the county's coastline.

In 1999, the younger Ebbecke was co-captaining the Thunder with his dad, and they co-owned Light'n Charters Inc., a charter boat company that steered tourists and locals into the Gulf of Mexico in search of grouper.

Young Ebbecke had already weathered one wild adventure, running boats off the Mexican coast to offshore oil rigs for eight years.

That day along I-75, he bought about five or six plants on the spot. Then he ordered 2,100 more.

When he came home, he told his wife he wanted to plant blueberries in the pine forest next to the house.

"Whatever you want to do," she said.

The word "difficult" doesn't quite capture the challenges of Ebbecke's first blueberry season in 2000.

Mistakes abounded: bad fertilization, not enough water, too much water, bad drainage, too many flowers on a plant, no bees to pollinate.

"I thought I was going to get out after that first one," he said.

Plus, he continued to balance farm work with charter boat work, which he still does.

Ebbecke's first blueberry varieties weren't as sturdy as newer, more popular strains in Florida these days, according to experts at the University of Florida, which has bred nearly all of the blueberry varieties grown throughout the state.

Ebbecke peppered blueberry farmers and agriculture experts with questions, turning to veterans like Hudson's Bob Waldo, who had started his blueberry farm in 1997.

Over the years, Ebbecke learned and refined his technique.

When the berries ripen, Ebbecke plants a large boom box in the fields, blasting rap music to scare the cedar waxwings, which ruin crops by pecking little V's into berries. He hates rap, but so do the birds.

"I tried rock 'n' roll and country, but they ignored rock and they seem to like country," Ebbecke said.

He used to post fliers in Spanish on utility poles in Dade City looking for blueberry pickers. Now help comes to him. On Thursday, a minivan filled with five migrant workers drove up to the farm, having heard through word of mouth about Ebbecke. Ebbecke greeted them in fluent Spanish, learned from his years in Mexico.

Once D&S Blueberries hit its third anniversary, Ebbecke grew more confident. The bushes produced more berries. Susan wanted to go back to school to become a funeral home director, so they sold the vending machine business and poured more money into the blueberry business.

Soon Driscoll's came knocking. In 2004, the Ebbeckes bought secondhand equipment to package and sell about 15,000 pounds of berries to the company.

This year, the Ebbeckes upgraded to new, professional-level packaging equipment, investing some $50,000 into new conveyer belts with hopes of selling 35,000 pounds of berries.

The one thing Ebbecke fears - but also admires - is the occasional winter freeze that sweeps through Florida's odd blueberry growing season.

Florida blueberry farms prosper because the state's fruit ripens at an opportune time. The spring harvest is squeezed in between Chile's and Georgia's larger, mechanized blueberry crops.

But freezes pose a huge threat to Florida's fields and can ruin a crop as it begins to sprout tiny white blossoms.

A bad freeze could wipe out Ebbecke's land, livelihood and his home, which he has mortgaged to finance the farm.

A freeze watch, such as the one early last week, means an anxious and exhausting all-nighter, hopefully rewarded with a sweet morning vision.

Ebbecke spends the early morning hours watching his indoor digital wall thermometer. Once the temperature drops below freezing, he turns on the clamorous, motorized water pump that triggers the field sprinklers.

Then he tromps along dark, muddy fields in shin-high, black, rubber boots and a puffy blue jacket, getting soaked as he shines a police flashlight onto bushes, investigating freeze damage.

Many pots of coffee and towel dryings later, the morning sunrise greets him with brilliant rays bouncing off a magnificent sparkling ice castle that towers above him.

On Monday morning, nearly an inch of ice encased every green leaf, white bud and brown branch. The ice kept the fields at a steady 32 degrees, rebuking the 26-degree freeze that had settled upon Ebbecke's fields. His crop had survived.

"It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen," Ebbecke said in December, remembering the previous season's ice display.

Ebbecke has grand plans for expanding his blueberry business, although he is not giving up life on the water, either.

Only five of his 11 acres of blueberries have matured enough to yield fruit. He plans to expand to the property he owns next door and spread his berries around 30 acres, selling blueberries until he's old and gray.

His only concern is keeping the family business going.

While he has earned the respect of his father - who even called last Sunday night and offered to help his son prepare the farm for the freeze - young Ebbecke has yet to entice any of the family's four teenagers into taking an interest in the blueberry business.

"They hate blueberries," Dan and Susan Ebbecke said with a chuckle.

At least they eat them, Dan Ebbecke said.

Jennifer Liberto can be reached at 352 848-1434 or liberto@sptimes.com

[Last modified January 30, 2005, 00:10:19]