November is when this old farm shines like a new penny.
The light slants low and golden across the pastures. The cattle's breath hangs in the cold morning air. And somewhere between the first hard frost and Thanksgiving, something shifts in the way we move through our days. We're not just working the land anymore—we're reaping what we've sown, literally and figuratively.
My grandpa used to say, "You don't work the land. You work for the land, and if you do it right, the land provides." November is when you find out if you did it right.
The Little Red Hen Had It Right (Sort Of)
Remember that children's story? The Little Red Hen asks for help planting wheat, harvesting it, milling it, baking it—and everyone says "not I" until there's fresh bread on the table. Then suddenly everyone wants a piece.
The story ends with the hen eating her bread alone. Which, frankly, seems a little harsh.
Out here in our small, remote corner of northern Missouri, harvest season tells a different story. Sure, we each tend our own operations. Christian cares for our cattle every day, “come hell or high water,” as the saying goes. But come November? That's when farmers come together.
It's an old tradition, older than our five-generation farm. It's the tradition of trading—not just goods, but time, muscle, knowledge, and care. Your neighbor helps you harvest your crops, and you help them sort their pairs. Someone loans you their trailer; you return it with a cooler of beef (the Parsons Creek way).
The land provides, yes. But it's the people working for the land, together, who make harvest season what it is. And we want to share what we’ve reaped with you!
Check out our Holiday Specials
The Bread Basket: Traditional Beef Recipes Worth Celebrating
Here are a few recipes that show up on our tables every November, the kind that have been traded between farm families and written on stained index cards tucked into recipe boxesBrisket: The Crown Jewel of Slow Cooking. If there's one cut that embodies the "low and slow" philosophy of November cooking, it's brisket. Whether you're smoking it for hours until the bark gets dark and the meat pulls apart like butter, or braising it in the oven with onions and root vegetables, brisket rewards patience. (We've got our 4-5 lb. briskets on sale right now—perfect for a smaller gathering—and 10-12 lb. beauties if you're feeding the whole extended family (or want leftovers for days, which, let's be honest, is the real goal).
Pan-seared Ribeye: Our thick-cut ribeye gets a deep, crackling crust in Nanny’s trusty cast-iron skillet, nothing but salt, pepper, and a swath of real butter sizzling in the pan. After that perfect sear locks in all the juices, the whole skillet slides right into a hot oven to finish cooking through, filling the house with that rich, meaty aroma that means something special is happening in the kitchen. It comes out tender as can be, with those beautiful caramelized edges and a rosy center that would make any Sunday supper or Thanksgiving dinner feel like the celebration it ought to be.
Our Filet mignon recipe isn't something we stumbled upon—it's been on our Thanksgiving table for as long as I can remember. Every year, we take the most beautiful cuts from our herd, the ones we've been saving for something special, and prepare them the way my grandmother taught us. Cast-iron screaming hot, nothing fancy—just good salt, pepper, and butter. Then, peppercorn sauce, rich and velvety, is a holiday classic. When this hits the table, it's not just supper—it's Thanksgiving, all our family gathered around, a reminder of every reason why we do what we do on this farm.
It's recipes like these that inspired our holiday specials.
The Folklore of the Feast
I believe that abundance creates abundance. That generosity returns to you; That feeding people well is an act of hope for the future.
Every farm family I know has their feast traditions. Some serve the same meal every Thanksgiving—same recipes, same serving dishes, same placement for fifty years. Others make room for whatever came out of the garden or off the pasture that year.
But they all have this in common: the table is full, and there's always room for one more.
Working For the Land, Together
Here's what five generations of farming have taught my family: the land provides, but only if we provide for it first. And we can't do that alone.
This November, I'm grateful for:
The land that supports our cattle and our familyThe farmers who trade time, goods, and knowledge with usThe beef that comes from our pasture to tables across the countryThe cold weather that makes us slow down, cook well, and gather closeThe tradition of breaking bread together, which is older than any of us and will outlast us all
So if you're cooking beef this November—Whether it be Parsons Creek Steak, your local farm, or wherever you source your food—take your time with it. Use a recipe that's been handed down. Invite people over. Set an extra place at the table.
The Little Red Hen ate her bread alone, but that's not how this story ends for us.
Out here in our small, remote corner of the earth, the harvest is something we celebrate together.
From our farm to your table, we're honored to be part of your family traditions this November.
