Why?
It’s a question we hear often. Sometimes people ask us directly; other times, it’s our neighbors being asked.
It’s clear we’re doing something different here—people notice, and they’re curious.
Most questions start with what—“What kind of farming is this?” “What are you growing?”—but they almost always lead to why. And the why isn’t something we can explain in a sentence or two. It’s more of a story. A journey, really—one we’re still on.
Ask either of us and you’ll get a slightly different version. We’ve come to this place by different paths.
But this is where we are now.And this is my version of the story—my why. I'm Josh, and this is how we got here
Our journey into regenerative farming, and the very existence of Gather Local, is a story woven through decades, starting with the unlikeliest of catalysts: insects.
It all began in third grade. My teacher, Mrs. Shafer, assigned us a fall project: creating a small insect collection. Little did I know, this seemingly simple assignment would ignite a childhood fascination and lifelong endeavor. Soon, I was spending hours every summer scavenging the outdoors for new and interesting specimens. This burgeoning interest eventually led me to join 4H and to compete on our school's entomology team.
Gardens, too, were a consistent thread in the tapestry of my youth. I have vivid memories of picking strawberries from my grandparents' patch, their sweet juiciness bursting in my mouth. When we moved to the country in fifth grade, we started gardening again. My mom spent countless hours canning the bounty, the kitchen fragrant with the scent of beets, tomatoes, green beans and corn.
In 2009, I took a leap and purchased my first home. With a spare bedroom and the company of only my goldendoodle, I decided it was time to cultivate my own patch of green.
My ambition? To do it organically.
This was a bolder declaration than it sounds, especially in our area, which was, and still is, dominated by commercial farming. "Organic" wasn't a common word on the lips of local suppliers. Tracking down organic soil, seed-starting supplies, and even organic seeds felt like a treasure hunt. But I was determined, and thankfully, the Internet existed.
My spare bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of a small grow light, became my indoor nursery. A certain "fishy" aroma from the organic fertilizer was a constant companion during those early spring months. My initial garden was a modest 10 by 20 feet in the backyard, growing slightly larger the following year. At that point, it was all about experimentation, trying new varieties just for the joy of it. There was no pressure for a massive yield; it was simply for me.
Life, as it often does, took a turn in 2016. I moved back to the very place my grandparents had built their farm, a property steeped in childhood memories. Without hesitation, I started a new garden, a bit grander this time. The experimentation continued, and I still sought to maximize every inch of space. However, that first summer on the property, something struck me, something that would fundamentally alter my approach: the insects were gone.
This wasn't a subtle shift; it was a devastating absence. I had spent countless hours with my grandmother, exploring every nook and cranny of their property, searching for insects for my collections. Some of my most prized specimens had come from these very grounds. There was a ditch, a lifeline running through the property, that had never once run dry in my lifetime. It was always fringed by a tree line, and the surrounding fields boasted their own natural borders, perfect for foraging. I distinctly remembered the kaleidoscope of butterflies that frequented my grandma's flowers—monarchs, swallowtails, the ethereal luna moths and cecropia caterpillars, and all the dragonflies and damselflies dancing along the water's edge. Now, they were all gone.
The realization hit me hard, and I knew exactly why. We were surrounded by large-scale commercial farming, fields constantly doused in sprays. The ditch, though it had miraculously escaped clear-cutting along our property, was relentlessly sprayed to keep back the brush, slowly stripping away its vital vegetation. Even our own lawn was chemically treated to banish "weeds." I found myself on a property that, just two decades earlier, had teemed with life, now eerily silent and empty.
It was then—soon to be married, with the hopeful prospect of children of our own on the horizon—that a profound conviction settled within me. It became undeniably important to me that I actively work to bring the wildlife back to this property. Luckily, my soon-to-be wife agreed. Together, we embarked on a mission to heal the ecosystem on our little corner of the world.
After we married and our family grew, so too did our garden - and seemingly every year after that. With each expansion came a new level of intentionality. We were researching and implementing companion planting techniques, purposely growing plants not just for our plates, but for the beneficial insects that would help us combat pests and, crucially, attract pollinators to our burgeoning oasis.
Flowers, naturally, became a huge part of this. Pollinator rows, vibrant and buzzing, were added to our garden every year. Initially, I'd simply pick a generic pollinator mix and scatter the seeds. Around our property and along the ditch, we sought to add native plants back into the landscape, purposefully replacing when necessary with native options.
Laura, my wife, had grown up outside Detroit. While she thoroughly enjoyed the delicious produce our garden yielded, she wasn't quite as enthusiastic about the meticulous seed starting, planting, and weeding required to get us there. The flowers, however, captivated her. So, one Christmas, I surprised her with a gift certificate from Floret, a flower farm she had admired for their compelling story. I told her to pick out all the flower seeds she wanted, and I would plant them instead of my usual random mixes. And that, my friends, is where Gather Local truly began.
It wasn't long after seeing her own chosen flowers blooming in our gardens that Laura had an idea: why not put together bouquets and sell them? In 2023, Gather Local was officially born.
Along this exciting path, we continued to experiment and learn about different organic practices. But our motivation wasn't solely for our own health; it had expanded to encompass the health of our environment. We transitioned from simply organic to sustainable, actively seeking to limit our use of plastics and embracing methods that were both organic and environmentally sound.
As we purchased new supplies and refined our gardening techniques, sustainability became a guiding principle. We began using paper mulch that would naturally break down over the growing season. We adopted soil blocking to eliminate the need for endless plastic cell trays for our seedlings. We even stopped using any seed-starting mixes that contained peat moss.
A few years ago, after devouring Gabe Brown's Dirt to Soil, we realized we needed to take an even more significant leap.
We understood that we weren't just practicing organic and sustainable methods; what we were truly doing was regenerative. We were striving to restore the ecosystem on our property, and in doing so, benefit our garden in profound ways. But there was one crucial piece missing: soil health.
Yes, we had started composting, and we were using cover crops to add nutrients to the soil. Yet, our approach wasn't centered around the health of the soil. We were still tilling every fall before blanketing the soil with cover crop seeds. And we'd do the same in the spring, incorporating all that precious biomass into the soil. We weren't allowing the soil to fully heal, and we were inadvertently disturbing the intricate ecosystem within it. If we stopped tilling, we reasoned, we could truly begin to restore the soil and reap even greater rewards.
We are now in year three of our no-till journey, and the results are nothing short of remarkable. The soil has become progressively less compacted each year when we plant, a joy to work with. The increase in earthworms is undeniable – they are everywhere, silently working their magic. Our soil is visibly darker, richer.
This past spring, when an unseasonably wet period dumped inches upon inches of rain on us, our garden absorbed the moisture like a thirsty sponge, while the surrounding commercial fields remained flooded for weeks. In fact, we received four inches of rain, and in less than 24 hours, we were back out in our garden, working happily. Without the compaction, the soil simply swallowed the water. With our purposeful planting, we know we will continue to encourage roots to grow deeper and deeper, further increasing our soil's permeability.
And what else are we noticing? The insects are coming back.
When we stopped tilling, a lone milkweed plant miraculously appeared in our garden that year. We left it, and now, we boast a magnificent patch of milkweed in one of our plots. We leave it for the monarchs, and sure enough, they frequent the patch.
Our garden is a constant symphony of buzzing bees, and as the flowers bloom, we are eventually surrounded not just by monarchs, but by graceful swallowtails and other butterflies. We find swallowtail caterpillars munching on our dill and parsley, and we simply let them be, planting enough to share every year.
The sweet melodies of songbirds fill the air in the mornings and evenings; yes, sometimes they enjoy the sunflowers and echinacea, but often, you'll see them with insects clutched in their beaks. Ladybugs, lacewings, and countless other beneficial insects are thriving, a vibrant testament to the healing happening beneath our feet.
For us, regenerative isn't just about cultivating a beautiful garden or even growing healthy food for ourselves.
It's about creating a space where our children learn to love and respect the nature around them, to steward well the gifts they've been entrusted with, and ultimately, to leave this small corner of the world better off than it was before.
It's a story of transformation, one tiny insect at a time.