Dear new friend,

 

Thank you for being here.

 

If you’ve made it this far, I hope it’s because something about this place, this farm, this life—something about these words—is speaking to you.

 

My husband Ryan and I never set out to build something like Three Dudes Farm. In many ways, this life found us before we knew we needed it. We left the city in 2014 looking for something slower, something more intentional. A life we could hold in our hands instead of chasing in our heads.

 

But if I’m being honest?

 

I didn’t always know how to live in the moment.

 

For most of my life, I was obsessed with the future. I was always planning, always pushing forward, always convincing myself that the next thing would be the thing that finally made me feel whole. I was living for “someday” while completely missing right now.

 

Maybe you know that feeling, too.

 

It’s a hollow kind of existence—where you’re doing all the “right” things but still feel like something is missing. Like if you stop running, you’ll have to sit with the reality that you don’t know how to be still.

 

That was me. Until the land taught me otherwise.

 

Farming saved my life.

 

I don’t say that lightly.

 

(More Below)

E-mail Me

brett@threedudesfarm.com

Connect With Me:

Recent Published Work:

OUT Magazine: Joy as Resistance

Upcoming Speaking Appearances:

International Master Gardeners Conference 2025

 

This farm, this work—it pulled me out of my head and into my hands. Farming doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It doesn’t let you live in the past or the future. It asks you to be here, right now, doing the work in front of you.

 

And in that process, something shifted.

 

I started seeing the world in a new way—through the rhythms of the seasons, through the patience of the soil, through the sheer resilience of flowers.

 

I started realizing that joy isn’t in the achievement. It isn’t in “arriving.” 

 

The joy is in the work itself.

 

And that’s when everything changed.

 

 

Why I Write

Farming gave me something I had spent my whole life searching for: a way to feel present. But writing? Writing gave me a way to process it.

 

Writing has always been how I make sense of the world. It’s how I slow my thoughts down long enough to see what they’re trying to tell me. It’s how I remind myself, over and over again, that this life is happening right now.

 

Each week, I send a letter called From The Porch. It’s where I take everything I’m learning here—the triumphs, the failures, the metaphors, the raw moments of humanity—and put it into words.

 

It’s my favorite thing I do.

 

Some weeks, I write about the land itself—the lessons it teaches, the way it humbles me, the beauty of working with my hands. Other weeks, I write about life—the messiness of it, the questions I don’t always have answers to, the way we all are just trying to figure it out as we go.

 

No matter what, my writing is honest. It’s real. And it’s meant to meet you exactly where you are.

 

If that sounds like something you’d like to be part of, I’d love to have you. You can sign up at the top of this page, and I’ll send you a few of my favorite past letters to start with.

 

 

The Power of Choosing Now

If there’s one thing this farm has taught me, it’s this:

 

We don’t exist in the past or the future. We exist now. In the moment. Like the seed, we exist in the planting.

 

Everything before us led to this moment. Everything after us depends on what we choose to do with it. And the choice is always ours: to be here, fully, completely, and with intention.

 

That’s what I write about. That’s what I hope to share with you.

 

Thank you for being here. I hope you’ll stay awhile.

 

With gratitude,
Brett

 

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