It all turns on affection now… affection.  Don’t you see?

                - E. M. Forster, Howard’s End

We are a small, family-run farm in the fertile Blanco river valley of Wimberley, in the heart of the Central Texas Hill Country.  We grow our heirloom vegetables with care, without the use of conventional fertilizers or pesticides, employing growing techniques that will progressively build the soil and benefit the environment.  We believe that locally-grown food has the ability to nourish a community spiritually, as well as physically.  We hope you'll get to know us better.

- John and Heather

 
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Most days we’re pursuing what we love.  We have limited our income, but we have expanded our affection.  We labor alongside the seasons and the seeds and the soil because we care about our impact on the world around us; we enjoy coaxing young plants along; we get a rush from that first blush of color that follows the white shine, that follows the bright green, that arises as the yellow flower fades to beige.  It’s drama!  And to be honest, we’re drama junkies.

 
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Our lives are replete with pleasures.  Obvious ones like the breathtaking conflagration of sunrise in the Blanco River Valley, and the occasional triumph of just enough things going right that you realize you’ve taken hold of something large and infinite - and small and infinitesimal - and it’s taken hold of you back, and you’re right in the middle of the life you belong in. 

But there are other pleasures – letting go of your beloved milk cow who foolishly steps in a gopher hole and strains her knee while a month from suckling, and now she can’t get up, and for a ruminant that is a certain death sentence, and all you can think about is her sticking her head through the door of your dining room and mooing at 142 decibels, and the warmth and smell you absorb from her as you lean your head against her flank on a frosty morning, milking – bitter pleasures, because you had her for a while and now you don’t.

 

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Why do we live in a tiny house, work twelve hours most days, have hands stained and ground black with dirt, for modest financial reward?  Because we want to.  Because we like it.  Because it feels important that we’re caring for a piece of earth, and feeding some people we know and love; we want them to be better for our caring.

 
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“By imagination we recognize with sympathy the fellow members, human and nonhuman, with whom we share our place. By that local experience we see the need to grant a sort of preemptive sympathy to all the fellow members, the neighbors, with whom we share the world. As imagination enables sympathy, sympathy enables affection. And in affection we find the possibility of a neighborly, kind, and conserving economy.”

— Wendell Berry