You
all have been so kind to follow along on our journey. From the earliest
hop plants and the tiniest ankle biters, to a CSA and growing
community, to Rank and Row and the Veterans in Agriculture movement.
Thank you.
Dear
friends, I wanted to share a bit with you about why we made a change
away from the "Hop Haus" title and towards "Compass Crops". If you
aren't one to care too much about the nitty gritty, I'd encourage you to
toss back a beer and know that your hoppy pals are still here. We are
just shifting the scope a bit. We were teenagers, at the Hop Haus. We're
now inking up on middle age. The journey has left it's mark on us, but
it hasn't changed who we are or the quality we strive for!
Schneider's
Hop Haus was kicked off in 2011/2012. A baby on our back, a song in our
heart, and the notion of our very own hop yard-- wide-eyed and dreamy.
We forged our way through worn and tired soil. We rehab'ed a beat-up
cabin. Most importantly, we made friends and crafted a bit of a
community in a time when we (and so many others) were looking for a
genuine connection. Through the Hop Haus and the Hop Haus CSA, we shared
many-a drink and dinner with friends. We studied and attended
workshops, seminars, training sessions and breakout brainstorm sessions.
We met online and offline. We made connections.
The
hop yard expanded, in stride with our family. We worked by headlamp in
the hours before daylight, and the late nights after the babies finally
gave way to rest. Our children raced through sprinklers and drove mini
tractors up and down hop rows. Life wasn't easy, but it was authentic,
it was crafted as we pleased, it was dreamy. We had set down roots and
we knew our course ahead.
In
2017 we welcomed our third little blessing and we knew a decision must
be made. Add onto the cabin, or move down the road. As it happened, the
day our third little treasure made the journey earthside, a quaint
little cottage, on a few acres, just minutes from grandparents listed on
the market. Upon discharge from the hospital, we scheduled a walk
through. The place was ready for a new family to love and polish the
historical rooms. The location was tucked close to the Cuyahoga National
Park, where we had come of age ourselves. The lure of sharing the
Everett Road Covered Bridge, the backwoods trails of our youth, and the
backyards filled with grandparent love with our children -- something we
felt compelled to do. We listed the Hop Haus with Micheal Henry, of The Henry Group, and started packing.
Moving
is always messy. Something goes off plan and the stressors of
navigating the transition with tiny humans are not to be underestimated.
In the end, we made it to the new homestead. The sheep, the chickens,
the kids, the dog, kittens, and what was left of our sanity :)
The
new property didn't much resemble the old. Rolling hills, mature fruit
trees, established hop plants, a century home and milking
house-turned-barn. The gardens were in place, but powerfully overgrown.
The soil was barren. There was no evidence of microorganism or insect.
There were ponds, but they needed cleaning. There was a lovely yard, but
it needed to be carved out from the encroaching forest. There were
trails to explore and lovely shade trees to hang swings in. There were
conveniences unimaginable, after our "Oregon Trail" existence at the Hop
Haus. We did what we could to enjoy our first autumn and to put the
property to bed for the winter. We added organic material to the gardens
and sowed cover crops to begin the nourishing process. We fixed a
septic, a heating system, bathroom, and more. The first year in an aging
home is always more work than you bargain for, we've come to
appreciate.
We
are powerfully grateful of friends who made the move possible, of the
Good Lord for keeping our health and marriage afloat through the
transition. We're thankful for friends and family that celebrated the
new chapter with us, amid boxes and chaos! We are thankful for the brave
hearts of our children, as we upturned their world. We thought long and
hard about the life we wanted for our boys. A space, in a place, where
they could run, build, scrape, hollar, and grow into young men.
Something apart from the pace of society. Someplace a bit removed from
the chaos that has infiltrated America. We pined over ways to give our
children the type of childhood they deserved, in our minds. A childhood
that we felt, all children in America honestly deserved. The promise of
freedom and opportunity that I signed up to protect and defend, some
years ago. Our decision wasn't casual. We set a new direction, we
recalculated our course and put one foot in front of the other,
steadily.
When
the dust settled a bit, we looked around and realized that we weren't
going to be defined by hops. We appreciated that we were truly looking
at a whole health experience. Herbs. An array of vegetables. Fiber.
Life. and yes, hops, too.
We
needed a name and that didn't come easy. Our time at the Hop Haus
revealed, without question, that hands in soil can be medicinal to the
individual. A collective of like-minded individuals had become friends. A
nonprofit was inking into the world... because soil is healing. Soil is
reflective. Soil is nourishing. Soil is incredible, but only if you
pour into it. Our thought progress continued down a curious path. The
work we put into the soil shaped us and strengthened us. Toil. The
effort, the work, the labor of the experience. Unfortunately, toil has
too few characters to be taken seriously in most social media tags,
website names, or similar functions. We chose not to complicate things
by compounding the toil. The search for a fitting name continued.
A dear friend mentioned an idea that seemed, in some ways, quite simple. Perhaps too obvious, even.
Years
ago, the husband and I drove from the west coast, back to Ohio. I had
taken a short term assignment at McChord and we were leisurely making
our way home. We stopped off in Colorado to visit friends and make some
memories. A mentor loadmaster was in town and he offered a tattoo,
something we had joked about over the cargo ramp and around paratroop
doors, years prior. The hubs and I sketched several ideas, but I landed
on one. A compass, seated in the palm of my hand.
What
if the compass, that had taken on a quite life of its own over the
years, embodied the compass provided by the soil. The tattoo started as a
reminder to return to that places where I felt alive, loved, empowered.
Later, as I grew in faith, the compass became a reminder that, no
matter where the journey led, the Lord was always my guide. As I set
down roots and grew the Hop Haus, the compass often reminded me of the
way soil to hands brought forth direction. Casually, without conscious
effort, farm work quite frequently provides perspective when the world
is without.
As seeds meet with soil, as fingernails become stained, the mind is free to find her path.
Here, Compass Crops was born.
Welcome to Compass Crops.
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