For the past several years, I've spent my days farming in Central Texas. I help manage a diversified farm where we grow vegetables, raise pasture-fed cattle and laying hens, keep bees, and sell what we produce directly to our community.

It's a job that asks you to wear a lot of hats.

Some days I'm planning crops months in advance. Others I'm harvesting lettuce, repairing irrigation, loading cattle, or wondering why a perfectly healthy row of plants decided to quit on me overnight. That's farming.

It wasn't always the plan. I studied entrepreneurship in college because I liked the idea of building something from scratch. After graduation I started a juice company, managed an urban microgreen farm, spent time in the Peace Corps in Namibia, volunteered on another farm back home, and eventually landed where I am today. Looking back, each stop taught me something that made the next one possible.

Writing has been there through most of it.

I've kept journals for years. In Namibia I'd occasionally post stories home so friends and family could follow along. These days, writing has become a morning routine. Before the workday begins, I sit down for thirty or forty minutes to write about whatever has been occupying my mind.

Usually that starts somewhere in the garden.

I've found that farming has a funny way of explaining things that don't seem to have much to do with farming at all. A crop failure becomes a lesson in expectations. A patch of weeds changes the way I think about persistence. Loading cattle turns into an essay about fear. I don't go looking for those connections. They just seem to show up.

That's what you'll find here.

Essays, garden projects, practical advice, and an honest account of what I'm learning along the way. If this project grows into consulting, workshops, or helping people build better gardens, I'd welcome that. But even if it doesn't, I suspect I'll still be out in the garden each morning finding something worth writing down.