People often find Kiser Ridge Farm through a funny goat reel, a Farm Feral saying, or a photo of animals doing things they absolutely should not be doing.
But behind all of that is a long story — one that started long before goats, barns, or fences.
Hi, I’m Heather, wife, mom, and author at Kiser Ridge Farm.
We Met Long Before We Farmed
Josh and I met in high school. In May of 1990, he asked me to prom, and that was it. We’ve been together almost ever since.(Josh says it was not a break up, Heather begs to differ, we’ll just leave that part in the past) 😉
Definitely not always farmers, but probably always feral, since our own childhoods, and now we are FARM-FERAL.
We married in October of 1999, but even when we officially “met” in high school, our families already knew each other. It’s a very small town.
His cousin was my best friend in third grade. Our families crossed paths through school, church, and everyday life long before we ever started dating.
As we got to know each other we learned just how far back those connections really went.
Our grandmothers were friends and schoolmates before Norris Dam was built — before the lake came through and physically separated their communities. Our grandfathers taught old Appalachian singing schools together in churches, using the old shape notes. Over the years, our families continued to intertwine through school, church, and work at Y-12 in Oak Ridge.
We didn’t just marry into each other’s lives — our roots were already woven together.
Woven Into Appalachia
We were raised here, our kids are being raised here — woven into these Appalachian mountains long before we ever thought about farming.
Coal mines, small towns, church pews, back roads, and shared family histories shaped the people we come from. Our parents and grandparents lived through hard times, worked dangerous jobs, and did what Appalachians have always done — they made a way with what they had.
They grew gardens, preserved food, shared with neighbors, and taught their children to work. Not because it was nostalgic or trendy, but because it was necessary.
We come from people who survived the Depression, worked the coal mines, and understood that food on the table didn’t come from a store — it came from effort, grit, and community.
That heritage didn’t disappear when the mines closed or the world changed. It stayed, quietly passed down through habits, values, and stories.
We may not have grown up on farms, but we grew up Appalachian — and that shaped everything that came next.
Seven Kids, and Now Grandbabies
Today, we still have at home, four of our seven children: This is how the family lineup looks:
- Five boys — ages 29, 26, 20, 11, and 3 (as of 2026)
- Two girls — ages 24 and 10
- One son-in-love
- Two daughters-in-love
- One grandson
- One due any minute grandchild
Our oldest three are married, and we’ve entered one of the sweetest seasons yet — grandparenthood. We have one grandson already, with another grandbaby due in February.
Our family keeps growing, stretching forward while staying deeply rooted, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
How Farming Found Us
Farming wasn’t a grand plan.
It started in 2007 with 4-H chickens and our oldest son. Then we had more chickens. Then we had a lot more chickens.
In 2009, we built a big barn on our original five-acre farm up the road. Then came goats. Then a milk goat. Then fencing.
So. Much. Fencing.
In 2011, our second son started 4-H hogs, so we built a hog lot onto the barn and began raising and selling pork.
Somewhere in there, at the request of our third child — our first girl, Daddy’s princess — we added meat rabbits too.
In 2012, we got our first cow.
And just like that, without ever really intending to, we were farming.
Dividing the Work (and the Chaos)
In the beginning, I made herbal tea blends, elderberry syrup, soaps, and other remedies, selling them at markets and locally. I homeschooled the kids, ran a homeschool co-op, and kept the wheels turning on a very full household.
Josh was the steady one — always working, always building. Whatever cage, coop, pen, or fence was needed for the ever-growing population at Kiser Ridge Farm, he built it. He devoted himself to me and the kids, quietly doing the work that made everything else possible.
In 2020, I rejoined the workforce, and eventually the herbs and the website fell to the side for a while. Life happened — farming, kids, elder care, work, and everything in between.
Growing Again
In 2022, we took another big step and purchased a second farm just a couple of miles up the road — a larger, flatter, 20 acres.
We brought in more cattle and began the slow, steady work of expanding again, with plans to include hogs, rabbits, and goats once more.
And with expansion comes fencing.
Always fencing.
Endless fencing.
There is always fencing to be done.
We Never Planned This — But We Always Knew
There’s been a lot of life lived between 1990 and 2026. A lot of stories still left to tell.
We never started out thinking we would be farmers. But I think we always knew.
I’ve always been the one asking questions, wanting the healthiest foods and remedies. Josh has always been the steady, logical one — raised working gardens, working wood, hunting, fishing, and just working.
Neither of us grew up on farms. Neither of us grew up with livestock. Our parents and grandparents — coal miners and Depression-era Appalachians — grew their own food and preserved it. They didn’t farm large, but they understood the value of hard work and providing food for the table.
We wanted kids who knew where food came from — how to grow it, feed it, harvest it, and process it. We wanted kids who understood the pride that comes from hard work.
So we learned along the way, right beside them — through 4-H projects, mistakes, and a lot of trial and error.
One of the hardest lessons we learned along the way was the reality of farming — including the day we lost Ida Belle during kidding season, an experience that forever shaped how we care for our animals and the responsibility we carry as farmers.
And suddenly, here we are.
We’re small farmers. We can feed ourselves. We’re still working to make ends meet.
We aren’t a professional operation. We aren’t fully self-sustaining (yet). We don’t have lofty goals of making big money. Most years, we’re barely at a profit.
But we are able.
And our children are able — able to feed themselves, able to work, able to provide.
That’s Kiser Ridge Farm.
- This is where our story starts. The rest is still being written.
- This is real farm life — not polished, but rooted.
- Welcome to Kiser Ridge Farm.
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