Hi there,

 

Well, Tanner and I have decided it’s time to take the next big step for 1915 Farm—maybe a little begrudgingly to be honest, but it is time! If you’ve been following us for a while (and filling your freezer with our meats), you know we started very small—with just 50 chicks, 2 hogs, and 1 cow back in 2017—learning as we went while also juggling two full-time jobs.

 

We love the livestock, we love farming and ranching, and we’re incredibly grateful that over the past seven years, we’ve been able to leave our off-farm jobs and bring on help. When we started 1915 Farm, our focus was being livestock stewards and raising animals the right way. Over the past year and a half, that’s evolved into doing our own butchery for all our pork and beef, too.

 

When we started the farm, we absolutely never pictured ourselves taking on butchery as well. Like, ever. But when you care deeply about your livestock and know there’s room to improve the quality, packaging, and overall experience, you figure out how to make it better. For us, that meant taking control of the process ourselves. Learning to run the butchery has been an overwhelming yet exhilarating part of our story. I must say I’m so very proud of the 1915 Meatery and how far we’ve come.

 

I’ll be honest—before we started cutting red meats in-house (beef & pork), I held my breath every time we opened a box from the outside processor. Every single time. The mistakes, the inconsistencies—it got to the point where we just couldn’t handle it anymore, knowing these were our animals. Now, two years later, I can finally breathe easy. Our steaks are cut perfectly, our ground beef is consistent, our packaging is clean and precise, and we get to create new and seasonal products we never could have before—like this week’s corned beef! It’s been a wild ride, but one I wouldn’t trade for anything. Small farms like ours can’t use those big packers for a couple of reasons. First, they have zero interest in working with someone bringing in just a few animals. And second, even if they did, there’d be no way to ensure we’d actually get our own meat back. These packers handle over 80% of the U.S. beef supply, so the system simply isn’t designed for farms like ours. Imagine us pulling up in an old rickety livestock trailer, hoping to get five head processed at a plant built to handle thousands a day—not happening.

 

That leaves us with small processors, but there aren’t many, and they book up fast. The reality is, most people buy their meat from grocery stores or big companies that rely on those massive packers, so there just isn’t a high demand for more small-scale processors. And even within the few that exist, not all are inspected for resale, meaning there are even fewer options for farms like ours. So, while we’re all in this together as small farmers, we’re also competing for those limited processing slots. It’s a tough system, but one of the many reasons we made the leap into butchering ourselves—because waiting months and crossing our fingers just wasn’t going to cut it.

 

Remember that “adventure” I mentioned way back? Well, here it is. About two weeks ago, when we went to schedule our chicken processing dates (side note: the 1915 Meatery can only handle beef & pork), we were told that the fall was already completely booked. As in—nowhere to take our chickens for processing for two whole months this fall. Not exactly the news we were expecting…

It was a bit of a shock—honestly, kind of a slap in the face. But in the short term, there’s not much we can do. Working with small processors is a lot like dating. Sometimes you break up with them, sometimes they break up with you, and sometimes you’re just sitting there wondering, wait… I thought we had a good thing going?

So, after kicking this can down the road for a while, Tanner and I have finally made the call—we’re building our own chicken processing facility. Yes, it’s a little daunting, but hey, we’ve already tackled the 1915 Meatery, so that gives us some confidence as we’re not going in totally blind.

As a family farm and entrepreneurs in a stage of life with very young children, hoping to grow our family even more — our priorities have shifted over the past few years. More than ever, we value our time together, and as we take on new projects or expand the business, we ask ourselves two big questions: “Does this align with our family time?” and “Are we genuinely excited about it?”

Honestly, our decision-making process is mostly based on gut feelings—probably the exact opposite of what you’re "supposed" to do in business. A couple of years ago, we almost built a big meat processing facility. We even bought land and started the process, but something about it just didn’t feel right. We didn’t like the idea of taking on a large amount of debt, always lurking in the back of our minds, weighing us down. Then, we nearly bought an existing chicken plant a few hours away. On paper, it made sense. The business needed it. But after multiple visits and endless discussions, we realized—no part of us actually wanted to do it. It didn’t excite us, and the thought of managing a facility hours away just felt exhausting.

It’s so easy to get caught up in what the business needs and sacrifice everything for it. But when you take a step back, look in the mirror, and ask, “Is this really what we want?”— the answer in this case was a very clear no.

But now, we’ve pretty much hit a crossroads. If we’re being honest, I think we secretly hoped that if we just kept putting off the whole taking control of chicken processing thing, someone else would build something that worked for us—and problem solved. But reality is setting in, and we’re realizing that the perfect solution probably isn’t coming.

So, here we are, stepping away (just a little) from our usual “are we excited about this?” decision-making strategy and moving into a bit of a grey area. The truth is, when we do a gut check, we don’t feel strongly for or against it—we’re just...in the middle. And honestly, that makes the decision harder.

But here’s what I do know: when I look out over a field full of turnips and winter grass that we planted for the chickens, and I watch my daughter happily picking turnips in that golden Texas afternoon light, I know I want to keep living this life. And if that means taking on something we’re not necessarily thrilled about in order to protect one of the reasons that allows us to experience these moments that bring joy to our hearts every single day — then maybe that’s okay.