I grew up on a farm with the fetching title of Pandemonium Hill.  There was always something going on (wrong) like the time I had a date show up while my Dad was cleaning his gun.  Or the time my brother drove the tractor into the lake.  Or the innumerable times the cows got out.  There was an endless source of wild game on the dinner table scavenged by my Mom:  Frog gigging at midnight, snapping turtle, frog legs, or crawfish from the pond, recently (or not so recently) dead chickens, goose eggs, etc.  Growing up with my parents was fun, exciting, weird, and definitely pandemonium.  My Mom believes our chaotic lifestyle was a direct result of the Farm name – a self fulfilling prophecy, as it were.

There is a crazy old sign that hangs on my parents’ front porch announcing to the world that when you visit the Broecker’s house, you are entering a world of chaos.  In 1954 when my grandparents moved to Pewee Valley, Kentucky, they wanted a name for their new home.  Grandfather and Bean-Bean were quite the entertaining couple, from all I’ve heard, and thought it would be fun to call their house Pandemonium Hill.  My Dad and Aunt Kay asked a local man to make a sign that looked like Pandemonium.  It is the same sign that now graces my parents’ front porch.

The Broecker’s Pandemonium Hill is the perfect place for us to learn to farm – and to find ourselves in the process.  And if Mom’s self-fulfilling prophecy theory is anything to go by, the Worley’s Pandemonium Acre will continue for the rest of the summer, and beyond.

-- O'Bryan, Dan, Taylor & Kerri