A Little History

We have so many ideas and stories to share, but decided the first should be fundamental: a brief history of our journey. Even the action of penning these thoughts down led us to realize that there are so many tales of humor and philosophy that we want to voice, and we look forward to laying them bare for you all.

A Little History…

Very infrequently will life lead you down a clear and logical path. If 11 years ago I had sat myself down and tried to envision our situation in 2024, I would’ve been so confident—confident that it was not what I have now worked so hard to achieve. I was convinced I would always be working in the lab with fossils, entertaining my perfectly introverted life adoring rocks and core samples. If I would have asked Tom where he predicted his journey would take him, he would have glanced at me like I was insane (I wonder frequently if he has another look for me) as he would reiterate that there is no life for him unless he’s working the land and forging his own future.

What strange woods our path has traveled. The nicks and cuts have scarred us, but I think we may some days be stronger for it, although Tom would say I have sensitive, Irish skin regardless.

I brought with me vast quantities of farm naivety when I moved to Botetourt in 2014. Though Tom & I met in a plant genetics class way back in the day at Virginia Tech, I was still vastly ignorant and lacked any real practical experience. Being born and raised in suburban Loudoun County, my views of farm life were shaped only by field trips to the pumpkin patch and occasional petting zoo. Agriculture was a foreign concept. In my home region, land itself was a commodity to be harvested and sold, a mere obstacle to overcome and conquer to serve the all-powerful deity of “Progress”. A field was not for wheat or corn or cattle—it was a backdrop for a surveyor’s rendering of a new housing development, a strip mall, or another novel concept through which we could exhibit Manifest Destiny.

I scoffed at the idea that farming could be anything other than a simple, linear ordeal. You plant the seed, corn grows, harvest corn, profit, repeat ad nauseam. Duh. If I had better hearing, I would have caught the whisper of the Fates cackling at my profound incompetence (I still hear them quite often…).

Meanwhile, Tom’s blood ran thick with knowledge and passion of the land and how to cultivate a livelihood by working with the earth. Passed down over a century, the family farm had planted deep roots that dwell well beyond the soil, branching and twisting further with every member.

Though the family farm had been in the lineage for so many generations, it had devolved into merely a plot of unused land by the time we assumed its management. Essentially a blank slate, we began to seed it with our own dreams.

We began with eight cows in 2014—just eight! Since I was so innocently unaccustomed to farm life, I felt the need to name some of them (in hindsight, this was a questionable decision). One steer would even recognize my car as I pulled up to the farm, running to the fence and crying if I didn’t give him excessive scratches and praise. “Boo” was the first to be processed, and it was a shocking lesson for me.

My whole paradigm shifted quickly. We were stewards, caretakers, shepherds. This wasn’t a game; it wasn’t simply a means to an end. The responsibility and significance weighed heavily on me… but that is itself enough fodder for a blog post another time (already began the draft; can’t wait to share). Steadily, we grew our herd of eight cows into hundreds, and slowly amassed more and more acreage.  

We started selling beef by word of mouth. Coworkers, family, friends. We bought our first appliance together in the spring of 2014 in the form of a large upright freezer. How romantic.  

We had a steady inventory of product and customers, but the entrepreneurial itch was not satiated— we were ready for more.

By the summer of 2014, I had an absurd, mad, fever dream of an idea: give up every Saturday of our free, young adult life and join the farmers market. Tom acceded to my ravings (bless his heart), and so the next chapter began.

We were so proud of our humble market days in the early years. Sometimes I think we were just happy to be there, if nothing else other than to feel the pride of having fruited a product from essentially our thoughts and labor. To see what we could do when we applied ourselves outside of the normal “system” was intoxicating and addictive. To understand that because of our work, we were putting food on a customer’s plate; literally imbibing them with life. It was entirely eye-opening. We would celebrate if we made any money at all, whooping and high-fiving regardless of the margin.

It was empowering back then; the baby steps and little victories that were essential for nurturing our morale and motivation. We thought, if we can do this, what else are we capable of?

Tom was working in logistics as an account manager for a national transportation company when he realized he could no longer straddle as Colossus between the world of 9-to-5 and the world of his own path. And so he made the jump into the entrepreneurial void in the spring of 2018.

How exciting (Tom). How terrifying (me). How anxious (us, baseline).

We always crack ourselves up with the same joke about Tom working for the farm full-time: “Now I get to choose my own 80-hour workweek!” … though 80 hours seems like a light shift all too frequently.

In the spring of 2019, we had another feverish idea: “What if we got chickens…for eggs…”.

And so we went from 0 to 250 chickens overnight. That was a doozy.

The “quality time” we spent together washing thousands of eggs by hand is a memory that I’m okay keeping tucked away. Bless our current mechanical egg washer.

Additional chickens and two farmers markets kept us busy for a while. Then the world shut down in 2020 and our son was born in the Fall. Our path had changed again. Now, each choice we made meant a heavier effect down the road: whatever step we took, Jack would deal with the consequences. Risks were now more calculated (except the sheep… that’s another blog post--perhaps one of more eccentric adventures), and hopes became not just for us, but for the family as a unit. Would he share our same passions, goals, and ideologies?

That brought us to our next radical change: leaving the Botetourt Farmers Market and opening The Farm Stand right on the farm. Though demanding and labor-intensive, the Botetourt market was our stepping-stone that helped us build our initial base and establish those critical primary connections with our community. In fact, if we found ourselves absent even one market day, people would show up at our house or our neighbors’ houses. We needed a way to ensure we could always be present and consistent for our customers, and so we built The Farm Stand. Now we can allot the time dedicated to that market to other passions—one of which is connecting with our customers (now proudly our friends) every Saturday instead. Our growth as individuals, a family, and as a business has been in a small part led by our own passions, but largely by the community around us. Now that we have the physical location of The Farm Stand in which to seed ideas and bring others together, we plan to become the site to encourage others to grow as well.

It has been a wild journey. The ups and downs are enough to give us whiplash in the moment, but it’s only after pausing and looking back can we see that the climb was steadily higher each time. Throughout it all are our constant companions: Change, Passion, Frustration, Elation, Frustration (best to include that one twice for good measure).

Would we do it all over? Yes? Ask me on day of extremes and I’ll have a solid answer one way or another.

We live in a state of flux. Agriculture is controlled Nature, curated chaos, a persistent dance with the forces of entropy.  Weather. Rain. Feed. A poor decision. A gate left open. Every action heavy as we blindly try to predict the constant swing of the pendulum (and often miss-- who would have anticipated the barn fire??). Ours is a religion based on faith in the tangible, but also the unexpected. Faith in the land, in our vision, in our customers, in our county’s governance, in ourselves.

But the journey continues, and now you all have become part of the path as well. We look forward to divulging the stories that we’ve experienced, and discovering the ones right around the bend together. 

-Tara