More than just bread.

photo by Jess Hunter Photography

Yesterday was our first day delivering Full Circle Farm sourdough bread to retail stores. I want to say a humongous thank you to YOU (with all of my heart) because whether you bought bread yesterday or not, the fact that you’re reading this right now means you’re a big part of our journey.

Over the past six years of building our business, I’ve been continually amazed by the power of word-of-mouth and how people sharing about us has made such a difference. For example, when we lived in Hawaii, our next-door neighbor went on a surfing trip to Indonesia during the peak of COVID. He came back with an unbelievable story: While paddling out to the lineup, he met one other surfer. They struck up a conversation, and soon the lone surfer (from New York!) turned to my neighbor and said, “Have you ever checked out Roscoe’s Sourdough? They’ve got the best bread.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

The summer after we moved to the farm, I was doing pop-up markets in front of La Ferme in Alexandria. A gentleman from the Twin Cities bought bread and told me that while recently getting his hair cut, he shared our story with his barber. The barber then mentioned he’d bought bread from us at a farmer’s market in Honolulu. (WHAT?!)

This past summer, I delivered a flower subscription bouquet to the same gentleman and his wife renovating a stunning lake cabin on Minnewaska that his grandfather originally purchased. They invited me in for a tour and showed me incredible details of their space, including a trunk filled with what looked like a hundred years’ worth of newspaper clippings. Right on top of the pile was a photo of Roscoe and me holding a loaf of bread—the Pope County Tribune article written about Full Circle Farm that spring.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

These are just a few stories that leave me in awe of the support we’ve received. The love we feel on this journey fills my heart to overflowing. Seeing our bread on store shelves brought tears to my eyes with gratitude. It’s hard to explain, but it’s a full-body feeling that we’re on the right track. At many of the places we delivered to, people were already grabbing sourdough off the shelves as we were loading them. We can’t thank you enough.

I feel like we’ve turned a corner. We officially need a walk-in cooler (instead of a fridge) to store our proofing loaves—something we haven’t needed since we left Honolulu. But unlike the dead-end feeling I had about our business in Hawaii, imagining our growth here feels limitless. The farm is the foundation of everything we’re doing, and it’s about so much more than “selling bread.”

We’ve been asked many times, “Why would you move from Hawaii to here?!” The answer is simple: We care deeply about the future of the farm and agriculture in general. The average age of American farmers is over 60, and I believe this country is heading for a major food crisis if young people don’t start farming. Between 2017 and 2023, we lost 21 million acres of farmland—much of it developed into apartments, turned into investment properties, or converted to solar farms. At the turn of the 20th century, there were six million farms; now, there are just 1.8 million.

Once my dad retires, there’s no one else in my family interested in continuing the farming legacy. I’m so thankful he took the baton in the first place. As the next in line after many generations of farmers, I see this as the biggest opportunity of our lifetime. If we try our hand at farming and fail, at least we’ll know we tried.

For us, it’s not just a loaf of bread. It’s the future of our farm. I hope our journey can inspire other young farmers along the way.

Thank you for reading.

When It’s a Gamble

photo by jesshunterphoto.com

When I was a young girl Grandma would have us over for dinner (you may call it lunch) at least once a week. We’d sit down in the dining room, which is our dining room now, and she’d set down the piping hot slow cooked crock of meat and veggies on the table. Thinking about it, I’m transported back in time. I can almost smell the pork hocks and sauerkraut, which are my favorite til this day. We didn’t think of serving up until after somebody shared grace. Grandpa would bow his head “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for your goodness to us. We thank you for your many blessings.” And like any good farmer he would include something about the weather, if there was enough rain he’d share his gratitude for it. If there was drought, he prayed for rain. Shortly after he’d walk over to the corner of the room and turn on the big Bose radio and within seconds a jingly tune would come through the speakers and announce the Linder Farm Network midday market report. This is one of those core memories I have as a kid, it’s so vivid and nostalgic. Linda, the main broadcaster, would share the current day market prices of commodity corn, soy, wheat, beef, etc in a very melodic, quickened tone. “November corn 584 down three and a quarter. November wheat 498 up two. November beef …” and it would go on for a matter of minutes. We knew to sit in our chairs quietly while the markets were on but had no idea what this lady was talking about or what those numbers meant. Every once in a while, we’d be listening to the almost hypnotic market report and Dad would scoff or Grandpa would shake his head. Little did I know how much weight were in those numbers. Literally the livelihood of farmers in the Midwest were and still are dependent on those unpredictable numbers, numbers of which are completely out of farmer’s control. Having the outlook and understanding that I do now, farming is completely a gamble. Farmers can and do spend literally hundreds of thousands of dollars upfront on input costs such as fertilizer, herbicides, pesticides, and fuel. There’s so much unknown going into the process of farming nowadays, the biggest one is not knowing what you’re going to be paid for the very commodity crop you grow. Farmers are some of the most hardworking people out there. Can you imagine showing up to work all day everyday not knowing if or how you were going to be paid? Welcome to farming. 

In the summer of 2023, we harvested 33 acres of hard red wheat. Half of what we harvested we took to Falk’s Seed in Murdock and got it cleaned by a food grade cleaner and bagged, this is what we set aside for our business. The other half of the harvest my dad hauled for us to the nearest elevator (where commodity grains are sold). They had free storage until August that we decided to take advantage of, we’d keep our eye on the market and sell our wheat when the time was “right”. We watched the markets fervently for months, BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW when to sell?! If you sell it too soon and continue to watch the price go up, you’re going to kick yourself. But if you sell it after the market continues to fall apart, you will also kick yourself. When we initially brought our grain to the elevator, prices were a little over $6 a bushel. The market climbed up to $7.40ish and we were optimistic considering prices the previous summer were close to $14 a bushel (abnormally high). We were feeling confident in holding strong while the market value increased, but unfortunately that’s not what happened. By the time we sold our grain at the end of our free storage period it had crashed to $5.40 cents a bushel. Two dollars difference may not sound like much but when you’re dealing with thousands of bushels, you’re dealing with thousands of dollars difference. And we’re tiny. I can’t imagine the pressure of deciding when to sell grain when dealing with tens of thousands of bushels. I can’t help but wonder why it’s like this? There’s no doubt in my mind that big corporations win big when farmers lose. Getting paid $5.40 for a bushel of wheat was a bit of a slap in the face, it barely covered our costs to grow it. To put it into perspective a bushel of wheat is 60lbs. If we take that same wheat, mill it into flour, and bake our legacy loaves we would profit 100 times that. Thankfully we only had to sell half of our hard red wheat on commodity. We’re working through what’s in our storage and are able to make a profit thanks to you guys. This experience is what drives us to pour our efforts into direct sales has opened our eyes to the importance of buying local, specifically supporting local farmers. 100% of the meat we eat is purchased directly from a farmer or produced locally. We really make it a point to purchase local produce when in season and make the most of preserving nature’s bounty when she offers it, recently it was apples. Please know that when you purchase bread or flour from us, we are reinvesting that money into sustainable farming practices and giving back to the local community. When people support local businesses, it's estimated that about 60-70% of their money stays within the local economy. Supporting local businesses helps create jobs, foster community ties, and boost local economic resilience. Please keep this in mind with holiday shopping. I know it can be easy to be trigger happy with Amazon but big corporations aren’t doing mini happy dances when they see sales coming through.

photo by jesshunterphoto.com

So, even though moving 30 acres of wheat directly to consumers by ourselves seems like a distant dream, we know we’re on the right track. And last week with our holiday sale we moved the most amount of fresh milled flour and bulk grains than we ever have in a week’s time. Thankfully people are really understanding the value of fresh milled flour and buying local. We’re so grateful to the people who support us (you for reading this) in this vision that gives us purpose every day.

Thoughts from a wannabe old timer.

In the rolling hills of a tiny town called Terrace (population 19), an old grain mill stands tall. Back in its prime the waterwheel, powered by the steady flow from the mill pond, was a marvel of mechanical ingenuity that harmonized with the surrounding environment. Each turn of the wheel was a testament to the delicate balance between human ingenuity and the natural forces that drove it. The mill was a living, breathing entity, with every creak and groan of its wooden structure resonating with the heartbeat of the natural world. Stepping into this building I can feel the stories that need to be told (how I wish I could tell them) its beams and walls weathered by countless seasons.

What I do know is that back in its prime it was a hive of activity. The Terrace Mill, as well as many others in the rural communities of MN, were more than just a place where grain was turned into flour; it was where the community came together. Farmers would arrive with freshly harvested sacks of grain. I can picture the warmth of this place, filled with laughter and stories over the soft grinding of the stones. Golden sunlight pouring into paned windows, highlighting the flour particles in the air accompanying the aroma of freshly ground flour.

Today, the old grain mill stands as a historical landmark, the silent waterwheel resting in its underbelly, serves as a poignant reminder of the balance between human creativity and the natural world, and of the intangible loss that accompanies the relentless march of progress. I often think about how modern technology has replaced the skill of working with natural forces. The days when working with nature was more than a mechanical task; it was an art form. I wish I could know the stories of the millers who had once worked with the waterwheel, their lives intertwined with the rhythms of the pond, it’s ebb and flow coinciding with the changing seasons.

Last weekend we had the pleasure of being vendors at the Bluegrass Festival at the Mill. Seeing the bustling and joy of community around this special relic had me feeling a certain way. I’m not even an old timer but I really miss the intentionality of the way things used to be, and by doing things the old-fashioned way (like growing, milling, and baking bread here on the farm) I feel like we’re tapping into something much deeper. Tapping into the roots of our ancestors who were in direct relationship with the elements, no separation from nature, community, and the food they consumed daily. Because of this relationship, I can imagine they had a deep reverence for it all.

Carrying on our family legacy, one loaf at a time.

Pictured above: Grandpa Richard Bredeken at the beginning of his farming career.

When Roscoe started experimenting with baking bread in 2014, he had the wild idea of grinding some freshly harvested wheat to use in his sourdough recipe. I definitely had my doubts (was it really that simple?) as I had grown up on a grain farm and never seen anyone actually utilize the wheat, it was all sold on commodity markets. But over to Grandpa's we went, Roscoe climbed into the bin and scooped his bowl into the mound made up of golden kernels. When we got home, he emptied his heaping bowl into our new countertop mill, sure enough it exited as flour. Just two other ingredients to complete the dough: water and salt. After the initial mix, a series of stretch and folds, and hours of letting the dough ferment to ensure a perfect rise. Roscoe lowered the dough into the Dutch oven lined with parchment paper and performed one long score down the center. Another series progressed, this time of him carefully adjusting the temperature, lifting the lid from the cast iron, and more fine tuning before the house was saturated with that "fresh bread" smell. (Is there anything more nostalgic?)

We brought the creation over to Grandma and Grandpa's, the loaf looked biblical and exactly what you'd picture real bread to look like. Grandpa took a slice, slathered it in butter and we watched him taste the fruit of his labor for the first time. In all 65 years of his farming career, he had never tasted his own grain.

Pictured: Roscoe with a fresh baked Legacy Loaf. Photo by Jess Hunter Photography.

We still make this loaf today, it's called our Legacy Loaf, and it's one that often gets overlooked. I think when people hear "whole wheat bread" a dense, tasteless, brick comes to mind. I promise you; this is anything but tasteless. The natural sweetness of the fresh milled hard red wheat complements the slight tartness of the bread. The crust is nice and hardy, the inside crumb spongy soft. What would I recommend eating a slice of Legacy with? A fat slab of vibrant yellow butter.

We named it the Legacy Loaf because we recognize that we're not the only ones to put our hands to work to make this bread happen. As we get more immersed into the farming side of our business, it becomes more and more apparent how we wouldn't be able to do what we do without family that has come before us to pave the way. This bread is part of their legacy too.

No Regrets

I’m not sure where I heard it first but it’s one of my all time favorite quotes: “You are one decision away from living an entirely different life.” Fact: life is full of decisions. Most of the time it’s casual, the day to day micro adjustment. Other times, depending on the direction you choose, the result can change your life forever (but no pressure, lol).

It’s been over a year since Roscoe and I made the life altering decision to pack up our microbakery Roscoe’s Sourdough in Honolulu and transition our operation exclusively to the family farm in Starbuck, MN. We had been splitting our time up equally between both places for a while but realized in order to build something lasting (and not run ourselves into the ground) we needed to invest our energy and resources into one or the other. We were teetering on a tipping point for a good while. Option one: stay in Hawaii and expand our operation out of necessity to accommodate our business’ growth trajectory. We’d grown out of most of our equipment and the space we were working out at that time. Option two: walk away from Roscoe’s Sourdough to move back home to the family farm. We’d recreate the microbakery business model with agriculture as the foundation. A vision to raise wheat, mill flour, and bake with these home grown grains all on site. An opportunity to carry on our family’s legacy as the fourth generation to farm on this land.

There were a few things (including a little Poppy seed growing inside me) that pushed the odds in the farm’s favor. But once we made the final decision to sell everything and move, I felt like I could breathe a little deeper. Of course there was a lot fear involved (there still is). But even while getting rid of most of our belongings and moving out of the amazing house we’d lived in for five years, it felt like the right thing. It felt like a full body “yes”. So much so that now when making a decision, I tap into how it feels in my body and consciously make the decision to agree to things that are a full body yes. I really believe that our bodies know!

a few days before we moved out of our Hawaii house

establishing roots

And now here we are in February, a little over a year out from that pivotal time. We just returned home after spending a month in Hawaii as visitors. To be transparent, before leaving for our trip I had mixed feelings. We felt a lot of excitement to see many people we love and experience the immense beauty and warmth that Hawaii emanates. I also felt nervous that once we would get there sadness and regret would flood in. Reality would hit us that we made the wrong decision moving away and would want the comforts of our old life back. But that didn’t happen, actually the opposite occurred.

No doubt, I think Hawaii is one of the most beautiful places in the world. It turns out many people feel the same way because in 2020 Oahu (the island we lived on) topped over 1 million people for the first time ever. As a result, the cost of living has increased tremendously. A lot of our friends with kids feel the pressure as one needs a good job but daycare costs range from $900 to $1200 a week per kid. In order to get a decent education a lot of kids go to private schools versus public which are extremely competitive and also expensive. Our friends without kids express that they aren’t planning to have children because they’re afraid of not being able to swing the Hawaii life if they did. I forgot how long it takes to get such a short distance and the need to plan around traffic. And it’s not uncommon to wait in line 20 minutes for a $8 latte. Or circle the parking lot for 20 minutes to find a parking spot. Because of the high cost of housing, the homeless crisis is also at an all time high coinciding with a major mental health and drug use epidemic. Our friend shared that he needed to pull his little girl out of a particular ballet class because the studio was near a meth clinic. There were some instances that he felt unsafe and didn’t feel like he could defend himself if he needed to with his two little girls in tow. I pictured going on more walks with Poppy in the stroller but didn’t because it didn’t feel safe to do so. And people live so close to one another, in some cases literally on top of each other, and Lord knows you can’t choose your neighbors. My nervous system being so attuned quiet was extra sensitive to all the traffic noises around us, including the rogue moped (sans muffler) that woke us up from a dead sleep at 3am (lol!!).

With all this to say, we gained quite a bit of clarity on this trip. It solidified for us that the farm is where we’re meant to be. I don’t mean to paint a negative picture of our trip, there were so many amazing things about our stay in Hawaii. Watching Roscoe dip Poppy in the ocean for the first time is a memory I’ll cherish forever. We got to introduce her to friends and family she had never met, people who love her so much. We went to the beach almost daily, soaked up the warm sunshine and soaked in the healing salt water. We gorged on fresh fruit and fish. It felt like a luxury being able to have our morning coffee outside while taking in all the green, lush mountains surrounding us. But at the end of it all we were excited to come home. Through Roscoe and I’s relationship we’ve made an effort to make decisions that align with the kind of life we want to live. The decision to move to the farm was just that. If we stayed in Hawaii we’d definitely be making more money than we are right now, but there’s so many more facets to wealth than the monetary.

Another truth: there’s no one perfect place to live, and the farm definitely has its faults too. We live in the middle of nowhere and we get so busy that we isolate ourselves. The winter is well.. winter. But when I picture what’s ahead for us, it doesn’t involve a rat race. Roscoe and I are a team, working together synergistically to make our dreams come true. I see a lot of hard work in our future but it’s work that is intentional and creative, work that ebbs and flows. I also picture time freedom and rest. We don’t want to have to hustle our lives away just to keep up. I envision easy, slow days being able to soak up time with each other and our quickly growing little girl. In my eyes we can always make money but we’ll never get this time back. I desire for Poppy (and her future siblings) to discover the simple joys of collecting eggs, eating sinfully sweet sun ripened strawberries, and how to cultivate seeds. I’m excited for them to run free on this land that we are so blessed to steward. The older I get the more I cherish peace, quiet, and wide open spaces (que the Dixie Chicks) and realize how lucky we are to call this place our home. Through this whole experience I’ve learned the deep lesson that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You can find a slice of paradise anywhere if you look for it. Whether that’s sitting on a beach listening to the waves or sitting in the woods listening to the snow flakes fall.

So here’s to the simple life. And to making hard decisions.