The Wall That Separated Us, Is Beginning To Show Some Cracks
G'Day Folks,
Sometimes I wonder if the supermarkets meant to build a wall between the farmer and the eater. A silent wall, like the one that once split Germany from East to West—keeping both sides from seeing, from speaking, from understanding. Because that’s what it feels like to me.
When we began this journey, it wasn’t about business. It was about being together—as a family. Not just sharing a house, but sharing something real. Something hard, something beautiful.
We wanted to build with our hands, to feel the seasons together, to carry the weight and the wonder of creating something we could be proud of. We chose farming. Maybe because it’s in our blood—maybe not. I won’t lie—nostalgia played its part.There’s a certain romance to the land. An honesty.You can’t fake it. You either show up, rain, hail or shine, or you give up and pack your bags. In an age where so much feels hollow or hyped, growing food feels sacred again.
There’s meaning in it. Especially now—when so many of us have lost trust in where our food comes from, and what it’s doing to our bodies.There’s duty too. With three little ones looking up at us, how could we not want to leave the world better than we found it?
Our entire business has been built around it—that thread between grower and eater. It’s the heartbeat. Without it, none of this would exist. Not this community. Not the joy. Not the meaning we find in each sunrise drowned in feathered symphony.
Today, a farmer can share their story at the tap of a screen .We can show the soil under our fingernails, the birth of a calf, the heartbreak of a ruined crop. We can talk about values, choices, struggles—and hope.
This kind of connection wasn’t possible when my parents were milking cows in the ‘90s. But it’s possible now. And the supermarkets—flush with power and money—could have done it too. They could have used their budgets not to manipulate, but to connect. So why didn’t they?
Wouldn’t it have lifted the farmer’s heart to know their food was appreciated? Wouldn’t it have touched the customer to know some of the hands behind their carrots and cream? To understand the trials and tribulations of growing your food? To open your eyes to the forces which were shaping how your food was grown and the likely consequences?
But walk into a supermarket, and you’re stepping into a theatre. A show. A script designed to make you feel a certain way, to buy a certain thing.The precise layout, the product placement, the lighting, the fake farm names—they’ve studied it all with laser focus and intensity; because their profit margins depend on it.
Meanwhile, on the other side of that glossy wall, a farmer is being told their produce isn’t pretty enough. Told what price they’ll be paid after the harvest is done. Told to take it, or leave it.
This is the wall.
And that wall keeps us silent. Keeps us separate. Because if we ever sat down together—over coffee, or over carrots—we’d see too clearly what’s been hidden from us. We’d see the truth. And that truth would shake the foundations.
But here’s the good news: People are waking up. We’re tired of being treated like mushrooms—kept in the dark and fed shit. We’re tired of lies, of loopholes, of Royal Commissions that cost millions and do nothing. We gave away too much trust—to governments, to big business—hoping they’d fix everything while we looked the other way.
But that didn’t work. So now we choose something else. If you’re reading this after unpacking your box of fresh, honest food, then you’ve already chosen. You’re already part of this quiet revolution. And now, we’re ready to grow it.
We’ve been dreaming, as a family, of planting this model far and wide. Regional food hubs. Local hands. Shared values. More freedom. More choice. More connection. Not just a better marketplace, but a better way—to live, to eat, to know each other. Because when we talk—really talk—we find the best way forward.
We don’t need a system that silences the people who feed it. Together, we can reclaim what we’ve slowly—and suddenly—lost.
Here’s where you come in, I’m looking for your feedback. How can we take what we have started here and spread it slowly and steadily throughout this country? Give me your thoughts and feedback, I would love to hear from you!
Simply email us here to share. We LOVE hearing from you!
Thank YOU for joining us on this epic journey & supporting Your local farmer!