
Slow on purpose
Faster isn't always better. Bread that's risen overnight tastes different. A pasture rotated weekly grows back deeper. We chose this work because we wanted the time it asks for.
Rounding up the flock…
Pull up a chair — the kettle’s on.
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A small working farm. A few good animals. One open Saturday a week.
We weren't farmers. We were two people in a city apartment with a sourdough starter on the counter and a vague notion that we wanted to grow some of our own food. The notion got louder. We started spending weekends out of town looking at land we couldn't afford.
Then in October of 2023, we bought a property sight-unseen during a rainstorm. The listing photos hadn't shown the leaking roof or the missing barn doors. The seller had been very upfront about the unfinished pasture; he had been less upfront about the goat that was apparently still living somewhere on the back acre. We named her Penny. She came inside that first winter.
Three seasons later, the barn has doors. The roof doesn't leak. Penny has friends. The starter is still on the counter — we call it Penelope now and it's the one we use in the Sourdough workshops. The leap from notion to farm was bigger than we expected, and slower, and harder. We'd do it again.




Faster isn't always better. Bread that's risen overnight tastes different. A pasture rotated weekly grows back deeper. We chose this work because we wanted the time it asks for.

We hand-fork compost into the kitchen garden. We hand-shape every loaf. We hand-milk the does because the herd is small enough that we know each one's quirks. The hand-doing is the point.

No marketing-photo tomatoes. No staged tours. The eggs are warm because they came out an hour ago. The barn smells like a barn. We don't curate the parts that aren't pretty — we just keep showing up to them.
We work twelve acres on the south side of the valley. Half is pasture, a quarter is woods we leave alone, and the rest is the small busy bit — barn, dairy, kitchen, gardens, shop.






Most visits become an animal visit somewhere along the way. Here are the regulars — the goats are happy to be greeted, the dogs are happy to lean.

Came with the property. Cleared a 4-foot fence on day three. Now the matriarch.

Will scream if you leave the pen. Will also be the first to lean against your leg.

Two healthy kids in our first kidding season. Calmer than any of us were that night.

Watches everything. Naps in the kitchen. Will lean on you if you stand still long enough.

Two-year-old with all the running in him. Polite. Loves the goats too much.

Co-founder · Cheese, sourdough, the workshops
Used to be a research scientist. Trades white papers for white cheesecloth now. Runs the workshops and most of the kitchen.

Co-founder · Pasture, animals, fences
Builds and rebuilds. Knows every fence post by name. Mostly responsible for the goats turning out as friendly as they did.

Saturdays · Shop + greetings
Lives down the road. Runs the shop on open Saturdays. Best at recommending the goat-milk caramels to first-time visitors.

Plan a visit, take a workshop, or just stop in for sourdough and eggs.