The idea for Farm To Summit didn’t come from a business plan or a kitchen—it started way out in the Yellowstone backcountry. No cell service, long days, tired legs… and way too many bad backpacking meals.
I was on a 20-something-day field stint with the Colorado State Forest Inventory & Analysis Program. I had just left a PhD in climate change biology and was trying to figure out how to make a bigger, faster impact on the systems I cared about.
Yellowstone doesn’t mess around. The terrain is rugged, and most of our days were spent off-trail, scrambling over endless downed trees. Ten to fifteen miles of that will wreck your calves. It was physical, repetitive, and honestly kind of brutal.
There were only three of us on the crew, which meant long stretches of quiet hiking. Lots of time to think. And a lot of backpacking meals—none of them good. We all agreed they tasted pretty terrible and left us feeling even worse.
Somewhere out there, my brain started turning. What if I could do better? I was always scheming up business ideas, but this one felt different—freakishly tangible. What if backcountry food didn’t have to taste terrible or leave you feeling like garbage? What if it could actually fuel long, demanding days in wild places? And what if the entire business could be built on conservation and community, not as an afterthought, but as the foundation?
I had friends who volunteered on farms in exchange for the unsellable ‘seconds’ produce... What if we could turn high-quality, local produce into meals built for the backcountry? And what if we could do it using food that would’ve otherwise gone to waste?
That’s when Farm To Summit really took shape—muddy boots, sore legs, and an idea that consumed my mind for the entirety of my work trip.
The first time I got service in Jackson Hole, I bought the domain. On the drive home, I ordered our first dehydrator—a tiny nine-tray Excalibur. That was the start.
We tested everything at the Durango Farmers Market in 2021 and officially launched in 2022. And we were scrappy. Like, really scrappy. We hand-punched every bag. Hand-stamped the logo. I wrote the meal names, descriptions, and nutrition info on each bag. AND... I built out the website myself, with plenty of tears along the way.
Fun fact: that original website I built back then stayed almost completely unchanged until 2026. So yes the tears were worth it.
The food started selling. Then it started selling fast. Local gear shops began reaching out, asking to carry the meals. We said yes… without totally knowing how we’d keep up.
At first, we worked out of a shared commissary kitchen from 8–10 p.m., after everyone else cleared out. But once we were in a certified space, things picked up quickly. Demand grew. Doors opened. And before long, Farm To Summit became my full-time focus.
We needed our own space—but in Durango, that’s easier said than done. So we built what we couldn’t find. We turned a 1,200-square-foot photography studio into a kitchen, packaging room, and shipping hub. That little “dehydration shack” is where things really started to take off.
Fast forward to now, and it still kind of blows my mind.
The facility is still modest, but it’s a completely different operation. Pallets stacked high. Hundreds of meals moving through each day. Thousands of pounds of produce processed every week. Bigger equipment. A growing team.
What hasn’t changed is the heart of Farm To Summit.
We’re still rooted in that original question that came to me deep in the Yellowstone backcountry:
What if we could do better?
Better food. Better sourcing. Better systems. Better outcomes for farmers, for eaters, and for the places we love to explore.
Then vs. now looks different on the surface. But the mission has always been the same. And honestly? We’re just getting started.
