Years ago, on a working alpaca farm in Washington, the problem wasn’t “marketing.” The farm was five miles off the highway. People who wanted to come simply needed to know they hadn’t missed the turn.
So we gave them something to follow ↓
One photograph. Fifty copies. Each one mounted on a stake in a five-gallon bucket weighted with rocks from the pasture. From the highway to the gate, another alpaca face appeared before anyone had time to wonder if they were lost.
No arrows. No directions. No fancy campaign. By the fourth or fifth sign, people weren’t following instructions anymore. They were in on the joke.
That’s still where we start. Not with a campaign. Not with a pile of software. With the farm in front of us and one question: what’s already here?
They came for the whales, the water, the scenery and the ferry ride. They didn’t come looking for your farm. But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t love finding the farm stand, meeting the animals, taking home cheese or yarn, or coming back for a dinner in the field.
They live down the road. They need milk. Cheese. Yarn. Eggs. A local gift. Maybe they have a steep patch of brush and would happily hire a few goats to do what a mower can’t. They can’t buy what they don’t know is here.
Not with a clipboard. Just have a look around. The useful stuff isn’t always the thing you think you’re selling.
Milk, cheese, eggs, fiber, yarn, breeding animals, farm-made goods — whatever actually belongs on your place.
Grazing. Brush clearing. Education. Interaction. Sometimes the goat eating the blackberry vines is doing a perfectly respectable job.
Shearing, spinning, cheese making, animal care, workshops, demonstrations — the things you’ve learned by doing them every day.
A barn. A field. A view. A long table. A veranda. Maybe a catered dinner, a small wedding, a camp-out, a workshop or a gathering fits here.
The farm stand isn’t an afterthought. It may be the easiest front door you have — for islanders in February and visitors in August.
Neighbors. Past visitors. Friends of customers. The family that still remembers the animal their child met three summers ago.
Every farm is different. Check what’s already there, what people already ask about, and what you might actually enjoy doing. We’ll put a few possibilities on the table.
Check anything that sounds like your place. Don’t overthink it. We’re just seeing what belongs on the table.
Not a prescription. Not a promise. Just a few things worth looking at before anybody starts building anything.
Visitors are already moving around the island. We help make the farm easier to notice, easier to stop at and easier to remember. The farm stand, an event, a sign, a local guide, a dinner — whatever makes sense for your place.
The animals still eat. The bills still arrive. This is where the people who already know the farm matter: islanders who buy locally, summer visitors who order again, families who reserve next season, and customers who tell somebody else.
Summer brings people to the islands. The relationship can keep working all winter.
Sometimes the opportunity is the acreage, the barn, the view or the quiet. Maybe twelve people around a catered table makes sense. Maybe a wedding doesn’t. Maybe there’s a veranda looking over the pasture that wants a fire pit and a few good chairs.
Nobody comes back for “alpacas.” They come back for Jasper. Nobody remembers “the goat farm.” They remember the one who put his hooves on the fence.
The goal isn’t to turn your farm into another business. It’s to make more of the farm you already have.
Tell us what you raise, what you sell, what people keep asking for, and what you’ve wondered about doing someday. If you’ve got pictures, even better.
We’ll take a look with you.