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.
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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.
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The Hitch That Refuses to Leave
My fire truck has a trailer hitch that refuses to leave. Four grown men have attacked this thing. Heat. Hammers. Language that would make sailors apologize. Nothing. The guy I bought the truck from said, “Oh yeah, that’ll come right off.” Sir… Were you talking…
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Fractions: Math Detention With Fluorescent Lighting
I successfully avoided fractions for most of my adult life. Then I bought a farm. Now every conversation sounds like someone trying to summon a demon. Two-cycle. Fifty to one. Five-eighths. Three-quarter. One-inch. Two-inch. Two-and-five-sixteenths. At this point I’m convinced hardware stores are just math…
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Nobody Told Me Horses Sleep Standing Up
Did you know horses sleep standing up? Forty-one years on Earth and nobody thought this was important information. Here I am pricing stalls, hay, fencing… Never once did I ask… Where does the horse mattress go? There goes my million-dollar business idea. Sleep Number for…
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Out in the Sticks
You know you’ve officially moved to the middle of nowhere when Domino’s looks at your address and laughs. No pizza. No DoorDash. No Uber Eats. If civilization collapses, I won’t notice until my Amazon packages stop showing up. Speaking of which… My UPS driver now…
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