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Old Earth Acres

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Marshfield, MO
Old Earth Acres

Healing through humor, hard work & heritage.
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Real food, real remedies & the rhythm of the land.
🕯️The Rituals Blog → oldearthacres.com/the-rituals-blog
🧺 Farmstand → https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61578878030883 Old Earth Acres is a family-run flower farm nestled in Marshfield, MO. 🌻 Rooted in history and growing for the future, we’re dedicated to cultivating beautiful blooms and fresh seasonal produce using sustainable practices.

🌿🐝 Supporting our local community is at the heart of what we do, and we’re excited to share this journey with you as we build something truly special.

05/27/2026

The Dairy Connection

I already knew Herman Jenks was a farmer. What I didn't know was the full scale of it.

Herman was peddling milk in Hinsdale, MA before 1914. He ran his own route, delivered by horse, worked teams until 1950, and was the man who first introduced half pint milk bottles to Hinsdale schools in the twenties. He farmed that land until he was 73 years old. The farmhouse itself came from Ruby's family. They married there in 1908.

This is my grandmother's grandfather.

And here I am at Old Earth Acres, in a 140+ year old house I named Ruby.

Some things don't announce themselves as inheritance. They just show up in how you move through land, how you think about animals, what feels like home.

I didn't choose dairy country by accident.

05/06/2026

She's here.

Ampy did it.

OE Eva May. Born May 6th at 8am.

Our first heifer born at Old Earth Acres.

Bright-eyed and steady, already running!
Spirited like all the women in my line.

Named for Eva May Bunnell, my great-great-grandmother. Born May 1888. She buried five babies before the age 27 and held the line anyway.

138 years later, her namesake breathes here.

Welcome, sweet girl.

04/22/2026

He’s here.

Pru did it.

OE Ransom. Born April 22nd at 3am.

Our first calf born at Old Earth Acres.

Strong, steady, and already finding his footing.

There is nothing like witnessing life begin like this.

Welcome, little man.

04/20/2026

Found this horseshoe standing straight up out of the mud behind the red barn today. Perfectly upright.

All the clearing and working along with all this rain we’ve been getting must have shifted the ground just enough—because it pushed this up to the surface after being long buried.

And this one is different.

This is hand-forged wrought iron.

You can actually see it in the way it’s breaking down. Wrought iron isn’t solid like modern steel—it’s full of slag fibers from the way it was worked. After sitting in the ground for decades, it starts to separate along those fibers, peeling apart in layers. When this one cracked in my hand, the outer scale came off in plates, but there was still solid metal at the core.

Modern steel doesn’t do that.

The shape tells the rest of the story.
It’s not perfectly uniform. The branches taper unevenly. The heel was drawn and finished by hand on an anvil. There’s no standardized groove, no factory consistency. This was made by a blacksmith, one at a time, for one horse.

And it’s heavy.

Wide, thick, built for work—this came off a draft animal. A horse that pulled.

The house here was built in 1883.

The red barn is older than I can date precisely, but everything about it—rough-cut lumber, true two-by construction, the way it’s put together—places it firmly in the 19th century.

The Dugans worked this land until the 1940s. This was a working farm. Draft horses were part of daily life here—plowing, hauling, being bought and sold right on this ground. We know this by the equipment left here (so cool) and newspaper articles.

I can’t tell you which horse wore this.

But I can tell you what it is.

A hand-forged shoe, made before factory production took over, used on a working animal, and lost or discarded right here in the barnyard—where that work actually happened.

Something that was part of the daily rhythm of this place, long before us.

And after sitting buried for over a century, it worked its way back up to the surface.

To me.

After visiting George and Janie Dugan themselves last Friday at the Mission Home graveyard. ✨️Thank you for this answer you two.

04/17/2026

Eight.

Eight over-wintered dahlias popping up in Marshfield, Missouri — Zone 6b.

This is a ~50 ft row along our front fence line. Last season, I planted about 50 tubers here… nothing fancy. Just unmarked, “ugly” tubers.

And then… I forgot about them. 😅

Pulled every other tuber on the property — but left this row untouched.

This week? Eight of them pushed through.

Along the fence line, near the trees, that row collected enough leaf fall to act as natural insulation. No digging. No storing. Just left to the land.

They’re growing alongside a peony we uncovered last year.

That plant had been mowed down for years — never given the chance to store energy.

Last season, I let her grow… and she struggled hard.

But this year?

She. Is. Back. ✨🌿

Peonies can outlive us. Some last generations.
I was even able to trace back the woman who planted this one… and that just makes it mean even more.

I think I’ll call her Patti.
Some of you Marshfield locals may have known Patricia Black.
She’s the matriarch who planted this peony. ❤️

Now I’m waiting.

What color will she bloom?

I’m voting pink… something like a classic Sarah Bernhardt. 💕
Patti was colorful — I see her choosing something bold, but classy.

04/15/2026

Hi Marshfield 🤍 Story time 🌻

Before I introduce our girls, I want to take a moment to honor the woman who made this next chapter possible.

Katie Adams has been a cornerstone of the raw milk community here with her farm Adams Family Farm. She didn’t just sell milk—she built trust, consistency, and a standard people relied on week after week. The demand she carried was massive, and she did it while raising her family and tending her animals in a way most people don’t fully see unless they’ve lived it.

She recently announced she’s expecting her 7th child 🤍 and now she’s stepping back to pour into her family—and that deserves to be recognized and respected.

I want you all to know that Pru and Ampy came from her—from a place of experience, care, and integrity.

They were raised on beautiful, open Ozark pasture, alongside a third-generation dairy farm. Between those two properties, it’s exactly what you picture when you think of real, honest farming.

I always knew dairy would come to Old Earth Acres eventually.

I didn’t expect it to happen in Year 2.
And I definitely didn’t expect to start with two pregnant girls.

But everything aligned—Katie, the girls, their bond, where they came from. Opportunities like that do not come around often.

And one thing I knew immediately: I would never separate them.
These girls have been together their whole lives, and you can feel it. They move together. Rest together. Watch together. There is a steady bond there.

They have even survived hardship together—both were attacked by dogs in their first few weeks of life, and each lost their ears in the process. Around here, we call them their character ears. A name dubbed by Katie and we're not changing that… and somehow it only makes their sweet faces more unforgettable.

Their names carry meaning, too 🤍

Prudence Butters is named after my 7th great grandmother, Prudence Bennett. For a long time, she was the furthest I could trace my maternal line. The research to find her story—and eventually her mother, Margaret—was deep, personal, and unforgettable.

Ampy Bernie is named after Bernice Jenks, a matriarch who left a major imprint on my maternal line. But the thread does not stop there.

Bernice’s mother was Ruby Gunn.
Ruby was born on April 16th, 1892.
So was her granddaughter—my grandmother b. 1936—who was raised in Ruby’s care after losing her mother, Isabelle who I named my daughter after.

Our home is named Ruby, in Ruby Gunn’s honor.

So when I say I am praying for Pru to have a heifer on April 16th, I mean that with my whole heart. Our first baby born on this soil would carry the birthday of two foundation stones in my matrilineal line, with names to match—and that would be no small thing.

So… let me introduce you 🤍

Pru – our bigger, lighter girl. Wide, strong, and confident. She is the more dominant of the two—outward, steady, and accepting.

Ampy – our quiet queen. She watches first. Studies. But once you are in with Ampy, you are in. The connection runs deep. And she LOVES Bryan. Loves him. ❤️

We have only been together for about two weeks now, and it has already been such a joy learning them, earning their trust, and stepping into this responsibility.

We are honored to carry this forward in many deeply layered ways 🤍

— Erica
Old Earth Acres

04/14/2026

Any. Day. Now.

I wait... with Raspy.

Oh so impatiently.

Rasputin says he's ready for

04/09/2026

I feel like all species in late term pregnancy become completely over it 🙃

04/03/2026

I’ve had quite a few messages come in about milk — thank you 🤍

I am officially opening a waitlist for A2 raw Jersey milk from Old Earth Acres 🐄🥛

This is not an order — it’s your place in line as Pru and Ampy freshen and we establish our milking rhythm.

I’ll be reaching out in the order people sign up once I have a clear picture of production and availability.

If you’d like to be added, you can fill out the form LINKED IN COMMENTS or STORY ✨️🐝

📍Pickup will be at the farm in North Marshfield.
Milk availability expected in May 🌿

With love,
Erica, Pru 🐮 & Ampy 🐮

04/02/2026

This kind of work doesn’t ask you to perform.

It asks you to be present.

There’s no rushing it.

No forcing rhythm where it doesn’t exist yet.

Just observation.
Patience.

Learning them.
Letting them learn me.
Listening more than speaking.

Feeling where I fit into this… instead of trying to control it.

I can already tell — this is going to change me.
Not all at once.
Not in some dramatic way.
But slowly.
Quietly.
In the way that real things do.

Meet Prudence Butter & Ampy Bernie. These ladies are foundation stones here.

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Marshfield, MO
65706

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