In 1979, my father, Philip, fell in love with the rolling hills and quiet charm of Lincoln, Arkansas. He saw something special here—something worth building. A year earlier, in 1978, he flew my mother, Caroline, and me—just nine months old at the time—to Tulsa, Oklahoma. From there, we made our way to Northwest Arkansas, a place that was still considered rural, long before the region became one of the fastest-growing in the country.
For over 40 years, my father and my stepmother, Jacqueline, poured their hearts into the land. What was once an open pasture—barren, without trees or fencing—became a thriving homestead, shaped by his own hands. Walk out to our private ponds, one nestled near the front porch and another tucked beyond a small hill, and you’ll see towering pine trees, their roots deep in soil my father tilled in the early 1980s. Every tree, every fence post, every barn standing today was placed with intention, a testament to his vision of a self-sustaining farm.
Since 2021, my family and I have continued his legacy, completely renovating the home’s interior, with plans to expand an additional 1,500 square feet by 2035. Though the house evolves, the land remains sacred, untouched on its edges—a promise that our 40-acre ranch will always embrace its natural beauty, even as Lincoln grows around it.
When my father first planted roots in Lincoln, the world around it looked very different. The University of Arkansas was a small land-grant school. The Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport didn’t exist. Walmart was still just a humble five-and-dime store. J.B. Hunt and Tyson Foods were still local names, not global giants.
But Lincoln? Lincoln had been a center of life long before any of them.
The town’s story stretches back to the 1830s, with its roots intertwined with the historic Frisco train line. From 1876 to 1980, the St. Louis-San Francisco Railway—known as the "Frisco"—carried passengers and freight through Lincoln, linking Kansas City to Pensacola, and St. Louis to Dallas. The train brought prosperity, transforming Lincoln into a bustling hub. The town square came alive with commerce, its sturdy stone buildings standing as monuments to the grit of those who built them—stone by stone, wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow.
By the early 1900s, Lincoln had become an agricultural powerhouse, feeding the rapidly growing communities of Fayetteville, Springdale, Rogers, and Bentonville. Apple orchards stretched for miles, and local farms shipped fresh produce across the country.
But time has a way of changing things.
The train tracks were pulled up in the early 1980s, and with them went much of the town’s prosperity. The once-thriving square, once filled with the hum of business and the echoes of community dances, fell into quiet decline. Like so many small towns, Lincoln faced the challenge of staying relevant in a modern world.
Yet, history has a way of calling people back.
Today, Lincoln is awakening once more. As Fayetteville and its neighboring cities climb the national rankings as some of the best places to live, the cost of living in the region’s urban centers is soaring. Families and retirees are looking west, seeking space, peace, and the kind of community Lincoln has always had.
The town square is stirring back to life. In 2023, La Villa Mexican Restaurant brought new energy to the historic district. In 2024, more businesses followed. And in 2025, Lincoln will unveil a brand-new, modern community center—a space built on the same ground where, nearly a century ago, travelers in horse-drawn buggies once watered their horses from hand-dug wells.
As for our ranch, we remain committed to preserving the landscape, even as the town expands around us. A new custom-built housing community is expected to rise on the north, east, and southeast sides of our land. But the edges of our property will remain untouched, a shield of nature against the inevitable growth.
Lincoln is a town that refuses to be forgotten. It is a place where history is not just remembered—it is lived, breathed, and woven into the fabric of every stone, every tree, every fence post standing tall against the sky.
And for me, it is an honor to continue building this story—one that blends the past, present, and future into something lasting, something true.