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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Turn Gasoline Into Beer Money
LOOKING FOR SOMEONE WHO ENJOYS TURNING GASOLINE INTO BEER MONEY 🍺 Got less than an acre that needs cut in Bloomingdale. Not a jungle. Not a golf course. Somewhere in the middle where Mother Nature is trying, but not that hard. The yard has a…
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Patio Doors Are Now a Luxury Item for Billionaires and Drug Lords
BREAKING NEWS: Apparently patio doors are now a luxury item reserved for billionaires and drug lords. I’ve officially entered the phase of homeownership where I can’t tell if I’m shopping for doors or funding a NASA mission. I’ve got three exterior patio doors that need…
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Friends Don’t Let Friends Build Barns on Crooked Ground
Friend’s don’t let friends build barns without making sure the ground is level first. Or, in my case, they just call Dale Devore, who casually shows up with a machine worth more than my entire house like it’s no big deal. Meanwhile, I’m standing there…
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Explain Patio Doors to Me Like I’m Five
Dear people of Jefferson County, Can somebody explain patio doors to me like I’m five? Actually… explain them to me like I’m five, only allowed to use safety scissors, can’t be left unsupervised, and still think Elmer’s glue is a legitimate food group. I’m trying…
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