Obituary: Alan Merrill Greenleaf, 1945-2024

Alan
Merrill Greenleaf died on June 15, 2024, with his daughters, Willa
and Holly, by his side at Willa’s home, after a final stroke three
months prior.

Born
on April 13, 1945, he was a man of heart and dreams, and he realized
them living on his back-road Vermont kingdom for most of his life,
the self-proclaimed “Mayor of Greenwood.” He was a beloved
songwriter, guitarist and singer; a small farmer of beef cattle,
maple syrup, honey and hay; the father of two daughters who adore
him, and he them; and a cherished friend. Truly one of a kind, gentle
and genuine, with a real sense of humor, self-determined and fiercely
independent — stubbornly so — he inspired many. He embraced an
open mind, there to listen with a wise and humorous response. He was
as humble as the cattle he herded but confident in the way he could
speak his mind, unfiltered and unafraid to ruffle some feathers. He
didn’t need to go far to be fulfilled and felt most everyone else
was moving too fast.

Clever
and crafty, he tinkered, fixed and figured things out and was most at
home walking the hills and woods of his land. He was hilariously
frugal, saving everything and reusing — or eating — most of it,
too, but he knew when to live it up and loved to share a good diner
meal or a barbecue in the backyard.

Throughout
his life, he did things his own way, with his wry humor and a song to
go with it. He had a way of making everyone feel at ease in his
presence with his bright blue eyes, warm smile and readiness to chat.
He was also a hermit who was hard to reach sometimes and loved his
solitude and silence, content to be alone with the birds and wind in
the trees and his cherished Chihuahua, Luna.

Magnetized
by his presence, friends would often visit for chats around the
kitchen table, where you might hear stories from his early days of
farming, a rant on overpopulation or modern technologies, reflecting
on the simple pleasures of life or his “misspent” childhood. He
grew up in Wakefield, Mass., raised by his grandparents without his
mother or father. He found solace in the patch of woods behind his
house and family in his tight-knit group of friends, who remained
close until the end. He found freedom in his motorcycle and records
of blues and rock and roll.

In
his twenties, he crisscrossed the Americas, adventuring in his VW bus
while getting chemotherapy for a seemingly terminal cancer that he
survived. He moved to a commune in Huntington, Mass., and built a
cabin in the woods, where he lived with his wife, Susan. They worked
in Vermont as farmhands on a horse-drawn sleigh sugaring operation.
Soon after, they bought land and built a house in Peacham in the late
’70s, living off-grid as artist-farmers and eventually devoted
parents, raising two daughters and living their dream, working the
land, where he lived until the final months of his life.

A
self-taught fingerpickin’ guitarist, he was a songwriter and
storyteller of truth and emotion, never shying away from sharing the
gritty hardships, humor, sadness and beauty of life as a backwoods
farmer in the Northeast Kingdom. He pursued his music passionately
and prolifically later in life, playing around the North Country with
the “Doc.” There were many, many good years shared and some very
hard ones, too, but he ultimately remained a gentle and spirited rock
to us all, a natural man rooting so deeply into the land where he is
now of the Earth, peaceful and free. He is survived by his daughters,
Willa Greenleaf and Holly Greenleaf and her husband, John Murphy; his
former wife, Susan Greenleaf; and his dog, Luna. Gratefully, he lives
on in his music, the land and our hearts forever.

There
will be a celebration of life at his farm on September 14, 2024, 3
p.m., with a potluck and open mic.

This article appears in Jun 19-25, 2024.