Orenda Pastures is a 25-acre regenerative farm built on sound money.

A bare field wants to become a forest. Left alone, grass gives way to shrubs, shrubs to pioneer trees, until a canopy closes overhead — succession, the way land rebuilds itself when we let it.

Syntropic agroforestry works with that succession instead of against it. We plant food crops and fast-growing support species together in dense, layered rows, then prune the support species hard and drop them as mulch. That biomass feeds the soil and pushes the whole system to grow — each cycle compounding into richer ground and more food.

We plan to plant so the early years pay in vegetables and berries while the fruit and timber trees fill in. In time the rows settle into food forest that produces more while asking less of us each season.

Rotational grazing mimics the way wild herds once moved across a landscape — grazing an area hard, then moving on and leaving it to recover.

Animals left in one place too long strip the ground bare. Kept moving, they do the opposite: the grazing, the manure, and the hoof action all feed the soil, and the rest lets the grass regrow deeper roots. It's how the great grasslands built feet of topsoil before a fence ever existed.

Ultimately we plan to integrate cows, sheep, and chickens, moving them across the land to mimic that natural flow. We're still working out the order and the timing, but the principle holds: keep the animals moving, and let the land rebuild behind them.

Every plant on the farm comes from another — a seed, a cutting, a division. A farm built on thousands of trees and perennials needs a place to make its own.

Buying them all retail would drain the budget before the first harvest, and you take whatever the catalog stocks. Growing our own means control over what goes in the ground: varieties suited to this soil and this climate, raised here and hardened off on site.

We plan to propagate from seed, cuttings, and division — fruit and nut trees, nitrogen-fixing support species, perennials for the understory. Whatever we don't need, we sell or trade. In time the nursery becomes the engine room the rest of the farm grows out of.

Fungi are nature's recyclers — they break down dead wood and leaf litter and turn it back into food and soil. They thrive in the cool, damp shade most crops can't use.

The floor beneath a canopy is wasted space for vegetables and close to perfect for mushrooms. They turn logs and wood chips — byproducts of tending the timber — into dense, valuable food, while feeding the soil life that breaks the rest down.

We plan to inoculate hardwood logs and beds with gourmet and medicinal species like oyster, shiitake, and lion's mane, tucked into the wetter pockets of the farm. The spent substrate goes back to the soil. Low input, high return, and a closed loop between the woodland and the table.

A woodland is a slow, renewing asset. Left to grow too thick it stalls; cut all at once it's gone. Tended a little at a time, it gives back for generations.

The standing trees here are both a resource and a responsibility. Managed well, the woodland yields building material, firewood, mushroom logs, and wood chips for years without ever being clear-cut. Managed poorly, it's a one-time cash-out that leaves bare ground behind.

We plan to thin selectively — taking the weaker and crowded trees so the strong ones grow faster and light reaches the floor. What comes out gets used on the farm or milled for lumber. It's a harvest measured in decades, the kind of asset you build for the next generation instead of spending in this one.

Agrotourism means opening a working farm to visitors — stays, tours, and events on the land itself.

Most people have never stood in a working pasture or seen where their food actually starts. Bringing them onto the farm rebuilds that connection, and the income helps fund the build — guests becoming part of the place instead of strangers buying a product.

As the farm matures, we plan to open the gate slowly: overnight stays, walking tours, seasonal events, hands-on days. Kept at human scale, it stays personal — a few guests at a time, real conversations, the land doing the teaching.

One thing I have learned about life in my 36 years on Earth is that having family that cares about you and will do whatever they can to help you is one of God's greatest blessings. If you are lucky enough to have caring family in your life you are doing well. And if you are lucky enough to have two loving parents and two incredible sisters like I am — you have won the lottery of life. Nothing I do would be possible or have any meaning if not for family to share it with.

My dad and I have long been discussing the state of the world. Trying to understand why it feels like we're all working harder and harder just to keep falling behind. When the topic of his retirement came up a few years ago it was obvious we needed to start thinking about what that was going to look like. For years I had dreamed of buying a piece of land to grow my own food and get to living a life more in rhythm with nature. I proposed a plan: we buy some land, build a big barn with a house inside, get some animals, start a farm. I knew I couldn't do it without his help and he knew this was a chance for him to retire to a slower way of life.

In September of 2024 we took a road trip through VA, NC and SC — we saw over 20 properties. Raw land, old farmhouses. Finally in Lake City, SC we found this tract. The owner was willing to cut a 25-acre parcel out to give us what we wanted. We closed just before Christmas and the Orenda Pastures dream was born.

I've spent my career in sales and sales leadership. My passion, however, is growing things. What started as a few containers of tomatoes in the yard turned into experimental food forests. In a world where less makes sense each day, the idea that you can grow food in a way that is both more nutrient-dense and beneficial for the ecology just makes my soul sing. There is something about observing and interacting with nature in this way that makes life feel more real.

My dad made a living and supported our family with his hands. He owned and operated auto body shops, spent time as a commercial welder, and then spent the bulk of his career as a union carpenter in Boston. There is nothing this man cannot build or fix. A relentless problem solver with an uncanny ability to make it work with what he has. His experience and expertise have been invaluable at every step of the way. Not a day goes by where I don't grow to appreciate him more.

Together we don't have any formal farming experience. But what we do have is a desire to direct our energy towards building regenerative food systems that produce more high-quality food with fewer inputs over time while improving the condition and resiliency of the land in the process. We want to create value for our community and store that excess value in a money that cannot be stolen from us through debasement. We want to create something that provides for others long after we are gone. That's the mission.