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