Why Freedom Farms is being built.

Freedom Farms did not begin as a business plan. It grew from a lifetime around emergency service, thirty years in construction and rebuilding, personal loss, and one belief: the people who spend their lives helping everybody else deserve somewhere to go when they need help.

That story explains why this place matters. Freedom Farms itself is for the people we can serve together: law enforcement, fire, EMS, dispatch, corrections, veterans, their families, rural neighbors and the animals depending on us.

Service runs through generations.

On my dad’s side, my grandfather was a police chief and received a Purple Heart during World War II.

On my mom’s side, her grandfather co-founded the fire department. Her dad—my maternal grandfather—was the fire chief, a Shrine clown and a member of the Army Reserve.

My dad served with the Army National Guard in Corps of Engineers and medical roles. He was also a volunteer firefighter and a part-time deputy sheriff.

My older brother served in the Air Force during Desert Storm, worked in both volunteer and paid-call firefighting, and also clowns. My own service includes volunteer and paid-call firefighting, along with EMT experience.

The equipment, staffing and demands changed over the generations. The reason for answering the alarm did not. People left their families, jobs and farms because someone else needed them. That is the kind of community I grew up around.

Service can also mean bringing joy.

My maternal grandfather was a clown, my brother clowns too, and I carried that family tradition forward as Tag-Along. After spending so much time around emergencies, putting on the clown face created a chance to bring somebody a good memory instead of arriving only when something had gone wrong. It taught an enduring lesson: helping can mean laughter, a quiet conversation or a meaningful job alongside someone else.

The person behind the paint

Meet Tag-Along.

A family tradition. A little mischief. A reason to smile.

Jeff ClarkTag-Along

Clowning runs in the family: Jeff’s grandfather, his brother and Jeff himself.

Tag-Along is part of that story. Behind the makeup is the same wish to help somebody have a better day—through a little laughter, a conversation and a good memory to take home.

A belief carried forward

Faith. Hope. Charity.

This belief isn’t new. It was printed on Jeff’s card in 2018, years before Freedom Farms. The mission carries those same values forward.

Faith makes our path a little clearer,Hope makes our lives a little brighter,Charity makes our hearts a little softer.

Author unknown · As printed on the card

I have seen what happens before and after the call.

Thirty years in construction brought lessons in preparation, safety, skilled work and responsibility. That experience also includes disaster preparation and rebuilding in communities affected by hurricanes and floods. Responders do vital work while the emergency is happening, but families are still standing in damaged homes after the cameras leave. Recovery takes hands, skills, patience and people willing to stay.

A difficult call can follow a responder home. In one mutual-aid community, multiple firefighters died by suicide, including a chief who had served across generations. Those losses are part of why the mission cannot end when training is over or when someone is told to simply take care of themselves.

“The people who carry everybody else deserve to know that someone will show up for them.”

People need a place like this, too.

There was a time when isolation took hold and help was needed to find a way back. A therapist who understood service, loyalty, grief and loss helped make that recovery possible. During that work, the idea that would become Freedom Farms began to take shape: a place where training, animals, working land, useful work and peer connection could exist together.

That experience does not make anyone a clinician. It shows why qualified care and everyday human connection both matter. The Hot Spot is being built as a place to reset and reconnect, alongside—not in place of—professional treatment when it is needed.

A horse taught me patience.

Like a lot of people, I learned patience from a horse. That experience is part of why horses, daily care and time spent working with animals belong in the Freedom Farms vision.

The idea grew because the needs connect.

Emergency training helps agencies work together before a real call. Animal evacuation and rural preparedness give people practical ways to protect what they love. Agriculture, construction and skilled trades give veterans and young people purposeful work. A meal, a quiet seat, a horse or a conversation may be the reason someone comes back the next day.

The first part, the outdoor Hot Spot, is meant to make that welcome real. The larger campus would give fire, EMS and law enforcement agencies room to train together, while qualified partners bring their own programs. The current plan connects town interiors, apparatus support, working animal areas and a Mess Hall with classrooms and meals below second-floor bunks. Separate specialty phases would add fire, SCBA, aviation and water-rescue training areas.

Why the work continues.

The idea has moved from sketches to an organized mission, plans and conversations with people who understand the work. No one can build its full future alone. Freedom Farms needs agencies, animal professionals, farmers, builders, health partners, neighbors and supporters who see a useful piece they can help make real.

It is not a monument to me or to the people we have lost. I want it to be alive: a working place where someone can train, find purpose, feel connected and discover that their story has another chapter.