Andrew’s story
I joined the United States Air Force in 2003, right out of high school. I was originally slated to work in avionics, but during basic training I was recruited into the Tactical Air Control Party (TACP). After becoming a TACP, I deployed twice, both times to Iraq.
On my first deployment, I was assigned to conventional forces in what was known as the “Death Triangle.” We conducted multiple missions alongside the Army. We were frequently targeted by the enemy, and we responded to every engagement as required.
On my second deployment to Iraq, I served as a Joint Terminal Attack Controller (JTAC). I volunteered for special missions, which led to my assignment in southern Iraq, in the city of Basrah. There, I supported British coalition forces, including the British Special Air Service (SAS) and the Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force (CJSOTF). During that time, I was the only American JTAC assigned with the British forces. At 24 years old, I was responsible for requesting and controlling combat aircraft and determining targets in accordance with our rules of engagement.
While stationed in Basrah, the enemy’s primary tactic was indirect rocket attacks on our base. These attacks occurred every couple of days, with anywhere from 12 to 24 rockets impacting our installation each time. During one of these attacks, I made a critical mistake—or more accurately, I failed to make a decision. As a result, British troops were injured and killed. I have carried the weight of that failure for more than 18 years.
Every Memorial Day, I relive those experiences. In 2024, my wife could see that I was struggling more than usual, and this time I was losing the fight inside myself. Without my knowledge, she reached out to a close friend of ours and said, “Dan, this isn’t good. Andrew is really struggling.” Dan rearranged his schedule and drove over six hours to be by my side that weekend.
While sitting on the farm in lawn chairs, smoking cigars and watching the sun settle on the horizon, I finally shared with Dan what I had been carrying for so long. He spoke to me with truth and love that could only come from God. Although I had already begun facing these demons with help, the battle was not over.
As more memories resurfaced, it became too much to handle alone. I felt overwhelmed and unable to see a way forward—but God had a different plan. This time, He sent two friends, Brandon and Rollin. One is a lifelong friend, and the other I had only known for about a year. They showed up unexpectedly, asking what they could help with on the farm. They could see I wasn’t in a good place, and they took the time to walk with me as I faced those demons once again.
Our farm has become a place of healing for me—a place where I can work, find peace, and feel close to God. My goal is to make this farm available to other veterans struggling with PTSD, so they have a safe haven where they can step away from the noise. I want to work on the farm side by side with veterans then in the evening retreat to a bonfire, helping one another through the struggles we carry—through sharing and understanding that can only come from someone who has lived it.