End of a 378-year era

Bob Temple, a full-time Tuttle Farm worker; Lia Norman; Jenn Hall; and Tim Warren installed irrigation piping. (Kayana Szymczak for The Boston Globe)

DOVER, N.H. — Like generations of Tuttles before him, Will Tuttle has spent his life on the family farm, working its tree-lined acres from seed to harvest. He learned by the side of his father and grandfather and, like them, chose to make his living off the land.

But after years of toil and dwindling demand for the crops he produced, the thick-armed 63-year-old has decided the family legacy will end with him. His landmark property — passed from father to son since 1632 and billed as the country’s oldest continually operating family farm — is up for sale.

Yesterday, as he looked over a rolling field that could be in a brochure for local, sustainable agriculture, Tuttle said that like many small farms, his had probably seen its best days.

“This is a different business now,’’ he said. “Farming at any level is a labor of love, but now the future is so uncertain. Looking forward, I don’t see much opportunity for small farms to thrive. It’s a tough grind.’’

That reality is behind the disappearance of farms and farmland in New England and beyond.

According to the latest federal figures, more than 4 million acres of active farmland were developed between 2002 and 2007, an area roughly the size of Massachusetts. Since 1982, the nation has lost more than 41 million acres of rural land.

Massachusetts has lost 24 percent of its prime farmland since 1982, more than all but four states.

Lorraine Merrill, New Hampshire’s commissioner of agriculture and a Tuttle’s patron, said she was saddened to hear that the family had decided to sell. Along the coast, where land values have soared and suburban sprawl has intensified, the challenge to farming is especially acute.

“It’s the end of an era,’’ she said.

The 134-acre property, which is listed for $3.35 million, has been slowly surrounded by suburban homes and is bordered by a major street. It is protected by a conservation restriction that prohibits it from being developed after it is sold, and the Tuttles hold out hope that the new owners will maintain it as a working farm. But they are quick to acknowledge that, even with a new niche market for local produce, working a small farm these days can be a tough row to hoe.

“We’re not in a plaza,’’ said Michelle Tuttle, Will’s wife. “A lot of people won’t drive a few extra miles for fresh vegetables. They are going to Wal-Mart and Target and trying to save whatever they can, and we don’t have the buying power to compete.’’

The farm was turning a small profit until the recession, the Tuttles said. But in the past three years, as families looked for ways to pare spending, business has faltered.

“Since the economy turned, we’ve been losing,’’ said Michelle Tuttle, 43.

Founded by English settler John Tuttle, who arrived in the New World with a land grant from King Charles II, the farm grew into an institution.

Local residents looked forward to picking season for months, and tourists went miles out of their way for a visit. Even actor Robert De Niro was known to stop in now and again.

Some came for Tuttle’s considerable collection of cheeses, others for its fruits and gourmet deli.

But Tuttle’s calling card has always been its sweet corn.

“Ask anyone, they’ll tell you, ‘We only get our corn from Tuttle’s,’ ’’ Michelle Tuttle said. “People are buying it faster than we can bring it in from the field.’’

New customers are often surprised when they find that the corn is warm to the touch, she said. “They don’t realize it’s still hot from the sun.’’

Sure enough, nearly every customer in the store around lunchtime yesterday bought at least a couple of ears.

“I plan to have it tonight,’’ said Joan Norton, a 74-year-old from Dover who visits Tuttle’s weekly.

Even though she did not grow up on the farm, Michelle Tuttle has grown to love it and cried when her husband told her he thought they should sell it.

Will Tuttle is decidedly less nostaglic, even when mulling the end of a family enterprise born more than a century before the country itself. With the economy and the changing landscape of the small-farming industry, it was time, he said.

“Fifty-seven years is enough,’’ he said, noting that he was just 6 when he began helping out his grandfather. “And I didn’t want this to become a burden.’’

The Tuttles own a home next door to the farm and plan to move there when the sale goes through. After years of backbreaking work, that view will be perfect, he said. And thanks to the conservation restriction, the land, a lovely vista of fields and woods, will remain largely unchanged.

“It’s not going anywhere,’’ he said. “It will always stay beautiful, open land, and will always be a piece of land with every square inch of my sweat on it.’’

Still, when Tuttle considers life without the farm, he grows wistful, if only for a moment.

“You’re going to have to put a chain on me or I’ll pick up a hoe,’’ he quipped to his wife, who seemed open to the idea.

Though they stand to make a tidy sum from the sale, the Tuttles say they will maintain a modest lifestyle. When pressed, Michelle Tuttle does mention one dream, to return to Italy, Spain, and Portugal for the first time since she and Will eloped there 15 years ago.

“We are laid-back farm people,’’ she said, noting that she has no cellphone or e-mail address. “But going back again would be nice.’’

Peter Schworm can be reached at schworm@globe.com.

End of a 378-year era

Nation’s oldest running family farm put on market in N.H.