This story doesn’t start in a boardroom.
It starts in a shack in the woods. Alone. Just me, and a dream that promptly went up in flames — literally. My first batch? A special dark roast not even a mom could love. But somewhere in that smoke and failure… something inside me was lit.

I couldn't put it out.
Every morning, I woke up obsessed. The crack of the axe. The smell of woodsmoke. The danger of the fire. The taste. The rhythm. The ritual. It all grabbed hold of me — soul stoked!

Over five years, I went from hand-turning tiny batches to powering the roaster with my own two legs — yeah, real pedal power. I clocked enough distance on that thing to ride from the Yukon to Mexico and back. Call it sweat equity, madness. love.

Rain or shine, 30 below or blazing heat, I kept roasting. Cord after cord of wood. Match after match. Batch after batch. Why?

Because this is real.
Because this is the closest thing I’ve ever found to truth — and once you find that, you don’t turn your back on it.

Enjoy!

Michael (Founder)