If there had ever been a first family of farming in Bellevue, the Balaticos would have earned the title.
Orphaned at a young age, Filipino emigrant Andrew Balatico came to the Seattle area in 1926 in search of a better life. Everything was different, much better, no comparison to the place he came from, Andrew later recounted to historians with the Eastside Heritage Center.
Andrew started off small working for a farmer in Auburn and on the railroad in the Cascade Tunnel, saving every penny to be able to afford his own land. In the midst of the Depression, Andrew managed to save enough money to buy three acres of land at 2820 Bellevue Way that he had to clear himself.
Over the coming decades, Andrew and his brother Marc (who joined him after World War II) worked hard on what grew to be 23 acres of land located in what is now the Mercer Slough. The brothers farmed peas, corn, beans, carrots, zucchini and blueberries, which patrons would stop and buy on their way home from work at Balatico’s roadside farm stand on Bellevue Way.
Local children would earn money during the summer by helping the Balaticos pick blueberries, and busloads of people would go and pick pumpkins at the farm during the fall. What would Halloween be like without Andrew?’, one Seattle Times article asked.
“He was so humble and such a hard worker, and just very, very kind,” Andrew’s daughter Joy Page told the Reporter. “You always hear more about people in the city who were are more prominent and influential. There were a lot of people here who weren’t as prominent and influential who helped contribute to what Bellevue is today.”
With the growth of Bellevue came a myriad of problems for Andrew’s farm.
People began sneaking through the newly constructed Park-and-Ride next door to steal produce from the aging farmer, one group stealing an entire truckload of pumpkins.
Then, developers moved in.
The number of truck farms in King County quickly dropped from more than 300 to fewer than 50 steadfast farmers. The field of tomatoes — which Balatico said Bellevue was renowned for — were replaced by Bellevue Square.
“There’s just so many memories of the kids growing up [at Andrew’s farm]. The school bus, people buying vegetables and beautiful days and seeing these people and how hard they worked,” former neighbor Stanley Smith said. “At that time, they weren’t really into saving all of these farms and stuff like that. People were into development.”
Developers and the city of Bellevue nearly forced the family’s hand several times.
Many of Andrew’s neighbors ended up selling their farms to developers. With new construction surrounding him, the value of Andrew’s land skyrocketed — as did his taxes. In 1977, a city official threatened to have Andrew’s land condemned if he refused to sell it for the city’s planned Mercer Slough Park.
Threatening the gentle farmer was a disastrous political mistake, Walt Greenwood wrote for the Daily Journal-American (the Bellevue Reporter’s predecessor). His customers rallied behind him, complaining to the city government as well as the state Interagency Committee for Outdoor Recreation, leading to the first park bond defeat in Bellevue’s history.
“I broke my plow here many times on the stumps. We did a lot of hard work on this land. Those politicians don’t know it,” Andrew later said.
The Balaticos continued to farm until the mid-80s, when they eventually sold the land. By that time, Andrew had become the oldest surviving agriculturalist in the area.
When Andrew died in 1998, hoards of people with memories of the farm reached out, Page said.
“That whole generation is turning and we have so many transplants, you feel a little bit of loss,” said Page, who lives about a mile from her family’s old farm. Though she still wanders out into what is now a park to pick blueberries on occasion, it feels strange to be there now, she said.
“We’ve always called this home. It is strange, I know that drive up Bellevue Way … I look at Bellevue and I just think how different it is,” Page said. “But, I feel fortunate.”
