Rastovich Family Farms
Welcome, folks. I'm Rob Rastovich, of the Rastovich family farm. Allow me to tell you a bit about ourselves.
My grandfather and grandmother immigrated to the United States in the early 1900's. George and Anna Rastovich met each other at a boarding house in Spokane, Washington and were married in 1902. The Homesteaders Act's promise of free land led them to Central Oregon where they began farming in 1919.
(This is usually the part in a family story that goes, "Well, a lot has changed since that time." But the truth of the matter is, not much has changed in nearly 100 years.)
Oh sure, we've got all the modern conveniences that technology has provided over the years. Electricity was installed in the 1930's. The homestead got indoor plumbing and telephones in the 1940's, although the outhouse still sits off the back porch - converted into a shed that holds the garden implements.
In the 1950's the first television was brought onto the farm, and then in the late 70's we actually got color TV (oh, boy was that a big day). Now, we even have broadband internet access, wireless networks, and 3G cell service throughout the whole 200 acres. I guess that's what's changed the most. Other than that, we've managed to stick to the simple basics that have been our tradition here at the Rastovich family farm for almost a century.
George and Anna Rastovich raised their 7 children on this farm, the youngest son being my dad, Dan. Dad married Helen O'Keefe (my mom), and they raised my older sister Nancy and Rob (that's me) right here on the same farm. Today, with my wife, Colleen, we are raising our family of 6 on this very same farm.
Our cows still range freely around our ranch in the Central Oregon sunshine, getting fat on the grass we grow. They drink mountain-fed water, and feast on the barley left-overs from our neighborhood breweries. We still bale our own hay, and barter with the locals.
There is nothing greater in God's green earth than enjoying one of our "big-sky" sunsets (the kind that lights up the whole Cascade mountain range and changes every second), looking over the fields my grandpa George first planted. All with a cold bottle of summer ale, and the best steak in town.