Rooted in the Black Soil
at Vellinge Väster

Olsborg. Haga. Kvarnvik. Petersro. On the fertile land stretching down toward the coastal meadows of Vellinge Väster, the farms have always stood side by side. Here, beet workers toiled through the autumn campaigns, and labourers in the vegetable fields pulled leeks from the ground. Today, many of the farms are gone. But at Petersro, Per Larsson carries the tradition forward — now in its third generation.

A short while ago, the rain was pouring down. Now a pale December sun breaks through the clouds, lighting up the piles of sugar beets and the wet ground around the farmhouse at Petersro. As Per Larsson welcomes us into the farmyard, the image of Scanian rural life — waving grain and yellow rapeseed fields — feels far away. Yet all around us, the soil lies waiting, ready to be worked for another year.

The farm at Petersro has deep roots. But the farmhouse did not always look the way it does today. At the beginning of the 20th century, the classic four‑winged Scanian farmstead was destroyed by fire — as were many others in the area.

“Yes, that was quite common back then, before electricity,” says Per, pointing toward Ängavägen. “They even had an evacuation house over there. People lived there while their farms were being rebuilt — sometimes several families at the same time.”

In 1937, Per’s grandfather Gunnar bought Petersro, and later Per’s father Göran took over. This is where Per grew up, with nature constantly present in everyday life. Farming and hunting were part of it — but so was his mother Ann Margret’s work.

“My mother was a biology teacher. So it was never ‘over there by the tree’, it was always ‘over there by the birch’. You absorbed that way of seeing things from the very beginning,” Per says.

Per’s sisters found their passion in their horses. For Per, it was always the machines.

“I started driving a tractor when I was seven or eight. You began with the simple things, like harrowing. Dad on one field, me on another.”

That passion has stayed with him. It becomes clear when the large sliding doors of one of the machine halls are opened. Inside stand around 40 tractors, most of them Per’s own. The majority are American John Deere models, with their green‑and‑yellow paintwork and the leaping deer on the hood. The oldest date back to the 1930s, and a few even carry ‘Best in Show’ awards. Almost like horses.

Continuing the family tradition was not an obvious choice for Per. In the late 1990s, he and his wife lived in an apartment, he worked at the company Hydrotech and served as a part‑time firefighter in Vellinge. Then his father Göran called.

“He said: now you have to decide whether you want to take over and move here. Otherwise, it’s time for me to sell.”

And so it happened. The bond to the land, the place, and what grows from it proved strong enough. Because that is what draws Per to life as a farmer:

“It’s beautiful to follow the changes through the seasons, and to be the one who helps things grow and become food. Me, the sun, the wind and the water working together. And the black soil — it’s good to work with. I also like that you always have to keep learning, always trying to do things better.”

Along the way, Per has been helped by his curiosity, by his mentor Holger Andersson at the neighbouring farm, and by his father, who continued to work the land for as long as he was able. Today, the cultivated land has grown to 160 hectares, with cereals, rapeseed and sugar beets — and a few other things that have made Per Larsson something of a local celebrity.

“There were new regulations requiring land to be set aside as ecological focus areas. I thought you might as well do something fun with it. The first year I planted a Swedish flag in phacelia and mustard, the second year a smiley. Last year, I made the Ukrainian flag. It’s been written about in all kinds of newspapers.”

Despite his love for the land and the crops, Per still works part‑time at Hydrotech and as a firefighter — to meet people and contribute to the community around him.

“This summer, when it just kept raining and the grain started to lodge, it was actually nice to go to work and think about something else for a while.”

Because that is life as a farmer: dependent on the weather and tied to the place. Holidays have to wait until after the harvest, and things can happen that turn everything upside down — like last autumn, when an explosion at Sweden’s only sugar refinery in Örtofta left piles of beets lying untouched in the fields.

“They say a farmer’s memory is only one year long — otherwise you wouldn’t have the strength to carry on. There’s a lot you can’t control, but over time it usually balances out between good and bad.”

For now, Per has no plans to stop farming. There is still much to learn. But there will likely be no fourth generation working the land at Petersro. His sons, now grown, have chosen other paths in life.

“I’m fine with that. As long as they did well in school and had friends, I never made any demands. I’ll keep going as long as I can, and then someone else will take over. That’s life.”