The Dancing Cub Farm Story: From Caregiving to Creativity, and the Unexpected Path to Microgreens

Most people don’t start a farm because life is easy. They start it because life pushes them somewhere unexpected — and that’s exactly how Dancing Cub Farm began.

In 2019, I moved back to Virginia for one reason: my dad. He has dementia, and after caring for my mom through her own battle with dementia, I knew what that journey looked like. I had been flying back and forth from Texas to help him write a book about his life and his 18‑year career in professional football. But every trip home, I saw the decline. I saw the weight on his wife’s shoulders. I asked her if she ever got time to herself and she said, “I can still get my nails done.” That was it. That was the moment I knew I needed to come home.

I bought a fixer‑upper with some land — nothing flat, of course — and started over. I thought I’d stay a year. Then I realized I’d stay as long as my dad was here. Some days he knows who I am. Some days he thinks I’m my mom. Some days he thinks I’m the Queen of England. Doesn’t matter. He’s my dad. I show up.

While settling into my new life, I started thinking about how to use my land to build something of my own. I’ve always loved gardening, so I built five tiered beds and grew everything I could. I canned for the first time. I gave food away. I asked a local farmers market what they didn’t grow so I could grow it for them.

In the summer of 2023, I started selling vegetables to that same market. And then I discovered microgreens.

These tiny, powerful vegetables fascinated me — all that nutrition, all that flavor, all that potential. I asked Kayla at the farmers market if she’d sell them if I grew them. She said yes, though she wasn’t sure how they’d sell “out here in the country.” I gave myself 2–3 years to teach people what microgreens were and how to use them. I went to festivals, did demos, wore a shirt that said “Ask me about microgreens,” and always brought samples.

The two questions I heard over and over were: “What are microgreens?”and “What do you do with them?”

So I started playing. Not just salads and garnishes — but food. Real food. Food people eat every day.

What do we eat that has almost no nutritional value? Bread. Pasta. Tortillas. Chips. Pizza dough.

So I started adding microgreens to them.

Somewhere in that creative storm, I started making infused vinegars — apple cider vinegars I made myself, infused with herbs I grew. That turned into nine infused vinegars and three dessert balsamic vinegars.

In January 2024, I officially became an LLC. I operated under Virginia’s cottage laws for a while, but I wanted to sell online. That meant becoming a full commercial home kitchen. It took a year of remodeling my basement kitchen, buying equipment, and passing every inspection. In April 2024, I was finally approved.

Then came the recipe approvals, the labels, the pH testing, the endless rules. But I kept going.

Last year I added farmers markets. I waited until I knew what I was doing. I built a website. I got my first recipes approved — vinegars, breads, tortillas, chips, a wasabi goat cheese. My tortillas weren’t round at first — one looked like Texas — but I got better.

And then something clicked.

I realized the part I loved most wasn’t selling clamshells of microgreens. It was creating food with microgreens.

I still grow for two stores and the farmers market, but my passion is the microgreen food line — breads, mixes, salts, sugars, rubs, dips, seasonings, and now a full gluten‑free line.

The idea came from my “no waste” rule. Every week I pull microgreens that look a little sad. Instead of tossing them, I dry them, grind them, and turn them into powders. Those powders became my first seasoning. That seasoning became an idea. That idea became a whole pantry line.

And because it didn’t make sense to make healthy food while contributing to plastic waste, I made 99% of my packaging compostable. It costs more, but I sleep better knowing I’m not adding to the problem.

And the name? My dad was known as “The Dancing Bear” when he played in Washington. I’m his oldest and only daughter. So of course I became the Dancing Cub.

This is the beginning of Dancing Cub Farm — a place where microgreens become food, creativity becomes nourishment, and nothing goes to waste.

Stay with me. Watch what’s coming. Taste the creations. And check back often — my mind never stops thinking about what I can add microgreens to.