🌿 Breaking Ground, Building Faith

When we first parked the camper and called this place home, the land felt wide and empty — full of promise, but also a little overwhelming. There were trees and brush and open space everywhere you looked, but not a single spot where we could really sit together and take it all in.

So, the first thing I built wasn’t a barn or a fence — it was a deck.

We needed the extra space. A place to gather, to eat, to talk, and to breathe when the camper started feeling too small. That deck has become our outdoor living room, where we spend countless hours together. It’s where the kids draw, where Emily reads or works with the dogs, and where we all sit late at night listening to the frogs and the wind in the trees.

It was the first step toward turning raw land into a home.

Learning by Building

That deck was probably one of the biggest things I’ve ever built — and for the most part, I’m proud of it. There were a few things I learned along the way, like how much roofing can test your patience. But every mistake has made me a little better.

The next project, a simple lean-to off the shed, went up in an evening and turned out great.

Each build since then has been its own little victory. It’s not one project that stands out — it’s the growth that comes with each one. Every board cut straighter, every post set truer, every fix done faster than before. It’s a slow rhythm of getting better through doing.

When Things Go Sideways

Of course, not everything goes according to plan. On that same deck, one of the columns ended up way out of plumb. I had to get creative to fix it — let’s just say there was some problem-solving, some head-scratching, and maybe a few muttered words I shouldn’t repeat.

But I figured it out.

That’s the thing about building — mistakes are part of the deal. Out of six columns, one bad one isn’t too shabby, and I’ll take those odds any day.

Building as You Go

Around here, what we build next depends on necessity and timing. We got more chicks, so I built more coops. The garden grew, so I expanded the fencing. When the fields started to thicken, I cleared them — by hand, with a weed whacker and determination.

Money’s tight sometimes, so we make do with what we have. Time is just as scarce, but you make it work. I’ve learned that if you chip away a little bit each day, things get done. The trick is patience — and accepting that progress doesn’t always look fast.

Becoming a Teacher

One skill I never expected to master is teaching. I always knew I’d teach my kids things, but this is different.

Building here has made me slow down, open up, and let them take part — even when that means mistakes and messes.

It’s not easy handing over responsibility, especially when you’re used to doing things your own way. But watching them learn, try, and figure it out… that’s worth more than any perfectly built deck.

I’ve had to remind myself to let them swing the hammer — even if it takes a few extra nails.

Faith and Patience

Building this farm has reshaped how I think about faith. It’s taught me to stop, to breathe, and to look around when things feel slow or hard.

Sometimes the work gives me quiet moments to reflect — like when the sun is cresting over the horizon and I’m out in the field cutting brush, or when spring rolls in and the air fills with flowers and butterflies. Those moments stop me in my tracks.

You can’t help but see God’s hand in it all — the beauty, the growth, the grace in the details.

In a world that moves too fast, this life forces you to slow down. To notice again.

Emily’s Corner: The Heart in the Work

When I asked Emily what part of the build or garden meant the most to her, she paused for a long time before answering.

“It might not be the garden or anything we built,” she said. “It’s definitely been the time with the kids. Whether we’re just sitting there not doing anything, or at the table on the deck eating together. It’s family time — and it’s just good to know we’re creating memories.”

That’s the kind of quiet meaning that anchors everything we do out here. The kids aren’t always pulling their weight yet, and there’s still a lot we want to improve, but we’re in it together.

Emily laughed as she said,

“There’s a lot of work we still need to do to officially be working together. The kids enjoy time with you doing some stuff — but they also enjoy time with me. It’s still a balance.”

When I asked if the farm had changed how she approaches the rescue or her dog training, she shrugged.

“Not really. That’s always been part of how we operate. But as the gardens grow and things settle, I think it’ll make things easier.”

And when I asked her what she’d add to the farm just for the joy of it, she grinned.

“More horses,” she said without hesitation.

Walking the Land

The area around the camper shows our handprints everywhere — the clutter, the evidence of a family making do in tight quarters. Beyond that, the land is still wild and untamed, growing naturally. We chose to let it mature without pesticides or overworking the soil.

When I walk out there now, I see more than brush and weeds. I see what’s coming — gardens, animals in the field, chicken tractors moving across green pastures, maybe even a few goats or a milking cow someday.

It’s messy, but it’s alive.

And as I look across it, I can’t help but feel like we’re right where we’re meant to be. Every imperfect post, every patch of dirt, every step forward — it’s all part of the foundation we’re laying. Not just for our home, but for our family and our faith.

A-7 Farms isn’t built overnight.

It’s built one board, one chore, one prayer, and one sunrise at a time.

And every day, we’re getting a little better at it.