The Man, the Myth, the Brooder Builder: Life with My Farm-Fixing Dad

 “He’s got a wrench in one hand and a turkey in the other.”

Every farm has its heartbeat. Ours is my dad. He’s the guy who’s always tinkering, fixing, building, and muttering things like “This’ll just take a minute”—which is a lie, but a charming one. He’s the architect behind every brooder, every enclosure, every weirdly effective contraption made from salvaged parts and sheer willpower. And even though he’s recovering from back surgery and technically “supposed to be resting,” he’s still go-go-go, powered by coffee, stubbornness, and love for his grandkids and animals.

If you’ve ever admired our turkey palace or the chicken spa, know this: Dad built it. He’s the mastermind behind our poultry infrastructure. He doesn’t do blueprints—he does “eyeball engineering.” Somehow, it works. He’s turned scrap wood, old fencing, and a suspicious number of zip ties into cozy homes for our birds.

His motto? “if you ask, I’ll build for it.”

 

Always Fixing, Always Moving

There’s no such thing as a quiet morning with Dad around. He’s up before the sun, checking water lines, adjusting hinges, and diagnosing mysterious clunks in the tractor. He’s recovering from back surgery, but you’d never know it. He moves like a man half his age—until he tries to stand up too fast and mutters, “Well, that was dumb.”

We’ve tried to slow him down. He laughs and says, “I’ll rest when the turkeys stop dancing.”

 

Birds, Beasts, and Grandkids

Dad loves these animals. He talks to the turkeys like they’re old friends. He knows which hen is broody, which goat is moody, and which duck is plotting an escape. But his favorite creatures? His grandkids.

He builds with them. Teaches them. Lets them “help” (which mostly means handing him the wrong screwdriver). He’s the kind of grandpa who turns a chore into an adventure and a broken gate into a bonding moment.

My dad is the kind of man who builds more than structures—he builds memories. He’s the reason our farm works, the reason our birds thrive, and the reason our kids know how to use a drill before they can spell it. He’s stubborn, generous, and endlessly in motion. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.