This is not a blog. This is a running record of farm stories and fails — written live, from the mud, by a man who once believed twelve acres would be “peaceful.” Everything here actually happened. That’s the problem. My suffering is your entertainment. Enjoy responsibly.
New dispatches drop every Tuesday and Friday. The farm does not take weeks off. Neither does the suffering.
Browse by category of regret
Latest dispatches
Want every single one on a single page, newest first? That’s Bigfoot’s Rabbit Hole. Cancel your evening.
-
A Grown Man Getting Emotional in a Pasture
Three years ago I promised Mariah a horse property. Tonight I came home, looked across the pasture at Coco and Freya standing together, and realized I actually kept it.
-
The Harbor Freight Auger Tried to Kill Me
People have been digging holes since the beginning of civilization. We buried food. We planted crops. We installed fences. We hid bodies from tax collectors. At some point humanity looked at the shovel and said, “There has to be a machine that makes this easier.”…
-
The Lowe’s Employee Who Arrived After the War
I loaded ten pressure-treated 6×6 posts onto a cart at Lowe’s by myself. If you have never handled one, each post weighs roughly the same as a wet corpse that refuses to cooperate. By number six, my spine was sending goodbye letters to the rest…
-
I Got More Hardwood Than a Viagra Convention in 1998
I Got More Hardwood Than a Viagra Convention in 1998… and I Need It Gone So apparently I bought 12 acres of what might be black walnut trees. Now, I’m not a timber guy. I’m a marketing guy who recently moved to Bloomingdale and somehow…
Get these in your inbox
No algorithm. No ads. Just the farm, arriving in your email like a letter from a friend who is not doing well.