An Ee-Yi-Ee-Yi-Oasis : Defying Urban Propriety With 5 Acres of Livestock : In This Little Corner of Fountain Valley, the Chickens Still Cross the Road, but to Peck at the Subdivision Lawns

Amid expensive homes with manicured yards and shiny cars in the driveways, Lionel T. Harris squints into the late-summer sun and surveys a very different domain.

“People find it really quite surprising. You don’t expect to find a farm in the city,” says Harris, an 86-year-old English-born farmer and horse trainer who has stubbornly maintained a haven with the sights and sounds of the country amid urbanization.

Fifty years ago, Harris’ hundreds of chickens, 11 dogs, dozens of horses, and assorted ducks, turkeys, bulls, a Clydesdale horse, a mule and albino deer wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow.

But today, his five acres of northeast Fountain Valley, sandwiched between well-tended lawns, is an anomaly.

Developers have offered millions for his land, but he steadfastly refuses to sell.

“I don’t know what I’d do,” Harris says. “This is all I know.”

And life goes on on the farm. His chickens are frequently seen crossing the road to get to a fancy subdivision. They nonchalantly peck for food on the freshly mowed lawns, unaware that they are dining at a $250,000 restaurant. But neighbors don’t seem to mind.

“I think it’s quaint for this section of town. I find it quite enjoyable,” says Howard Lyon, a seven-year resident who lives across the street. “Of course, the chickens sometimes dig up my flower beds, but for Orange County to have something like this is nice for the neighborhood.”

Heather Rosenblum, who moved into her house directly behind the farm four months ago, says: “I don’t even notice (the farm smells) anymore. You get used to it. The roosters start at 3 a.m., but I sleep right through it.”

For Harris, who was raised in Ireland, this is a way of life.

“In Ireland, why, it was all horses,” he recalls, his British accent still pronounced. “You sat down for a meal, and all everyone would talk about would be horses.”

Harris came to the United States in 1926 and 20 years later bought what was a bare-bones farm from a dairyman who was relocating his operation to Chino.

Harris is proud that he built his little corner of the world from the ground up.

“You see those trees?” Harris asks, pointing skyward toward the tops of several 100-foot-tall trees swaying in the breeze. “I planted all of them practically from twigs. Some of them I got as discards from nurseries and the like, and one came from Disneyland.”

One barn was a castoff from a Santa Ana farmer who once had a ranch on what is now Bristol Street, and another was purchased from a dairy. The red wooden house in front of the property was an old construction building where tractors and machinery were parked at night. Harris added a fireplace and turned it into his main house.

Harris built the farm brick by brick. As it grew, so did his reputation for working with horses. Even heiress Joan Irvine Smith boarded horses here, he says, and rode through the countryside around Harris’ farm.

And through the years, Harris has taught hundreds of budding equestrians how to ride and care for their mounts.

“I used to work here, feeding the dogs and the chickens in exchange for being able to ride the horses,” says April Fischer, a senior at Foothill High School who spends most of her free time after school and weekends with her horse, Zip. “I started taking riding lessons from Mr. Harris when I was 9.”

On another side of the farm, Sonia Spencer is gathering a crowd. It’s 3 o’clock, and hundreds of roosters, hens and fluffy baby chicks come running and clucking from everywhere. It’s feeding time, and they know it.

“I started riding and working for Mr. Harris when I was 12,” Spencer says as she doles out feed to scrambling, squawking fowl. Spencer, who has worked her way up to sort of an assistant, is 19 now and can’t envision life without the farm.

“This is an amazing place,” she says. “I love it here. And I don’t know what all the animals and birds would do if Mr. Harris weren’t here.”