08/25/2026
Something has been heavy on my heart lately, and I want to say it with humility—but also with conviction.
We've seen and heard some larger farmers—at least larger than us—put down smaller, beginning, or homestead-style farmers. And I'll be honest: it hurts my heart.
Because we're all working toward the same goal.
We're all trying to work the land. We're all trying to raise something. We're all trying to provide. We're all putting in long days, learning as we go, and doing our best with what we've been given.
And if anything, we look up to those larger farms.
We see what they've built and think, "We want that someday."
We would love to have more land. We would love to raise more animals. We would love to grow more food. We would love to be able to provide for more families and have an operation that allows us to farm full-time. And that may mean we have to leave this area one day.
We don't look at a larger farm and think they're doing too much.
We look at it and think, "How can we get there?"
So when someone looks at what we've built and decides it isn't enough to be called a farm because we're small, because we don't produce commercially, or because we don't feed a large number of people, that's where I struggle.
We call ourselves a farm.
No, we aren’t a commercial farm that feeds our town, our state, or the country as a whole. We weren’t born into farming, we didn’t marry into it. We have worked hard for what we have, one piece at a time. As many others like us have!
We also know we can’t compete with developers and contractors who can buy up large amounts of farmland. And yes, it hurts us to see good farmland disappear under subdivisions, just like it does so many others.
But I think sometimes we have forgotten what farming actually is.
When settlers first came to this country, many families had what we might call a “subsistence farm.” They grew crops, raised animals, preserved food, and worked the land primarily to feed their own families. They planted enough to make it through the winter. If there was something left over, they might trade it, sell it, or share it with a neighbor.
As towns grew and transportation, machinery, markets, technology, and agricultural economics changed, farming changed with them. Farms became larger and more specialized. Instead of every family producing a little of everything they needed, fewer farms began producing more for many people. Commercial agriculture became necessary to feed growing populations—and those farmers deserve an incredible amount of respect for the work they do.
But that doesn't mean the family who raises a garden, keeps livestock, puts meat in their freezer, preserves what they grow, and shares the surplus with their family and neighbors isn't farming.
Were those early families lazy because they weren't producing enough to feed an entire town?
Of course not.
They were farming for what they had, with what they had, for the people they were responsible for.
That's what we're doing.
We are doing our best to provide for ourselves. We're learning how to grow our own food. We're learning how to raise animals and care for the land. We're learning through trial and error, early mornings, late nights, hard work, and plenty of mistakes.
And when we have enough to spare, we give it to family and friends. Sometimes we sell it. Sometimes it makes its way to someone else in our community.
We aren't a commercial farm.
Not yet, anyway.
One day, God willing, we'd love to have enough land to expand—to raise more, grow more, and help more people. We'd love to spend our days working the land instead of squeezing farm work into the hours before and after our full-time jobs.
But for now, we work full-time jobs so that we can have our full-time farm.
And we're okay with that.
Because farming isn't defined by how many acres you own, how many animals you have, how much you sell, or whether your operation can feed a county.
Farming is working the land.
It's raising something with your own hands.
It's putting food in your family's freezer.
It's saving seed, fixing fences, feeding animals in the rain, getting up early, staying out late, learning something new every season, and doing it again when something doesn't work.
It's stewardship.
It's hard work.
And sometimes, it's simply providing for your own.
We aren't ashamed to call ourselves farmers just because we're small.
We're proud of what we're building.
And we don't want to take anything away from the farmers who have built something bigger. We admire you. We hope to grow into something like that someday.
But I also believe there is room for all of us.
Room for the commercial farmer.
Room for the family farm.
Room for the homesteader.
Room for the beginner.
Room for the person with 500 acres and the person with 5.
We don't have to tear one another down because we're at different points in the journey.
We're all working toward the same thing: putting food on the table, caring for the land, raising something we can be proud of, and carrying the responsibility of being a steward of what we've been given.
We aren't afraid of hard work. In fact, we love it.
And one day, if God allows it, we'll be farming full-time.
Maybe we won't feed the whole country.
Maybe we'll simply feed our family, help a few neighbors, and contribute something good to our little corner of the world.
And honestly?
That would be more than enough for us.
But until then, don't mistake small for less than.
We're still farmers. Farmers support farmers.
