Working on a farm with many animals was never something I dreamed of doing. The idea of this kind of work as my consistent vocation never even crossed my mind. I had been around farm livestock and poultry in a small way growing up, but that was about the extent of my experience. I considered myself more of a carpenter, having done that for most of my short working life. And then there’s the aspect of living in Ohio. That wasn’t on my radar either, having grown up entirely in the western United States.
Carpenter. Wilderness man. These were key parts of my identity. Sasquatch, or Yeti, is one of my nicknames. Mountain man was another title I picked up after moving here. Apparently, I stand out considerably now that I’ve been removed from my native habitat. The names mostly came from my appearance, but when my friends here discovered my deep love of the wilderness and hiking through it, those names made even more sense to them.
Adjusting to a New Reality
Ohio was very hard for me to adjust to. I moved here at the end of September 2023 because I had hit some impasses in my life and needed a change. I was acquainted with John and a few others here in Ohio, so that’s why I chose this area. I moved in with John and another friend and decided to work for John as well. I figured it would be a good short-term job as I adjusted to a new culture.
In my first month working for him, John shared that he wanted me to take over management of the farm. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but John was extremely busy. He needed someone to relieve his load, not just another farmhand. That was fine with me, though I really wasn’t sure what that would entail. But I plunged in the best I knew how.
The Commitment and the Conflict
Most of you know John at some level, but working for him and living with him was a total immersion experience. Every relationship has a honeymoon period, and this one was no different. What stood out to me about working on a farm is the high level of adaptability required just to get through a week. Farm work is a daily venture into repetitious chaos. It was nothing like construction, where you build step by systematic step.
After about a month of living in Ohio, I remember one day venting to the Lord. He answered, “You are used to living only according to your preferences. I am teaching you to be flexible.” That hit home—and it silenced me, at least temporarily. Still, chaos was the word I used often to describe life on the farm.
Growing Through Difficulty
When I started work in early October, we had chickens and turkeys in addition to the cows and sheep. We also rented some fields from a local farmer to graze the cover crops he’d planted that fall. Putting up thousands of feet of temporary fencing was a good experience.
During that first month, Austin, one of my coworkers, asked me if I enjoyed farming and if I wanted to do it for the rest of my life. I struggled to answer. It was hard to admit that I hated the job, because that begged the question: “Then why are you here?” The answer was that I had committed to work for John for six months, and keeping my word mattered to me.
The tension between commitment and desire was tough. I hadn’t realized it was okay to get out of my comfort zone for a time, even if I didn’t love what I was doing. Austin helped me see that every detour and side road adds to the bigger picture of gaining experience and discovering direction. I didn’t appreciate that conversation at the time—but as the months passed, I came to value it deeply.
Jaima Enters the Scene
Winter was the season for maintenance. I preferred being outdoors, so it was tough being cooped up in the shop for hours, trying to troubleshoot complex electrical issues on the truck. In those frustrating moments, I realized how far outside my element I truly was. I had spent six years in construction and felt confident in that work. This was totally different.
I remembered my school days, where I excelled with ease. Now, I was faced with challenges that left me feeling humiliated—and angry. I wasn’t used to struggling, and I hated that I couldn’t “ace” this job.
Amidst all this, Jaima Hess joined us for a week around Christmas. She had helped John earlier that year and came back to lend a hand. I didn’t think much of it at the time. She needed work and was a friend of John’s cousin. But John—“Juani,” as we affectionately called him—was clearly scheming something.
The Love Story Unfolds
One evening, John called and asked if Jaima and Keri (his cousin) could join us for supper. Four guys living together and two single ladies coming over—sure, why not? But none of us were prepared for what happened that night.
After supper, we gathered for prayer, as was our custom. When Jaima’s turn came, she prayed boldly, “Lord, send these men wives that wow, not business partners.” Boom. We all looked around like, “Did she just say that?”
Weeks later, John confessed his feelings for Jaima. Chaos was beginning to spiral in his heart. It brought a light-hearted energy to our workdays. He called Jaima often, usually on speaker, and we’d join in to tease him as she giggled on the other end. John basked in the attention like a man drinking lemonade on a hot day.
Summer Projects and Spiritual Reflections
Spring brought a flurry of activity: brooding baby chicks, rotating cows onto fresh pasture, and clearing brush on new rented land for fencing. Chainsaws, skid steers, and excavators made it fun—even if progress was slow.
In June, John went to Washington to visit Jaima. He forgot his phone at the airport, which made him hard to reach, but Jaima was suddenly more reachable than ever.
A couple days before he flew back, he got his phone back. When I called with a work question, he said, “I’m going to ask Jaima to marry me this afternoon. Pray for me.” I grinned. I figured the answer was already sealed.
Later that summer, we finished the Lexington road fencing project and moved the cows and sheep. Watching livestock improve the soil by trampling, grazing, and fertilizing fascinated me. It also mirrored how God works in our lives—allowing uncomfortable things to uproot and refine us so that something better can grow.
Farm Management and Personal Growth
September was disorganized. I was gone for the entire month, some help left, and John’s wedding was rapidly approaching.
John and Jaima married the first Saturday of October, and it was beautiful. I stayed behind to manage the farm while they honeymooned. With 1,200 chickens, a couple hundred turkeys, and all the cows and sheep to care for, it was slightly stressful. But I needed that pressure. It grew me as both a worker and a manager.
John left us access to his house, which we cleaned and prepared for their return. I even dabbled in interior decorating—contact John if you’d like to hire me. (Kidding... mostly.)
Reflections on Animals and Daily Chores
Farming still wasn’t “my thing,” but a year in, I’d stuck it out—and been deeply rewarded. I’d gained a brother and forged a relationship through fire. (Some of that fire was my own stubbornness.)
How would I sum up farm life?
Chickens: hot pens, lots of poop, and bending down to feed the little tanks.
Turkeys: slightly better—more mobile and hardy, but still poop machines.
Sheep and cows: enjoyable to watch. Lambs are playful; cows are majestic. Callie, our old dairy cow, was sweet and mellow. Our Highland cows, though, remained skittish despite our best efforts. Watching them eat thistle and ragweed was oddly satisfying.
Sheep are rebels. They’d escape often and test our patience, despite being herd animals. Gentle treatment was essential.
Cows typically respected fences, though they did break out once when a fence was knocked down. In that moment, they gave even the sheep a run for their money in the rebellion department.
Conclusion: Chaos Transformed
Daily chores could get frustrating—especially when things didn’t go to plan. But packing online meat orders helped me reconnect with the “why” behind it all. The freezer full of vacuum-sealed, pasture-raised meat reminded me of the delicious meals those animals would become: sizzling steak, grilled drumsticks, juicy burgers.
Even lamb heart and pancreas turned out to be surprisingly flavorful!
Each order reminded me of our customers and their stories—why they sought healthy, local meat. It gave the work purpose.
Farming also meant growing a relationship with John. We frustrated each other to no end, but we also blessed and sharpened each other. It was chaos—sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks. But through it, God was weaving something deeper.
Last year wasn’t just a job—it was a transformative journey. And for John, it was a love story, too. That Jaima really did a number on him.
As for the animals, they deserve the best care we can offer. Everyone who works on the farm has rough days, so it's important to hang in there and take care of them.
As for me, I’ve learned that if I'm patient, chaos will unfold many surprises better than I dreamed were possible.
