Paul Fowler

Author: Paul Fowler

  • Now Available: Saving Grace

    I’m grateful to share that my book, Saving Grace: A Father’s Story of Faith, Rescue, and the Light That Brought His Daughter Home, is now available.

    This book is a deeply personal story about a father, a daughter, a family in crisis, and the grace of God that helped us keep reaching when the darkness felt overwhelming. It is a story of faith, prayer, hard lessons, fierce love, second chances, and the light of Jesus Christ reaching into places a parent cannot reach alone.

    Saving Grace is written for parents, grandparents, youth leaders, bishops, teachers, and anyone who loves a child who may be struggling in silence. It is also for families who need hope that the storm does not have to be the end of the story.

    The book is available in:

    You can order your copy here: Saving Grace

    Thank you for reading, sharing, and helping this message reach families who may need encouragement, courage, and light.

    Before the storm, there was Grace. After the storm, there is Grace still.

    — Paul Fowler
    paul-fowler.com

    I’d love to hear from you.

  • Ceiling Demo, Hidden Surprises, and What’s Coming Next at Jumanji Historic Farmhouse

    The latest Jumanji Historic Farmhouse video is up, and this one takes us back inside the house for more ceiling demo, more investigation, and more surprises from a very old building that still has plenty to say.

    In this episode, we open up part of the ceiling, continue chasing the source of an old leak, check progress in the entryway, and look at the area where water had been making its way down into the bathroom ceiling and basement. After a long stretch of wondering what was happening behind the walls and overhead, it is good to finally start seeing answers.

    Of course, no old farmhouse project would be complete without a few discoveries along the way. So far, the restoration tally includes 11 snake skins, 11 raccoons, and 11 bats removed from the house. Yes, you read that right.

    We also look at what is coming next. The patio terrace demo is underway; we are getting closer to exposing more of the old Sears and Roebuck block, and we are continuing the work of preparing the farmhouse for future guests. There are still plenty of messy, dusty, surprising steps ahead — but every layer we remove helps us understand the house better.

    This old place has survived a lot. Little by little, we are uncovering its story and bringing it back to life.

    Watch the video here:
    https://youtu.be/Ujky2GVg7DI?si=89GY1f79su0PYqS

  • Why Old Things Still Call to Us

    There is something about an old farmhouse that never really leaves you. It gets in your bones somehow. Maybe it is the sound of the wind rolling across the fields, or the smell of an old barn when the weather starts to turn. Maybe it is those creaky floors, cold bedrooms, dusty corners, and a hundred little things you did not think much about at the time, but now I’d give anything to stand there for just one more minute.

    The Farmhouse, the Barn, and the Feeling of Home

    Growing up on a Midwestern farm in Indiana, the seasons did not just change on the calendar. They changed how you lived, whether you were ready or not. Winters could be bitter cold, especially in an old farmhouse where the upstairs had no heat, and you learned real quick that blankets were not decorative. Spring brought the smell of fresh dirt, diesel, cut grass, and farming starting up again, which sounds romantic now, but at the time mostly meant somebody was about to put you to work. And on a farm, “work” could mean anything from shoveling horse poop, cow poop, or pig poop, to feeding bucket calves before you even got your own dinner, which seemed unfair at the time but probably built character, or at least resentment with a good work ethic.

    Summer meant big open lawns where we could play baseball in the front yard or fly U-control airplanes in wide circles until we were dizzy enough to fall over, which was apparently considered entertainment before we knew better. It meant baling hay, too, which we all figured was the required conditioning program for fall football when school started back up. Nobody called it training. It was just something everyone did, usually while sweating through your shirt and wondering why hay had to be so personally offensive. Then there was building fence and learning to use those blankety-blank wire fence-making pliers that seemed designed by someone who had never liked children. Hot sticky nights meant hoping that old box fan in the window kept spinning, because air conditioning was something other people had, probably rich people, or at least people smarter than us. Fall brought color, cooler evenings, gatherings, Halloween parties, and later Christmas parties with family crowded together in the house or the barn. Our problems seemed big to us then, because that is how problems work when you are standing right in the middle of them. But looking back, they came from a simpler place and time. Not perfect. Not easy. Just less complicated.

    It was the time before texting, group chats, and everybody being half-distracted by a glowing little rectangle, when people simply got together. Family, friends, neighbors, uncles, parents, kids—everyone showed up, and somehow there was always room for one more, even if that meant another folding chair, another paper plate, or somebody sitting where they probably should not have been sitting. That old place had a way of making everyone feel welcome. Sometimes it was a Halloween party. Sometimes it was Christmas. Sometimes it was just because that is what people did. There were ghost stories, food and drinks, bobbing for apples, games, laughter, and enough good-natured chaos to keep things interesting. My parents would deck out the barn, and my uncles would do their part to scare the daylights out of us, which they enjoyed a little too much if we are being honest. It was spooky, yes, but it was also warm. It was community. It was belonging. And nobody had to send a calendar invite, which may have been the greatest blessing of all.

    I suppose memories like that are what taught me to look at antiques a little differently. When you grow up around barns, tools, weathered wood, patched-up equipment, and things that had to be fixed because buying new was not always the first option, you learn that age does not always mean useless. Sometimes age means it has already proven itself.

    Those things sink in deeper than you realize. At the time, you are just trying to get through chores, school, sports, weather, and whatever your parents told you to do next. You do not stand there thinking, “Well, this will make a nice memory someday.” You are usually too busy being sweaty, cold, hungry, annoyed, or convinced you are being mistreated by the entire adult population. But later, after life has stretched out a little and taken you down roads you never expected, those same moments come back with a softness you did not know they would have.

    Why We Are Drawn to Old Things

    I think that is part of why antiques still call to us. An antique is not just a chair, a table, a sign, a tool, a dish, or some farm piece that somebody dragged out of a barn and dusted off. It is proof that somebody lived. Somebody used it. Somebody carried it, fixed it, cussed at it, treasured it, or passed it along. It belonged to a story before it ever found its way to us.

    That is the thing about antiques. The scratches, dents, worn handles, faded paint, and repairs are not really flaws. They are the good stuff. A brand-new thing may be shiny, but it has not survived anything yet. A well-worn piece has been through moving days, family dinners, muddy boots, hard winters, kids being kids, and somebody saying, “Hey! Don’t throw that away. We might need it someday.” Around my family, that sentence could apparently justify keeping almost anything, but every now and then they were right.

    That is one of the things I appreciate about National Rd. Antique Mall. It gives antiques a place to be seen again, and it gives people a place to wander through pieces of the past without having to explain why they stopped in front of a cabinet, a farm tool, a sign, or a stack of dishes that looked like junk to somebody else but meant something to them. People may come in looking for a certain item, but often they leave with something less expected: a feeling.

    I have watched people walk through the aisles and suddenly stop, not because something is expensive or rare, but because it hit a memory they were not expecting. Maybe it is an old mixing bowl like one their mother used, a tool that looks like it came from their dad’s workbench, a toy they had not thought about in fifty years, a sign from a business long gone, or a piece of furniture that feels like Sunday dinner at somebody’s house. You can see it happen. Their faces change a little. For just a second, they are not standing in a mall at all. They are back in a kitchen, a barn, a garage, a church basement, or a front porch somewhere. Maybe they hear Dad swearing under his breath while fixing something that should have been thrown away, but somehow kept going another ten years. That is the kind of memory that may have slipped away, but never really left them.

    That is what memory does. It does not always announce itself. Sometimes it sneaks up on you in the shape of a rusty lunchbox, a wooden crate, a quilt, a church pew, or a piece of farm equipment you swore you never wanted to see again. Then all at once, you remember a voice, a room, a smell, a laugh, a meal, or somebody who has been gone longer than you want to admit. That can hit a person harder than expected, right there between two booths and a price tag.

    The Comfort of Memory

    Maybe that is the real attraction. Antiques remind us that life was not always easy, but it was often rich in ways we did not understand at the time. A cold farmhouse could still be full of warmth. A barn could become a haunted adventure. A summer night with a box fan humming in the window could feel like survival, and somehow still become a sweet memory later. Even the chores, the noise, the dust, and the things we complained about can turn tender when enough years get between us and them. That is the funny thing about time. It takes the hard edges off some things and leaves the good feeling behind.

    When I walk through the farmhouse or the mall, I do not just see age. Memories of times long forgotten come flooding back. I see hands. I see seasons. I see families, work, laughter, faith, hardship, holidays, and home. I see things that were built, used, repaired, and kept because people did not throw everything away the second it got scratched. Imagine that. I see reminders that the past still has something to say if we are willing to slow down and listen.

    That is also why the old farmhouse and the antique mall feel connected to me. One is a place I am trying to restore, and the other is full of things people saved, rescued, hauled, repaired, and refused to let disappear. Both are really about the same thing: giving the past another chance to speak. Not everything old is worn out. Some things are just waiting for somebody to understand why they mattered.

    That is why antiques still call to me. I have traveled a long road myself, and it has taken me farther from that old Indiana farm than I ever imagined when I was a kid running across the front lawn, complaining about chores, or trying not to freeze upstairs in that farmhouse. Life has a way of moving you along. You grow older, build a family, carry responsibilities, lose people along the way you wish you could talk to again, and celebrate blessings you never saw coming. Then one day you are standing in the old farmhouse, or walking through National Rd. Antique Mall, and you see an old table, a worn farm tool, a kitchen bowl, a wooden chair, or something that looks like it came out of a barn you once knew, and it brings you back. For a moment, I am not thinking about the noise, hurry, and general nonsense of today. I am back in that simpler place and time, where people showed up, where everyone was welcome, where family and faith still held things together even when the house was cold, and the work was hard. Those antiques remind me that my story did not begin yesterday. They are little anchors, tying me back to the people, places, and memories that helped make me who I am.

    Follow along with us on our YouTube Channel

    (1) Jumanji Historic Farmhouse – YouTube

  • Jumanji Farmhouse: Side Entry and a Hidden Discovery

    Every old house has a few secrets tucked away under paint, plaster, trim, dust, and time. At Jumanji Historic Farmhouse, we keep finding them one layer at a time.

    In this video, we are working around the side entry and the basement door, removing old layers of paint and getting a better look at what the original woodwork may have looked like. Inspector Vader, our Welsh Terrier, makes an appearance as usual, supervising the work and making sure we do not miss anything important.

    One of the most interesting discoveries in this part of the house is the faux wood graining. Under the later coats of paint, we are finding evidence that much of the main-floor woodwork was originally finished to look like oak. The actual wood appears to be mostly poplar, which was commonly used because it was available, workable, and less expensive than high-grade hardwood. But with skill, paint, glaze, brushes, combs, and a good eye, a decorative painter could turn ordinary poplar into something that looked like beautiful oak.

    Faux wood graining was a popular decorative painting technique in the 1800s and into the early 1900s. It allowed homeowners to enjoy the look of more expensive woods—oak, walnut, mahogany, and others—without the cost of using those woods throughout the house. The technique showed up in homes, churches, public buildings, and furniture. It was not just “fake wood.” Done well, it was craftsmanship. It was artistry. It was a way of making something plain look warm, rich, and refined.

    I became especially interested in faux finishing during our years in Utah. Many Latter-day Saint pioneer homes and buildings used beautiful painted finishes. Out West, hardwood from the East was harder to come by, and many families built with the wood they had available—often pine or other softer woods. Skilled painters could then use faux graining to give those surfaces the appearance of finer hardwood. Some of that work is absolutely gorgeous. It is one of those old skills that deserve more appreciation than they get.

    Finding that same kind of work here at Jumanji Farmhouse gives the house another layer of personality. It reminds me that the people who built and finished this place cared about how it felt inside. They were not just putting up boards and plaster. They were trying to create beauty. They were taking what they had and making it better.

    There is also plaster visible in the background of this video, which is another reminder of how these old houses were built. Before drywall, plaster was the standard interior wall and ceiling finish. It took more labor, more skill, and more time. Like faux graining, it tells us something about the hands that shaped this house long before we came along.

    In this project, we use a paint stripper called Peel and Strip to remove layers from the basement door. And yes, apparently saying “Peel and Strip” out loud caused a little confusion for someone who thought I was making a political statement. Oh boy. No politics here—just old paint, old wood, and a product name that sounds more dramatic than it really is.

    As the paint comes off, the original finish begins to show itself. That is one of my favorite parts of restoration. You start out thinking you are just cleaning up a door, and then suddenly you are looking at the decisions someone made 150 years ago. A brushstroke, a color choice, a grain pattern, a piece of poplar made to look like oak—all of it becomes a conversation with the past.

    This is why we keep working on Jumanji Farmhouse. It is dusty, slow, expensive, frustrating, and occasionally full of surprises we did not request. But every once in a while, the house gives us something beautiful back.

    This side entry and basement door are one of those moments.

    Watch the video here:
    Jumanji Farmhouse: Side entry a hidden discovery.

  • The Faith Behind Pushing Through

    The Faith Behind Pushing Through

    When I first started writing Pushing Through, I did not set out to write a leadership guide.

    At the beginning, it was not a book about how to work with youth, how to build a strong program, or how to help young men do hard things. Those lessons came later. The book became those things because that is what the experience became in my life.

    The truth is, this story began with a church calling I did not want.

    In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, members are often invited by a bishop to serve in callings. We do not always choose the assignment. Sometimes we are asked to serve in ways that stretch us, inconvenience us, frighten us, or expose how unprepared we feel.

    That was my experience when I was called to serve as a Scoutmaster.

    I was reluctant. I was anxious. I felt severely unqualified. I had businesses to run, a family to care for, and plenty of reasons why someone else would surely be a better choice. More than once, I resisted the invitation. I did not see myself as the right man for the job.

    But eventually I had to decide whether I believed God was involved in the calling.

    Kindle Pushing Through
    Paperback Pushing Through

    If I believed He had asked me to serve, then I also had to believe He could help me do what I did not yet know how to do.

    That is where the real story of Pushing Through begins.

    As I accepted the calling and tried to move forward in faith, I began to experience something I can only describe as guidance. Ideas came. Impressions came. A quiet voice seemed to lead me. At times, I felt directed in how to plan, how to build, how to work with the boys, and how to create experiences that would stretch them without breaking them.

    Camp Fowler, the service projects, the hard outings, the reflection circles, the lessons about doing hard things — these did not come because I was naturally gifted or fully prepared. They came because I prayed, listened, worked, failed, tried again, and felt God magnify my efforts.

    Over time, the calling I had feared became one of the great blessings of my life. I developed skills, talents, confidence, love, and purpose I did not know I had. I came to feel that working with youth was not merely something I had been assigned to do; it was part of why God had placed me on the earth.

    That is the testimony beneath the stories.

    Yes, Pushing Through is about Scouting. Yes, it is about youth leadership. Yes, it is about service, hard things, faith, character, and helping young people rise. But underneath all of that, it is a testimony that God can take reluctant, anxious, imperfect people and magnify them in their callings.

    If we are willing to say yes, pray, listen, prepare, work, and keep moving, He can make more of us than we could ever make of ourselves.

    That is why I wrote this book.

    A Calling I Did Not Want

    I did not begin as someone eager to become a Scoutmaster. In fact, I told my bishop no more than once.

    I had reasons. Some of them sounded reasonable to me at the time. I was busy. I owned and operated businesses. I had family responsibilities. I had my own anxieties. I did not feel qualified, and I did not feel especially interested in giving up my time to camp, hike, cook over fires, sleep in bad weather, and lead someone else’s boys.

    What I did know was that the calling kept coming back. I could resist it. I could argue with it. I could explain why someone else would do better. But eventually, I had to wrestle with a deeper question:

    Do I believe God is in this calling or not?

    That question changed everything.

    When God Magnifies a Calling

    In our faith, we often speak about magnifying a calling. I used to think that meant doing the calling bigger, better, harder, and with more effort.

    I still believe effort matters. But I have learned something else.

    Sometimes God magnifies the person.

    He enlarges capacity. He gives ideas. He opens doors. He sends help. He teaches through mistakes. He places people in the path. He gives courage in small portions — just enough to take the next step. He turns reluctance into willingness, willingness into effort, effort into skill, and skill into love.

    That is what happened to me.

    I was not transformed all at once. I still had anxiety. I still made mistakes. I still overthought things. I still worried about work, time, safety, details, and whether I was doing enough. But as I prayed, listened, prepared, trained, and kept showing up, I began to feel guided.

    Sometimes the guidance came as an idea.

    Sometimes it came as a quiet impression.

    Sometimes it came through another leader, a young man, a parent, a mistake, or a problem that needed solving.

    Sometimes it came in the form of a simple thought: build it, and they will come.

    And they did.

    The Voice That Guided the Work

    Throughout the years described in Pushing Through, I often felt led by a quiet voice.

    I do not mean that every idea was dramatic or spectacular. Much of it was simple, practical, and tied directly to the work in front of me:

    Build a camp.

    Make service part of the program.

    Get the boys outside.

    Let them carry responsibility.

    Do not rescue too quickly.

    Raise the bar with love.

    Help them recognize God’s hand.

    Teach them they can do hard things.

    Those impressions shaped the way I led. They helped me understand that the activity itself was never the final purpose. Campouts, hikes, fires, merit badges, service projects, and hard challenges were tools. The real work was building young men — helping them become faithful, capable, service-minded, and strong enough to face life.

    I came to believe that God cared deeply about those boys. He knew their names. He knew their strengths and weaknesses. He knew what they needed to experience. And because He cared about them, He was willing to work on me.

    That may be one of the great surprises of service: God often changes the leader while the leader is trying to help others change.

    From Reluctance to Purpose

    Over time, the calling I once resisted became one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.

    I began to love the work. I loved watching young men stretch, serve, fail, try again, and discover strength they did not know they had. I loved seeing them stand taller after doing something hard. I loved seeing the light come into their faces after meaningful service. I loved watching them learn to lead.

    Somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of Scouting as an interruption and started seeing youth leadership as part of my life’s purpose.

    That change did not come because I was naturally suited for the job. It came because God can take what little we offer and make more of it.

    He can take reluctance and turn it into service.

    He can take fear and turn it into faith.

    He can take weakness and turn it into usefulness.

    He can take an anxious, underqualified man and help him become the leader a group of boys needs.

    That is my testimony.

    More Than a Scouting Book

    I hope readers enjoy the stories in Pushing Through. Some are funny. Some are uncomfortable. Some are deeply personal. There are burned meals, bad water, cold camps, long rides, service projects, mistakes, do-overs, and moments when Heaven felt very close.

    But I hope readers also see the deeper message.

    This is not only a book about Scouting.

    It is not only a book about boys doing hard things.

    It is not only a book about leadership methods.

    At its deepest level, Pushing Through is a testimony that God can magnify people in their callings. He can make more of us than we can make of ourselves. He can guide ordinary people to do work that matters.

    The work may begin with fear.

    It may begin with reluctance.

    It may begin with the words, “I am not qualified.”

    But if the calling comes from God, then so can the help.

    The Invitation

    If you are serving in a calling you did not choose, leading youth when you feel unprepared, raising children through difficult years, mentoring someone who needs more than you think you can give, or facing an assignment that feels bigger than you are, I hope this message encourages you.

    You do not have to begin fully qualified.

    You do not have to feel fearless.

    You do not have to know every step.

    But you do need to say yes, pray honestly, listen carefully, prepare faithfully, and keep moving.

    God can magnify the willing.

    He can guide the anxious.

    He can teach the unprepared.

    He can make weak things strong.

    And sometimes, the calling you resist may become the very work that helps you discover why He needed you there in the first place.

    That is the faith behind Pushing Through.

    Raise the bar. Lead with love. Help them push through.

    Paul

    Kindle Pushing Through
    Paperback Pushing Through

  • Pushing Through Is Now Available on Kindle

    Helping young people discover they can do hard things through faith, service, Scouting, and real experience.

    I’m grateful to share that the revised and expanded edition of my book, Pushing Through: Building Capable Young Men Through Faith, Service, Scouting, and Hard Things, is now available on Kindle.

    This book has been a long time in the making. It began with years of campouts, service projects, bike rides, winter camps, wilderness challenges, mistakes, do-overs, and a church calling I did not originally feel prepared to accept. What started as Scouting became something much deeper for me: a witness that young people are capable of far more than they often know, and far more than adults sometimes expect.

    Pushing Through is part memoir, part faith-based youth leadership reflection, and part practical guide for parents, mentors, Scout leaders, bishops, Young Men leaders, teachers, coaches, and anyone who cares about helping the rising generation become capable, faithful, service-minded, and strong enough to do hard things.

    The sometimes humorous stories in this book come from real experiences—burned meals, hard hikes, bad water, cold camps, service projects, leadership failures, spiritual impressions, and moments when young men discovered they could do more than they thought possible. Some stories are funny. Some are difficult. Some are deeply personal. All of them point to a simple truth: youth grow when adults love them enough to challenge them, serve beside them, and help them discover the strength God has already placed inside them.

    This revised and expanded edition also includes field notes for parents and leaders, reflection questions, activity ideas, guidance for church youth leaders, and a discussion guide for use by families, quorums, Scout troops, classes, teams, or small groups.

    The Kindle edition is live now, and the paperback edition is coming soon.

    If this message matters to you, I hope you’ll read it, share it with someone who works with youth, and consider leaving an honest review on Amazon afterward.

    Raise the bar. Lead with love. Help them push through.

    Buy on Amazon Kindle:
    Amazon Kindle

  • The House That Was Left Untouched

    Shorts playlist: To understand where this restoration journey began, it is best to view the shorts from oldest to newest. The early videos help show the condition of the property when we first purchased it, including the overgrowth, neglected structures, rough edges, and the long road ahead as we began bringing the Jumanji Farmhouse back to life. : Channel content – YouTube Studio

    When we first looked at the Jumanji Farmhouse, there was no pretending it was an easy project. The house was a pile of foreseen problems, hidden problems, and two-hundred-year-old issues waiting for someone patient enough—or stubborn enough—to face them. Old houses do not give up their secrets all at once. They reveal them board by board, stone by stone, and problem by problem.

    And yet, one of the brightest and most inspiring discoveries is that so much of the house appears to be untouched. Not untouched in the sense that it was perfect, because it certainly was not. Untouched in the sense that parts of it were left the way they had been for generations. In a world where old homes are often stripped, modernized, covered over, or erased beyond recognition, this farmhouse still carries clues from the people who built it and lived here long before us.

    The house may once have been a four-square home with a center hallway, a layout that appears to have been changed or removed perhaps one hundred to one hundred twenty years ago. That kind of alteration tells its own story. A house that has stood for roughly two centuries is not frozen in time; it adapts as families change, needs change, and generations make the place work for their lives. Even when walls move, doorways shift, or hallways disappear, the bones of the original home often continue speaking.

    Many of the construction details appear consistent with typical Quaker building traditions: practical, sturdy, modest, and built with purpose rather than show. That matters to us because the early owners were Quakers and abolitionists, and the property sits in a region where Underground Railroad history was very present. We are careful not to claim more than we can prove, but we do believe the architecture and history are worth studying closely and preserving respectfully.

    One especially unique feature is the full walk-out basement. It is not simply a cellar tucked under the house. It includes an oversized cooking fireplace, complete with old smoke stains that still mark where fire once worked against the brick and stone. Standing there, it is not hard to imagine the fireplace once serving as more than a place to cook. It may have helped heat the upper floor through radiant heat, warming the house from below during cold seasons.

    Those smoke stains are more than discoloration. They are evidence of use, labor, meals, warmth, and survival. They remind us that this was not originally a decorative farmhouse. It was a working home. People cooked there, worked there, endured the weather there, raised families there, and made do with what they had. That kind of history is not something we want to erase with drywall and paint. It is something we want to understand.

    Another remarkable remnant is the old well, where signs of a terracotta dome cover still remain. Details like that stop you in your tracks. They turn a project into a conversation with the past. You begin asking questions: Who drew water there? How many families depended on it? What did the property look like when the well was still in daily use? How much of the story is still waiting just beneath the surface?

    That is the strange blessing of the Jumanji Farmhouse. Yes, it came with problems—many of them obvious, many of them expensive, and many of them older than anyone alive today. But it also came with authenticity. It came with untouched features, old construction clues, a full walk-out basement, a fireplace still bearing its smoke, traces of an old well, and enough original character to make the work feel less like renovation and more like stewardship.

    Paul Fowler Author

  • The Story Behind the Jumanji Farmhouse

    Related video: https://youtu.be/iOqsIa2_zow

    The Jumanji Farmhouse is more than an old house. It is a family homestead, a restoration project, a gathering place, and a living reminder that some things are worth saving. When we purchased the property, the beginning was anything but polished. The main barns had collapsed or were in a state of ruin, the land had been let go for roughly forty years, and much of the ground had grown into what I call a “bird poop forest”—trees, brush, and volunteer growth spread by birds and wildlife over decades.

    In the beginning, we truly had no idea how daunting the task was going to be. What looked like a restoration project quickly became a long journey of cleanup, rebuilding, problem-solving, and learning as we went. Thankfully, we have not walked that road alone. Family and friends have helped us along the way, lending a hand, encouragement, equipment, advice, and the kind of support that makes an overwhelming project feel possible one step at a time.

    One of the most memorable parts of that overgrowth has been the hedge apples, also known as Osage orange. There were hundreds—maybe thousands—of them across the property. As a kid, I thought hedge apples were intriguing and almost amazing. As an adult clearing land, repairing tire damage, and feeling the pain of their thorns, I have learned to see them a little differently.

    The history of the home reaches back deep into the early settlement period. We have genealogy and property history connected to the home going back before the original patent deed was signed by President James Monroe in 1821. The original homestead was eighty acres, and the first owners were Quakers and abolitionists. Because Underground Railroad activity was so prevalent in this region, and because of the beliefs and background of those early owners, we believe the property may have a connection to that history as well. That is a story we continue to research with care and respect.

    Some of the barn evidence points even farther back. The nails, framing, and construction techniques suggest late 1700s to early 1800s workmanship, which would be consistent with settlers occupying and improving the land before formally applying for and receiving the homestead patent deed. That possibility makes every weathered board and hand-worked joint feel even more meaningful.

    When we began sharing the Jumanji Historic Farmhouse journey on YouTube, the goal was simple: document the real work of bringing a historic farmhouse and neglected land back to life. The video linked above shows some of those early conditions—the collapsed barns, the overgrowth, the rough edges, and the honest starting point. That includes the beautiful moments, the dusty moments, the unexpected discoveries, and the projects that do not always go according to plan. Old houses and old farms have a way of teaching patience. They also have a way of reminding us that restoration is not just about repair—it is about respect.

    Raised on the farm, I learned early that anything meaningful takes time. You work, you make mistakes, you dust yourself off, and you get back in the saddle. That same lesson applies to farmhouse restoration. Some days bring progress you can see. Other days are spent solving problems nobody will ever notice once the job is done. But both kinds of work matter.

    The Jumanji Farmhouse represents faith, family, heritage, hard work, and the belief that what came before us should not be carelessly forgotten. We hope that by sharing the journey, others will be encouraged to preserve their own family stories, restore what they can, and create places where future generations can gather.

    If you are new here, welcome. Follow along as we restore the Jumanji Farmhouse, uncover its history, work the land, preserve old things with soul, and share the lessons learned along the way.

    Paul Fowler

  • Harvesting Memories: Why Family Roots Run Deep and Eternal

    Harvesting Memories: Why Family Roots Run Deep and Eternal

    There is a quiet, sacred magic that happens when a family gathers under the open sky. In a world that constantly pulls us toward speed, noise, distraction, and screens, standing in a green field with the people who share your blood, your history, your faith, and your heart feels like stepping onto holy ground.

    The Jumanji Farmhouse is more than a house. It is our gathering place.

    When I look at this photograph, I don’t just see a group posing for a camera. I see an entire legacy staring back. I can almost hear the soft rustle of the summer leaves, the gentle hum of cicadas in the distance, and the symphony of family life—the sudden, bright laughter of a child, the quiet murmurs of catching up, and the rhythmic creak of the wooden wagon. It is a snapshot of pure, chaotic, yet unhurried togetherness.

    Our family, like the weathered wagon and the tractor beside it, is built to last generations—even eternally.

    As the generations gathered next to it, that John Deere machine has a story; it speaks of a time when life moved at the pace of the seasons, when work was done by hand, and when nothing of value was created without patience and sweat. A classic tractor and a sturdy wagon are built to endure; they survive the elements because they were crafted with a purpose.

    In many ways, our families are the same. We are built on the quiet, steady labor of those who came before us. Every generation stands on the shoulders—and the sacrifices—of the previous one, inheriting a foundation of faith, resilience, and love. The weathering we experience through life’s storms doesn’t weaken us; it gives us character, strength, and a deeper beauty.

    As a Latter-day Saint, family isn’t simply a social unit or a comforting part of this earthly journey. It is the absolute center of our existence. It is the very purpose of creation. Our faith teaches us a profound, beautiful truth: that the relationships we forge in this life are meant to transcend the grave. The bonds we share are not temporary arrangements bound by time; they are designed to last forever.

    When Elijah the Prophet restored the sealing keys to the earth, he promised that the hearts of the fathers would turn to the children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers. Looking at this wagon, you see that promise alive in the flesh. You see it in the tender way an infant is cradled in warm, protective arms. You see it in the bright, unfiltered joy of the teenagers and young adults finding their place in the world. You see it in the steady, weathered presence of the grandparents whose legacy is written in the faces of every soul on that wagon.

    Every face represents a vital link in an unbroken, eternal chain. The laughter shared on the back of a simple wagon and the memories cultivated in the quiet countryside are more than just pleasant passing moments. To me, they are literal glimpses of heaven on earth. They are a physical manifestation of the joy the Savior promised when He spoke of our divine potential.

    Life’s most profound meaning is never found in expensive getaways, material wealth, or the applause of the world. It is found right here—standing on the grass, under the sun, surrounded by the people who know your flaws and love you unconditionally. It is found in realizing that we are part of something much bigger than ourselves.

    This isn’t just a photograph. It is a record of our greatest harvest—our heritage. It is a witness that family, like the weathered wagon and tractor beside us, is built to last through seasons, storms, generations, and, by the grace of God, even eternally.

    Paul Fowler

  • Welcome to the Center of My World

    Welcome to the Center of My World

    My name is Paul Fowler, and when I look at the life God has given me, I see a beautiful thread running through everything I love—historic farmhouse restoration, rare antiques, champion Welsh Terriers, vintage iron, beekeeping, custom commercial printing, and sharing the journey through video. To some, those may look like separate passions. To me, they are all part of one calling: preserving what matters, building what lasts, and creating something meaningful for my family and others to enjoy.

    At the heart of everything I do is a deep belief that things built with purpose, faith, hard work, and care are worth saving—and worth passing on.

    First and foremost, I am a husband, a father, and a grandfather. My family is the center of who I am and the reason so much of this work matters to me. My faith as a Latter-day Saint anchors my life, and it is a privilege to serve as a youth leader, helping the next generation discover strong foundations of character, service, and purpose.

    Here is a quick look at where my days are spent:

    • The Jumanji Farmhouse: Our family homestead and restoration project, where we bring history back to life from the ground up.
    • Vintage Iron: My passion for preserving classic machinery that was built to last, from our iconic green-and-yellow John Deere tractors to our rugged Power Wagon.
    • Paul Farms Honey: Our dedicated beekeeping operation, where we work alongside nature to harvest pure, local honey straight from the farm. Paul Farms Honey
    • Yes! Print, Copy ‘n More: Our commercial printing and shipping operations in northern Utah, where we focus on fast, high-quality signs, marketing materials, and community business solutions. Visit us online at Yes Printing
    • National Road Antiques: My professional pursuit of historic preservation. We curate timeless primitive, rustic, and mid-century collections over at National Road Antiques.
    • Fowler’s Welsh Terriers: A dedicated breeding program focused on raising healthy, vibrant, and purebred companions. You can view our available litters at Welsh Terrier Pups.
    • The YouTube Channel: Where we bring these projects to life on screen. Follow along for behind-the-scenes vlogs of our builds, farm updates, and restoration milestones. Jumanji Historic Farmhouse – YouTube

    Thank you for stopping by my central hub. Whether you are here for farmhouse restoration, antique history, pure local honey, Welsh Terrier puppies, custom print work, vintage machines, or a glimpse into real farm life, I am grateful to share this journey with you. I hope that what we build, restore, raise, and preserve here will inspire others to slow down, work with their hands, honor the past, and create something lasting of their own.

    Paul Fowler Author