Family Ranch in Southern Missouri
A Little History & A Little Heritage
I grew up on this farm. For the most part, in this house too. My grandparents started building it when I was just 7 years old. It’s not exactly the normal “old farmhouse” people envision when you throw out the farmhouse term, but it was built on dreams nonetheless. And, I guess, if there’s anything that truly makes a farmhouse a farmhouse… it’s that. Two people, sweating through the grit and adventure of life together to build a dream.
Granny and Grampy started piecing the farm that I’ve known as home for most of my life in the early 90’s. I remember riding through the fields on a big Argo vehicle. The thing felt like a tank to me with its massive wheels and ability to go pretty much anywhere the raw farm ground had to offer. We’d go from riding the fields on wheels, to transforming it into a boat that would float across the St. Francis River running through our property. The memories are like little snapshots in my mind. His arm held out, pointing and shaking his hand, the way he always did when he was explaining a vision he had to someone else. Granny putting her foot down and holding a voice for the massive beautiful trees that he was NOT to clear out. Piece by piece, they cleared, built, bought, and wove together what is now just shy of 3,000 acres in the Ozark foothills.
secret to a treasure
I wish I would have listened more intently. I wish someone would have recorded him instead of assuming he would always be around to tell us those same stories and the same wisdoms for the 23rd time. I wish I would have listened like he was sharing the secret to a treasure that only he held the key to. Because truly, that’s what it was.
We spent almost every weekend out here. Fish fries, deer camp, holiday celebrations, Sunday afternoon picnics between church services… Those were my favorite. We’d come out after church, load up a crew of four wheelers, and set off for Collier Spring, a fresh water, ever flowing spring branch. It was one of my Grampy’s favorite spots, and he made sure we all got down on our bellies to steal a sip of that “cooooool fresh water”. We’d use an old board for a buffet line, and Granny would lay out the bread, cheeses, meats (Ozark ham was the delicacy she was so proud of), condiments, and chips. We’d hike up the woods, swing off the grape vines, and get our own private (and very animated) guided tour. Sharing stories of the history this place held.
And the provision they’d made for us to always have a safe place to land.
It is not lost on me that I get to raise my family here. That this secluded section of the world… this haven… is where I get to nurture, disciple, train, work, play, and grow alongside those the Lord has entrusted me with.
There is an immense amount of love and heritage in this place. There’s not a day that I look across our field from my kitchen window that I don’t think about my grandparents. The love and sacrifice that was offered to build a place that all of their kids and grandkids for generations to come can enjoy and build on is an amazing, selfless, and inspiring thing to me.
There’s so much to it, isn’t there? Raising a family. Homeschooling them. Nurturing and caring for your marriage. Building home. Growing a business (or a few) in the midst of it all. But, I am convinced that a goodly heritage is worth fighting for. It’s worth passing on. It’s worth forsaking all of the cultural norms, ideas of the “American Dream”, success and progress to come back to home. To roll up your sleeves for the hard work it takes to preserve such a heritage. There is no greater mission field – nor battlefield – than our homes.
Our homes are worth every second of intentional sacrifice and daily surrendering.
Everyone’s story and home is different…
Welcome to ours! <3
