For two farms, a bitter turn

Neighboring businesses no longer amicable

John Tosy (facing camera) sets up the antique cider press he uses every fall. Below, a sign at The Big Apple says it has no connection with the Tosys' farm; (Photos by Essdras M Suarez/Globe Staff)

The road through Wrentham winds through densely packed trees, their leaves blazing orange and red. When the view opens to acres of orchards belonging to The Big Apple, a retail store and farm in Sheldonville, it's hard to imagine a more perfect autumn scene.

Until you see the sign.

"The Big Apple Farm is not associated with . . . " and an arrow points across the street. "We do not warrantee their products."

The arrow points to the house of John Tosy and the small farm stand where for 14 days each year he sells produce, ice cream, popcorn, soups, cider, and antiques.

Unlike The Big Apple, a 220-acre spread owned by the Morse family since 1950, Tosy's Farm is minuscule, its few wares dwarfed by an operation that boasts not only 20-plus apple varieties but a security guard to look after the weekend crowds that visit during fall.

Understanding The Big Apple's sign, and why such a large operation would need to distinguish itself from a much smaller counterpart, requires a journey from neighborliness and good will through years of frustration and dueling lawyers to a 2007 court date. And when a ruling last year failed to resolve everything, the Morses this year pounded in a sign to mark their dissatisfaction, not caring that its message clashes with the pastoral scene it flanks.

When John Tosy bought the house across from The Big Apple, he saw it as an opportunity for himself, and for his horses.

"I did very well in my business and I wanted to farm," said Tosy, 68, who has owned a limousine service and still owns a salvage yard on Route 1A in Wrentham, though he considers himself retired. "I had horses and I could give hayrides out front. It just evolved into a lot of things."

After 20 years, he says, his choice of location has worked out well, and he credits the Morses with providing him the customers he loves to interact with on September and October weekends.

If it were not for his neighbors, he said, "We couldn't be doing what we're doing. We're thankful for them."

But the feeling is not mutual.

"He's taking the cream off the top," said John Morse, 53. "I call him 'the leech.' "

Since the Tosys started their operation, they've gradually grown from providing hayrides to selling food and produce. With each new addition comes the need for a new permit from the town. And each addition, be it homemade ice cream or cider pressed in an antique machine, causes more headaches for the Morses.

With a small parking area and lack of toilet facilities (until the addition of a portable toilet earlier this month), Tosy's Farm has been unable to accommodate customers who have had to use The Big Apple's facilities, which the Morses say has created increased expenses and work while eating into their farm's profits.

It wasn't always this acrimonious. In fact, about 10 years after John Tosy bought his house, he married his wife, Maryellen, on The Big Apple farm. And when Tosy's barn burned down in the 1990s, leaving his horses homeless, Peggy Morse, 59, took in King and Queen for months.

Years later, in a July 2005 letter the Tosys wrote to the Morses in an effort to smooth over tensions, they reiterated their gratitude. "Peggy, it was so good of you to take [the horses] in and care for them that whole winter and spring," the Tosys wrote. "We just want you to know that your kindness will never be forgotten."

But the same letter that opened with such gratitude also marked the beginning of the end, said Tosy. "It kind of deteriorated after that," he said.

Following allegations from both sides of petty vandalism - a stone wall knocked over by a plow, retaliatory dumping of snow mounds into a yard - the Morses escalated their concerns into legal action.

At the root of the ill will and resentment, said John and Peggy Morse, is frustration that while they work hard to comply with local, state, and federal guidelines, they contend the Tosys haven't been held to the same standards. The town of Wrentham, they say, is the main source of their ire.

"I have no problem with competition, but it's just not the same playing field," said John Morse, who can describe the web of bureaucracy necessary for running a 40-employee business as easily as he can describe the two-to-three-year process of perfecting apple-picking.

In 2002, the Tosys obtained a home-occupancy permit from the town, allowing wares to be sold inside a structure but not outside. In 2005, the town learned that the Tosys' permit hadn't been renewed. On top of that, the Tosys had been selling food outdoors while also offering horse-drawn carriage rides, activities that are beyond the scope of a home-occupancy permit. The building inspector sent a cease-and-desist order that September, threatening court action if the Tosys didn't stop.

Then, in January 2006, the Zoning Board of Appeals held a hearing and voted unanimously to grant the Tosys a renewal home-occupancy permit while also stipulating that no food or carriage rides were allowed. In fact, the only things that were allowed were spelled out: the selling of flowers, collectibles, and antiques.

Complicating matters, however, was the fact that the Tosys had an active permit from the Board of Health to serve food.

The town filed a formal complaint against the Tosys, and, in fall 2007, a judge in Wrentham Court denied the town's complaint, ruling the Tosys had the right to operate thanks to the Mobile Food Permit they had obtained from the Board of Health. The judge also agreed with the Tosys' assertion that their fall operation was equivalent to a yard sale, and didn't need a home-occupancy permit from the ZBA.

The Tosys are up to date on their Board of Health certification.

The court ruling could have given the situation some closure, but it didn't. Instead, the Morses felt abandoned by a system they work hard to conform with.

"If it went to court and got thrown out, what recourse do we have?" said John Morse. "That's why we put up the sign."

John Tosy said the sign has been good for his business, thanks to the curiosity it has generated. He said he and his wife feel vindicated by the court ruling, and now just want to live in peace with their neighbors.

Morse "is a serious farmer and a good farmer," he said. "That's their livelihood. We don't want to create anymore animosity. We really just have a live-and-let-live attitude."