Pictures, headaches, and the slow proof that a farm is being made.
This is the living record — add a new note anytime in Farm Desk when something worth keeping happens.
March 12, 2026 · Progress
Still here, still glad
Four seasons into the fifth year, the porch chairs have a sag that means they have been used. The animals have names and medical files. The calendar has camps, parties, lessons, and the ordinary Tuesdays that actually make a farm. If you are wondering whether this life is for you: it is hard, it is funny, and it is a good place to raise children in the sight of God. Come see us. Bring boots.
June 21, 2024 · Community
First kids' camp: hay in the hair, grace in the lunch line
We opened the gate to a wagon of children and remembered why the headaches were worth it. They gathered eggs like treasure. They learned that a horse is not a toy and a goat is not a stuffed animal. We prayed over sandwiches. Somebody cried, somebody crowed, everybody went home dusty. That is a successful camp. We will keep doing it.
February 9, 2024 · Chores
The gospel according to woven wire
A straight fence is a kind of honesty. Ours was not straight for a long time. We stretched wire until our shoulders filed a complaint, then stretched more. Every farm has a theology; ours is that you tend what is in front of you and you do not despise small beginnings. Also, buy better gloves the first time.
April 18, 2023 · Animals
The goats have a union. We did not authorize a union.
They negotiated anyway, mostly by standing on the picnic table. Nigerian Dwarfs can dismantle a plan, a bucket, and a person's dignity in one afternoon, then blink as if they have paid rent. We learned to latch twice, laugh once, and keep goat yoga on their calendar because they are, somehow, wonderful with guests. Farming is 40 percent feed and 60 percent accepting that you are the straight man in someone else's comedy.
October 4, 2022 · Startup
Day one: we had a date and a prayer
October 4, 2022. We called it a start because you have to call it something. The boots were new. The fence posts were not yet friends. We stood on a piece of North Texas dirt and asked the Lord to make a farm out of our willingness. He has been kind. He has also been humorous. If you are in the first year of a small farm, eat supper, check the water, and refuse to measure success by Instagram. Measure it by animals who are well and people who are still speaking to each other.