Our Story — A Life Rooted in Purpose
Oak & Acre was born from our family’s journey — a journey of belief, challenge, transformation, and return. We didn’t set out to build a movement. We simply wanted to live in harmony with the earth, raise our children in health, and be good stewards of the land. But along the way we uncovered truths about food, health, and consumer culture that changed everything.
From Vegan Idealism to Questioning Everything
We began, as many families do, searching for the “best” path to health. When our first child was born, I was determined to be the healthiest version of myself. I cycled through P90X workouts, health shakes, Beachbody programs — all the wellness trends of the time. By the time our son turned five, documentaries from the vegan movement were everywhere. We watched, researched, and were convinced. It all sounded right: we’d always been told to eat our veggies, eat the rainbow. During pregnancy I’d had a strong aversion to meat, and I took that as a sign my body wanted more plants.
My son and I were the first to go fully vegan, with the occasional slip, and soon we embraced it as a family — convinced we were choosing the most ethical and environmentally responsible life. But pregnancy with our daughter brought an unexpected twist: plant foods now made me feel ill. I returned to eating meat, telling myself it was just temporary. Once she was born, we went back to veganism in full force. Then came our third child right as COVID hit — and with it an opportunity to move and take the leap to buy a farm. By then we’d been vegan for nearly five years.
We moved determined to build a vegan farm: raising plants with purpose, pouring ourselves into the dream of a cruelty-free life. But even as we worked, cracks began to show. Our health faltered. Our energy waned. We struggled in ways we couldn’t ignore.
We believed we were doing the right thing for the planet, yet our day-to-day reality told a different story. The more we learned about soil health, nutrient cycles, and food systems, the more we questioned what we had been told.
The Turning Point — Eggs
One small shift changed everything. On our farm we had a small flock of chickens, raised from chicks. They composted our scraps, roamed freely, and laid beautiful eggs we collected each morning. At the time, we didn’t eat the eggs ourselves — we fed them back to the chickens — while I perfected my “vegan eggs” recipe. It was a good one: tofu with a silky sauce of black salt, turmeric, vegan butter, and other nutrient-boosting ingredients. It looked the part, tasted great, and ticked all the boxes I thought mattered.
But one morning as I reached for the ingredients, I stopped. On the counter sat a bowl of fresh eggs from five feet outside my back door. The tofu in my hand had been shipped across the country. The turmeric and black salt had travelled halfway around the world before landing in my kitchen. I realised in that instant that what I was making wasn’t more sustainable, more ethical, or better for the environment than the eggs laid by the happy, healthy hens in my own backyard.
Ever diligent about nutrition, I started researching. We supplemented daily with B12, omegas, and multivitamins to catch any gaps in our plant-based diet. When we compared the nutrient profile of my vegan egg substitute with the eggs from our hens, the numbers looked almost identical. But numbers can’t account for biology, synergy, or what happens when food is alive and whole.
So we tried an experiment: we’d remain vegan but allow an occasional egg from our own flock. The moment our youngest, then a toddler, tasted a real egg, something clicked. “Egg” became her favourite word. She asked for them constantly, chanting “egg, egg, egg” throughout the day. She had eaten my vegan eggs for months — but this was different. Her delight and obvious craving were undeniable.
It was a visceral reminder that food isn’t just numbers on a label. It’s life. It’s nutrients in forms we don’t yet fully understand. And it made us start questioning everything we thought we knew.
Returning to Animal Foods, Returning to Health
That first egg opened a door we couldn’t close. It sent us down a rabbit hole of research, conversations, and soul-searching. What were we actually designed to eat? What was being sold to us versus what was truly nourishing? After months of reading and talking, we decided to act. We didn’t ease in slowly — we went out and bought salmon, chicken, and steak.
I used to roll my eyes at ex-vegan YouTube videos where people said “everything changed with the first bite.” I assumed they hadn’t done veganism properly or had bounced through too many diets. But when we sat down and took our first bite of chicken, it was night and day. Our tastebuds lit up. Our brains felt like they switched on.
Within days our energy shifted. A week later my body pain — which I’d chalked up to age and weight — began to fade. Brain fog lifted. Depression and anxiety loosened their grip. We were stunned. But the biggest transformation wasn’t in us — it was in our children.
Our son had always been low-energy, late to speak, and uninterested in reading. He stuttered and seemed disengaged from the world. We had wondered if something deeper was going on. Within a month of adding meat back, his stutter faded. His energy rose. He became curious, talkative, eager to learn, and far more engaged with life.
Our middle daughter, vegan since birth, was strong-willed and intensely emotional. Simple requests could trigger hour-long meltdowns. After a few months of eating full meals with animal foods, her emotional storms eased. When something upset her, she could recover in minutes instead of spiraling for an hour.
Even today we follow a mostly carnivore-style, seasonal eating plan. And we’ve seen what happens when we drift off course: junk food creeps in, and within two weeks my son’s stutter starts to return, my daughter’s mood swings intensify, my youngest struggles to cope, my arthritis flares, body pain returns, and depression creeps back. We haven’t figured it all out, but we now know what we need to thrive — and we keep working toward it.
As we embraced animal foods, we also embraced the land. We began raising our own animals, growing our own food, and reconnecting with rhythms older than any diet trend. We realised we’re meant to be shepherds of the land. Every farmer knows the moments when a sense of purpose fills your body — a calling you can’t fake. In those moments, you stop feeling like a detached consumer and start feeling like a caretaker, woven into something primal and real.
Setbacks & New Beginnings
Life isn’t a straight path. Despite our passion and best intentions, we hit roadblocks. I lost my job. Our business plan crumbled under mortgage restrictions, and selling from our farm became impossible. After two years of pouring ourselves into our land, we had to weigh our options. In the end, we made a hard decision: move to the UK. It would bring us closer to family, better healthcare, and a more connected life for our children.
The farm had been, in many ways, a dream come true — but it also had its ups and downs. Each of us experienced life on the farm differently. We were ready for a new challenge, but also eager to restart our life in the UK. The UK has a vibrant farming tradition, with farm shops on every corner and a culture of supporting local meat. We were excited to see food systems from a new perspective.
Starting over in another country was humbling. Our ideals were intact, but reality wasn’t as simple as we’d imagined. I struggled to find my footing professionally; I didn’t have twenty years of community knowledge to draw on, and much of the work I tried felt superficial and unfulfilling. I realised I was missing my connection to nature and Adam felt it too.
We found ourselves back in the 9–5 world while still longing for the land and the rhythms we’d tasted. We spent the last year sorting through our goals — distinguishing what we do simply to make money from what truly fuels our souls. Just when we thought we had a plan, another curveball hit: The rhythms I had built for myself and our family were suddenly gone, and we had to re-balance again, drawing on everything we’d learned to clarify what really mattered to us.
However not everything was draining, one of the greatest blessings of moving has been watching our children thrive. The schools here, the friendships they’ve formed, and the communities they’ve joined have been wonderful. Although I remain a firm believer that homeschooling is the way forward, we’ve seen our children shine since the move — finding their voices, making great friends, and feeling part of something bigger.
As we explored our new home, we were initially excited about the abundance of farm shops — but quickly realised many were “glorified supermarkets,” more like Whole Foods or Pomme in Canada. Yes, they stocked some local products, but much was sourced from far away — dragon fruit, oranges, and other non-local imports. We did find a few excellent farm shops offering outstanding seasonal meat, but it still required a longer drive to shop the way we wanted.
All of this got us thinking deeply about the food system. In the UK there’s constant talk of solar farms replacing pastures, farmland being traded for housing, removing animals from the landscape, and inheritance-law changes that push agriculture toward outsourcing. Food shouldn’t be a high-profit business for a few at the top or something we outsource to other countries. We lose our resilience when we outsource survival itself.
Food needs to be local. It should come from the next street over, down the road, from someone you know. If everyone grew some food, if neighbours shared surplus freely, and if small family farms pooled resources to feed their own communities, food would be cheaper, fresher, and more nourishing. We’d eat seasonally, keep money circulating locally, strengthen our towns, and rebuild a sense of national pride.
Out of these reflections grew our strongest opinions and our clearest vision yet. It’s taken time to sort through our experiences, but now we see the shape of a plan: a way to teach, model, and build the kind of food system we’ve been longing for — rooted in community, stewardship, and true sustainability.
The Birth of Oak & Acre
Oak & Acre was born out of tension, curiosity, and a deep longing to live differently. After years of questioning, experimenting, and rebuilding, we felt a pull to share what we’d discovered. We wanted a place to shine a light on the gap between what we’re told and what’s true, to ask hard questions about food and consumer culture, and to help others reclaim both their food and their primal being.
What started as our private family journey became a public platform. Oak & Acre is now a living journal — part independent news outlet, part guidebook, part diary of our ongoing attempt to align modern life with ancestral wisdom. We cover farming and food industry developments, expose greenwashing and hidden costs, and explore practical tools for living more ancestrally — even if you don’t have land or a farm.
But Oak & Acre isn’t just about information. It’s about connection. We aim to help people discover seasonal rhythms, practical skills, and the confidence to take back control of their food systems, health, and communities. We believe small steps — a single meal, a balcony garden, a shift in perspective — can spark big changes when shared and multiplied.
We’re still on our journey. We’re still learning. But we know this: life makes more sense when it’s rooted in purpose, nourished by real food, and aligned with the rhythms of nature. Through Oak & Acre we invite you to walk alongside us — questioning, experimenting, and growing together.