In the summer of ’22 an opportunity to buy my husband’s childhood farm arose. The farm he managed for 27 years and worked as a kid.
My in-laws (aka-the most amazing in-laws in the history of EVER) passed away within 6 months of each other. And it sucked.
Our kids were devastated. We were devastated. Our community was devastated.
They were staples in everyone’s lives.
Seriously, everyone loved them.

The family farm was going to be sold and buyers were lining up. We crunched the numbers, hem hawed back and forth, dreamed, had nightmares, crunched the numbers again, made lists… pretty much everything we could do to talk ourselves in and out of buying it.
We ended up not saying much because another buyer had come forward and we really liked their family, and had for years.
But, things just kept happening that made us think it was supposed to happen for us. So many things.
The new buyers said the same thing and eventually had to back out.
We prayed and finally got honest with each other. He spoke to his brother and things started happening pretty quickly after that.

One of the biggest reasons for us was just keeping the farm in the family. This land has been in my husband’s family for over 100 years. When people talk about deep roots, this is what they mean. Blood, sweat, and tears are in this earth. We couldn’t imagine anyone but family owning it. We couldn’t pass their house every day and know a stranger owned it. We wanted this land to be our kids’ futures, if they wanted that.

Another big reason was that it would give our company a place to expand.
If you’ve picked up an order at the house lately, you know just how jam-packed the business is and how much we are growing. The business has now literally taken over five rooms. FIVE.

One of my father-in-law’s favorite things to do was ride the 4-wheeler up the lane to “check on his girls”. He’d come through the back door and ask in his big booming voice, “What we doin’ today?” Meaning, he wanted in.
They were frequent visitors in our home, and we were in theirs. My mother-in-law couldn’t get down stairs well, so she made sure I brought my finished projects to her. She kept really good tabs on what I was working on, too. She wanted to see it all. She was a lover of all things crafty or antique, just like I am.

I don’t know if you know any dairy farmers, but if you do, you know it isn’t easy. Cows don’t take a day off, therefore, neither do you.
That means missing family events, kid’s games, programs, special events, and having a 15-hour honeymoon. That means your wife has to go to her doctor alone to find out she’s miscarried. That means when it’s -20 below, you’re outside hand massaging a newborn calf to keep it alive. That means when it’s a dry summer, you’re in the 120 degree barn on your knees, exhausted, begging for moisture to keep the crops growing enough to feed the animals.
That means milking a full rotation with blood in your eyes after the bull treated you like a playground toy, broke 3 ribs, and split your head open.

For the first time ever, when I looked at the barn, I didn’t see the spot where my husband held me as I cried at the loss of our child.
I saw potential.
Potential for community members to sell their wares. Potential for the yummies I’ve always enjoyed baking. Potential to employ friends and family. Potential for a last-minute wedding gift. Potential for a memorial item to remember a loved one.
Potential to change a few little things and keep a thriving business where there’s been one for years.
Potential for all of that plus, and we are here for it!

Because of how supportive his parents have always been, we know they’d be thrilled to see the barn put to good use again. We hope we make them proud. We know they’re still watching.