History of the Farm
In 1850, my ancestors left Virginia for the newly minted state of Texas, in search of novel land. Their journey ended on a hilltop in Northeast Texas, where blackland prairie and post-oak savannah converge just south of Bois d’Arc Creek. It was not the land before time, but certainly the land before white settlers. The Caddo people lived in this area for centuries, with small farm plots and ample wildlife to supply clothing, tools and protein. The land was covered with deep rooted and diverse native grasses, fed by the underground world of microorganisms in the carbon-rich soil that for thousands of years had been left largely undisturbed.
Upon arrival, my ancestors immediately began cultivating row crops for income, and by the time my grandfather returned from World War II, the once native grassland was no longer able to support crop production. By uprooting native grasses with a plow and leaving land fallow between crops, ecological diversity above and below ground was destroyed, and every ounce of topsoil eroded into Bois d’Arc Creek. What remained was mostly lifeless, compacted subsoil all but void of organic matter. Their bull in a china shop approach to agriculture broke the cycles of nature, and in short order squandered an ecological wonder thousands of years in the making.
Unfortunately, the story of my family farm reflects the well-intentioned but misguided farming practices that have been altering the American landscape since the early 1800’s. As European settlers moved west, so did the plow. This destructive wedge of cast iron, once pulled behind mules and now $300,000 tractors, led to the loss of billions of tons of topsoil, decimated ecological diversity, released untold amounts of carbon and forged a path to the caustic industrial food system of today.
My grandfather’s return from WWII coincided with the beginning of industrial agriculture – commonly referred to as the “Green Revolution” but more accurately called the Chemical Revolution.
No longer needed to build bombs for the war effort, Ammonium Nitrate entered the scene, and changed the game. Enterprising business owners set their sights on a new opportunity in the world of agriculture with the sudden abundance of this potent chemical fertilizer. Degraded soil immediately became productive again, like a listless partygoer after two lines of cocaine. With no understanding of the unintended consequences that would accompany our further betrayal of biology in favor of chemistry, farmers across the country, my grandfather included, embraced industrial solutions with open arms. Chemicals once used to eradicate humans were suddenly used to eradicate ecological diversity and synthetically stimulate plant growth. The war on nature had a potent new arsenal.
This development presented one of the many crossroads in our nation’s history. Farmers with increasingly lifeless soil could discover the path of natural regeneration, or chemical exploitation. The path of regeneration was diverse and complex, winding through the woods like the setting of a Robert Frost poem. The other path revealed a recently bulldozed swath of land, with electric lights and bankers handing out lines of credit. I can’t blame my grandfather, or anyone else for adopting the path of least resistance, but it has made all the difference.
Immediately following the chemical revolution, my grandfather raised a small herd of cattle on a monoculture of Bermuda grass, propped up by fertilizer. As a child, my siblings and I would pile into my father’s Buick and spend the next four hours listening to James Taylor and Lyle Lovett en route to the farm. Store-bought pound cake, Fruity Pebbles, Blue Bell ice cream and a second refrigerator full of Dr. Pepper awaited us when we arrived. The home, built around our ancestor’s original log cabin never had termites, presumably because they all died from diabetes. Far from the romanticized version of farms with a big garden and fresh eggs from the chicken coop, my grandparents’ farm was less of a farm, and more a piece of land with a few cows grazing on the other side of the fence. Still, I thought it was Reata from the 1956 film, “Giant”.
Notwithstanding the destruction of my gut microbiome, childhood trips to the farm were bucolic in many ways. My brother and I would ride to the pond on the tailgate of the farm truck and fish for hours. I would watch any number of John Wayne westerns, then saddle our horse, “Thunder” and move the cows back and forth across the pasture. Bonfires and bottle rockets illuminated the night sky, with the smell of cigar smoke wafting through the air. I would walk downstairs on Sunday morning to Jimmy Dean sausage, scrambled eggs and the sound of Charles Kuralt on CBS, knowing Gramps would say he loved me by putting a five dollar bill in my pocket before we loaded up the Buick to head home.
To my grandfather, the land was a family heirloom that represented a resource necessary for survival in his childhood. No doubt by the time he was born in the early 1900’s the land was severely degraded, and money was harder to generate than before. On his deathbed in 2012, Gramps would mutter as he drifted in and out of consciousness, “don’t let them take the farm.”
When my wife, Gillian and I flew home to attend his funeral, I walked around the farm and felt a profound calling to create a life on the piece of land so important to my personal story. Having lived in Durham, NC for several years, I was exposed to a beautiful array of vegetables and animal protein at the local farmers markets, from regenerative farmers and ranchers. These thoughtful and provocative land stewards helped me envision a life outside the preconceived notions of what I was supposed to do for a career. They demonstrated that healing land through regenerative practices is not only a path to a meaningful life, but also a solution to climate change, and sustainable food systems. So, with support from Gillian, I began the journey to reestablish the historic grassland my family settled 164 years earlier.
The Farm Today
In my mind there are screenshots of life that remain vividly clear regardless of how much time has passed. One of those screenshots was packing up my Honda on August 12, 2014 to drive to Texas so I could start farming. Gillian and our dog, Scout remained in Durham while I lived in the farmhouse with my Uncle Gordon. Two months later, we bought a home in McKinney, TX – a hour south of the farm so Gillian could commute to her job in Dallas. I would wake up an hour before sunrise and drive up the lane to the farm as the sun peeked above the horizon.
Uncle Gordon and I immediately went about transitioning the business from a simple cow/calf operation to a farm with 100% grass-fed beef, pasture raised pigs, chickens, turkeys and laying hens. We built housing, fencing, bought animals, sourced feed, built a website and applied to farmers markets. It was a profound transition for both of us, and once the business had roots, we decided to split the enterprises and focus on those we enjoyed the most. Uncle Gordon raised poultry and I focused on cattle and pigs.
In 2018, Gillian and I had a son, and after another year it was no longer “fun” to go to the farmers market every weekend, leaving them at home. I began looking for wholesale opportunities and could not find any that were financially viable for pasture raised pork.
Today, Bois d’Arc Meat Company is an entirely grass-fed beef business, with 30 Red Angus / Hereford / Red Devon cows. We raise our beef for a minimum of 28 months, and ideally 36 – 40 months. Grass-fed beef requires three things, done well to produce a quality end product: good grass, good genetics, and enough time. Not only are we improving soil and building ecological diversity on the farm, but producing a high quality product raised with integrity. Importantly, everything we do is built on a foundation of reverence and respect for the laws of nature. Because of that, our farm is sustainable, vibrant and personally fulfilling.
We are intentionally local, and do not ship beef. If you do not live in Northeast Texas, please find a regenerative cattle rancher somewhere in your area and support his or her work. A shift from industrial to regenerative food systems will not happen with a single blow, but rather, a billion taps of the chisel from conscientious consumers spending money differently. Please source your food from local farmers, raising animals with integrity, and growing crops sustainably.
If you are local and wish to purchase beef, please visit the How to Buy section of this website.
Why Regenerative Agriculture?
Wendell Berry wrote, “There are no sacred and unsacred places, just sacred and desecrated places.” Regenerative agriculture is about recognizing the inherent sacredness of nature, and working within the laws of nature to build soil and promote ecological diversity. A simple concept, but impossible to master because nature is impossible to fully understand. It is a system rooted in reverence and respect for natural ecosystems, with the belief that just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. It is a system that creates life, embraces diversity and celebrates our unique strand in the infinite web of connectedness that is nature. It is not a tagline, or marketing gimmick, regardless of who may use it as such. It is about growing food and raising animals with the understanding that nature is more powerful than the mythology of civilized cultures. To believe in regenerative agriculture is to recognize our only path forward is one we have not created ourselves.
And it can be pretty damn frustrating at times. Passion, conviction, and a dogged desire to succeed propelled me through the countless failures in my journey. Fortunately, success has often followed the pitfalls. With the help of grazing animals, we have increased the pH of our soil from 5 to a more favorable 6.5, corrected mineral imbalances, established diverse spring and summer grasses, increased organic matter in our soil, and fed thousands of families across North Texas. The beauty of regenerative agriculture is the potential for improvement spans far beyond what we have already accomplished.
Ecological diversity, above and below ground has returned to our farm. My grandfather would shoot at anything that was not a cow, but today it is not uncommon to see wild turkeys bobbing up and down in the tall grass, bobcats walking through the woods, river otters swimming through our ponds, egrets, wild ducks and geese seeking refuge on our land. Highly coveted dung beetles swarm our pastures in the summer, burying cow manure in the soil and feeding the microorganisms vital to plant health. Put a shovel in the ground and you will find earthworms. Put that soil under a microscope and you will see a web of life invisible to the naked eye. Fungus, bacteria, arthropods, nematodes and billions of other life forms necessary to feed plants, and rebuild topsoil reside among the root systems. Almost daily, I find myself in awe of the beauty and complexity of nature.
Healthy soil is also the key to restarting water cycles and mitigating droughts and floods. Carbon in its many forms builds organic matter, which allows the soil to form aggregates – villages of life found in clumps of soil – that serve as a sponge for water. An increase in just one percent organic matter allows one acre of soil to hold an additional 20,000 gallons of water. When it rains, some of that water is absorbed by plants and released back into the environment, cooling the air. Some of it percolates underground, refilling our aquifers, and some of it remains in the soil allowing microorganisms to move and cycle nutrients. When you ask a regenerative farmer or rancher how much rain they got, their answer will likely be “all of it.”
On the other hand, tillage, monocultures, chemicals and fallow ground are kryptonite for soil organic matter. In the system of industrial agriculture, rain is a blessing and a curse. Without organic matter to absorb the water, or a network of root systems to hold the ground in place, the small amount of rainfall that is absorbed in the soil does not last long, and when it rains a lot, floods quickly occur causing erosion. In a sense, healthy soil full of organic matter is like an investment account that generates income. Rain is a paycheck, but you never know when it will appear, while chemical applications are equivalent to high interest payday loans. The goal is to build wealth, not debt.
By embracing regenerative agriculture and honoring the cycles of nature, we can build soil, conserve water, increase ecological diversity, raise animals with integrity, keep money in local economies, and grow more than enough food to support the diverse diets of our diverse population.
We can also play a significant role in solving climate change through the enormous potential of carbon sequestration in healthy, uncultivated soil. Soil is the world’s largest carbon bank, and according to Ohio State University’s Carbon Management and Sequestration Center, cultivated soil has lost between 50 and 70 percent of its original carbon stock, much of which oxidized to become CO2. By embracing regenerative agriculture, this carbon can be reclaimed.
The ultimate blind spot for advocates of industrial food systems is that nature does not currently, nor will it ever operate based on the imagination of humans. To paraphrase Daniel Quinn from his novel, Ishmael, our ignorance to the laws of nature offers no protection to its effects. The laws of physics and biology are unconcerned with the economic desires of commodities brokers or food corporations, and remain unmoved by the latest technological innovations. Those that embrace that defective belief are engaged in a fight with a force infinitely more complex and powerful than we will ever comprehend. Nature will win, you can bet the farm.
