How a little Missouri town, a whole lot of questions, and one slightly overworked computer gave rise to Pecking Order Produce & Provisions.
Our story starts in Armstrong, Missouri.
Not because it's a bustling metropolis. Not because there's a fortune waiting around every corner. And certainly not because anybody was sitting around hoping another woman would show up with a big idea and a questionable understanding of how many hours are in a day.
It starts here because Armstrong is home.
It's where my husband and I are putting down roots. Where our children will grow up. Where we want the people we meet to become more than passing acquaintances.
I want my kids to know what it means to have neighbors. The kind who notice when something isn't right, celebrate the good stuff with you, and don't need an invitation to lend a hand.
And somewhere between settling into our new home, raising two kids, and juggling everything else life likes to throw at a family, I started looking at what our little town had—and what it didn't.
One thing was hard to miss.
We didn't have a local grocery store.
Now, I could spend all day talking about why a town ought to have somewhere to buy groceries. But wanting a grocery store and having enough customers to financially support one are two very different things.
The problem wasn't Armstrong. The problem was trying to solve a small-town need with a business model that depended on big-town numbers.
I wasn't about to ask a couple hundred neighbors to carry the weight of keeping a business alive. And I didn't think our city should have to transform itself, find a pile of money, or suddenly double its population before somebody could figure out a workable solution.
So I started looking at the problem from another direction.
What If We Built It Backward?
Armstrong may be small, but look at what's around us.
We're surrounded by Missouri agricultural communities. Farms, livestock producers, growers, makers, and other small towns. Highway 3 runs right through Armstrong, and the possibilities don't stop at the city limits.
That got me thinking.
What if the business didn't have to depend entirely on the people who lived here?
What if we developed the online marketplace and regional distribution side first, giving Pecking Order a way to serve a much larger area?
Then, when the right building, funding, and operating conditions came together, we could work toward opening a physical mercantile in Armstrong.
The regional business would have its own reasons to exist. The hometown storefront could become part of that larger operation instead of being expected to support the whole thing by itself.
And maybe, just maybe, we could bring new life to one of those older buildings that give Missouri towns so much character.
I can picture it already: an old-fashioned mercantile with modern conveniences, familiar faces, good food, Missouri-made goods, and the sort of conversations that make you forget what time it is.
Of course, there's a considerable amount of paperwork, planning, and practical problem-solving between picturing something and opening the doors.
I've become painfully familiar with that part.
But the idea made sense to me. Start by building a business that could serve the region, then work toward giving it a physical home in Armstrong.
Apparently, building things backward was becoming a theme.
Two Steps Forward. One Step Back. Maybe That's Not Such a Bad Thing.
I come from a generation that remembers being kicked outside until the streetlights came on, riding bicycles all day, getting up to change the television channel, and missing our favorite show because, well, better luck next week.
And who could forget getting tangled up in that EXTRA-long telephone cord because apparently a private conversation required stretching the kitchen phone halfway down the hallway, around two corners, and under a door?
Then cell phones came along and effectively "cut the cord," ushering in an entirely new way of life.
Now we carry little computers in our pockets, watch practically anything we want, and have full-blown conversations with artificial intelligence.
I love what technology has made possible. I'm building an entire business with it, although at this point, the computer and I may need to discuss the boundaries of our relationship.
But here's what bothers me.
We became more connected to the world than ever before, yet somehow grew more disconnected from the people right beside us—our friends, our families, our neighbors, and our communities.
The simple but vital connections that once made the world feel a little smaller. A little safer. A little more like home.
I miss that. And I don't think I'm the only one.
I don't want to give up modern conveniences. I want to use them to help bring back some of what we've lost.
And that's where the old Missouri mercantile comes in.
The Old Missouri Mercantile
I'm not talking about pretending it's 1895 or making everybody churn their own butter.
I'm talking about the place a mercantile held in a community.
Picture somebody stopping in early before heading out for deer season. A cup of coffee, a few familiar faces, and somebody insisting they know exactly where the biggest buck in the county is hiding.
By evening, they're back with a story.
Whether that buck has gotten bigger since breakfast is anybody's guess.
Meanwhile, somebody's swapping a recipe. Somebody's talking about a new baby. Somebody else is asking who makes that particular kind of jam, or where they can find a good roast for Sunday dinner.
And somebody knows a guy.
That's the part I love.
Those conversations weren't separate from buying and selling. They helped people decide what to buy, who to buy it from, and how to use it once they got home.
You didn't need to know everything. You just needed to know somebody who knew something.
The people behind the products weren't anonymous, either. You knew whose chickens laid the eggs, who raised the beef, and who made the table you were sitting at.
I want some of that back.
I also want online ordering, reliable inventory, useful recipes, and modern systems that don't require somebody to spend an entire afternoon hunting down a particular package of pork chops.
I don't see those things as opposites.
In fact, I think they might work pretty well together.
Apparently, We're Building Dinner Backward, Too.
As I kept working through Pecking Order, I started thinking about how people actually figure out what to feed their families.
Sometimes you have a recipe in mind and go buy what you need.
Other times, you open the refrigerator, stare at a package of chicken, half an onion, and some vegetables, and wonder what on earth you're going to make for supper.
I've been there. Frequently.
Most recipe websites start with the finished dish and hand you a shopping list.
But what if we started with the food instead?
What if someone could look at the Missouri products available through Pecking Order, or think about what they already have at home, and get useful ideas for turning those ingredients into a meal?
That's the thinking behind Meal Match, one of the tools we're developing.
It's still a work in progress, and it isn't a live shopping feature. But the idea fits how I want Pecking Order to operate.
Start with what's available. Figure out what you can do with it. Make the next step easier.
So now we're approaching the store backward, dinner backward, and apparently taking a few steps back toward our roots while we're at it.
I'm starting to think whoever decided that taking a step backward was a bad thing may have been a little too quick to judge.
Sometimes, getting back to your roots is exactly how you figure out where to grow next.
Now Comes the Part Where We Actually Have to Build It.
I could tell you all about the wonderful things Pecking Order is going to do someday.
But someday doesn't put food on a table, pay a producer, or keep a business running.
That's why so much of the work right now happens behind the scenes.
We're researching what customers need, learning from producers, working through food-handling and distribution requirements, developing the website and technology, and figuring out which ideas are practical enough to pursue.
Some parts have come together beautifully. Others have sent me right back to the drawing board.
And there have been a few days when I probably should have shut the computer off about 36 hours earlier.
We're still in development. Online ordering isn't live. We don't have a secured storefront, and there isn't an opening date to announce.
And we're intentionally taking our time reaching those milestones.
Because that's exactly what they are: milestones, not foundation stones.
The foundation comes first. Understanding what our customers need. Learning what actually works for producers. Getting the handling, distribution, technology, and business systems right before asking people to depend on them.
I'd much rather take longer to build something properly than rush to announce an opening and spend the next six months figuring out what should have been settled beforehand.
There's plenty of excitement around the possibilities. Believe me, I'm excited too.
But excitement doesn't substitute for doing the work.
I also want to share what we're learning along the way.
Not every spreadsheet or late-night debate about inventory needs its own public announcement. Trust me, some of those conversations are better left between me and the computer.
But the decisions, the milestones, the mistakes, the people who help, and the lessons worth passing along? Those deserve to be part of the story.
Maybe a young entrepreneur will read something here and realize that starting a business doesn't require knowing every answer on day one.
Maybe a homeschool family will find something useful in seeing how math, science, technology, agriculture, and everyday problem-solving come together in the real world.
Maybe a producer will see that we're putting serious thought into the work that happens long before a product reaches a customer's hands.
And maybe our neighbors will see that our town still has plenty of opportunity and life in its bones.
I want people to be able to look at Pecking Order and see how we got from an idea to whatever comes next.
Even the messy parts.
Especially the messy parts that taught us something.
God Made Dirt & Dirt Don't Hurt.
I have a lot of respect for the people who grow our food and make the things we use.
Their work doesn't always happen in pretty lighting. It doesn't always go according to plan. And very few farmers make it out of the field without dirt on their hands or mud on their boots.
Building Pecking Order won't be any different.
We're not above the work. We're not above learning. And we're certainly not above admitting when something needs fixing.
We'll show up the way we show up: willing to lend a hand, step up to the plate, or point you toward the person who actually made the plate.
I want my children to grow up knowing that a town doesn't have to be big to matter, and that doing something worthwhile usually requires more than having a good idea.
It takes showing up. It takes listening.
And sometimes it takes a slightly unhinged momma staying up until 2:30 a.m. yelling at a chicken graphic that absolutely refuses to cooperate.
I don't know exactly what Pecking Order will look like five or ten years from now. We're still earning the right to find out.
But I know why I started.
Armstrong is our home. Missouri is full of people doing work worth knowing about. And I think there's a better way to bring the two together.
If we can make that work, maybe we'll get to open the doors of that mercantile someday.
And if somebody stops in for coffee before shooting light and comes back that evening with a story about a buck twice the size it was that morning?
Well, I'll consider that a pretty good sign we've gotten something right.
Our Farms. Our Food. Our Future.