November 30, 2025

Burn the Ships: Inside a Meigs County Treasure

Things lie dormant until the right conditions wake them up.

Writer:
Words by
David Cook
Photographer:
Photography by
Sarah Unger

Food as a verb thanks

CTAC

for sponsoring this series

Matt McGhee grew up in the '90s suburbs. Grunge, Goodfellas, Bush-then-Clinton, but no row crops, chicken tractors or pig hooves.

"I played band and high school golf," he said.

Things lie dormant inside until the right conditions shake and bake and wake them up. The teenage trumpet player and then-8-handicapper is now a vegetable and cattle farmer and, more importantly, an agrarian entrepreneur and leader across multiple counties.

It began years ago, as these things do, when he and his wife made a simple move.

"We bought an old farmhouse," he said, "and a little land."

Then, chickens.

"The gateway drug," he laughed. "Start with five, then 20, then 100."

Now, the McGhees — Matt, his wife, their son and daughter — own and lease land where they grow vegetables and run cattle. They are farmers.

"I fell in love with it," he said. "It gets in your blood and there's nothing you can do about it."

Earlier this year, he went even farther.

The McGhees opened The Farm Store at Hampton's which sells regional meat and produce from regional farmers and growers.

The Meigs County store shelves are full of products grown by Meigs County folks, for Meigs County folks. It's a 21st-century model of yesteryear's farm store.

The Farm Store at Hampton's is architecturally and ethically aligned. Clean and inviting, right in the heart of Decatur, for the people, by the people.

We visited in late summer. The shelves carried products sourced from two dozen vendors selling everything from cured sausage to ground beef to vegetables, candles, soaps and homemade spaghetti pasta.

Folks love it.

"It's their community growing all this stuff," Matt said. "It's their neighbors."

Years ago, Matt had read a USDA report that said most farmers only receive pennies on the dollar for what they produce. That's crazy, he said to himself, as an idea formed.

Bravely and generously, he began asking the question many great people ask: how can I help?

"Our vision was to always have some type of farm store at our farm," he said.

They offer farmers a generous return on all produce and meat sold, far surpassing that penny-to-dollar ratio in that USDA report. (Some 70 cents, for example, on every dollar of meat sold.)

Even more compelling?

The McGhees also own the slaughterhouse next door.

Three years ago, they bought Hampton's Meat Processing, a Meigs County institution that began decades ago. ("In the '30s," Matt said.)

There are 30 current USDA-certified processing plants — this means a USDA inspector works on site, every day — in Tennessee, according to university research.

"He's here every day," Matt said of the inspector. "Those four letters on his name mean the world."

Since purchasing Hampton's — now called Hampton Meat Co. — Matt said he's seen a regional decline in similar plants.

"I watched three plants close all around us," he said.

He receives livestock from regional farmers five days a week.

Currently, Hampton's processes approximately 50,000 pounds a month.

"Most of next year is booked. We could book three years out," he said. "We're booking for animals not even on the ground yet."

The demand is so high, Matt began construction expanding the processing plant, more than doubling its size.

"The big outfits," as Matt calls them, process an unimaginable 1000s of animals each day.

Hampton's usually processes eight or nine per day.

"Yeah, I like it. Every animal is different. I like doing a good job," said JD Maldonado, who leads the processing. "It's a lot easier to go to work and do something I"m good at."

Matt ushered us out into the hall as a pig was being brought into the kill chamber.

We waited outside the door to the killing floor door as inside, JD loaded a magnum bullet into a .22 rifle. and waited for the pig to still.

Forty-five seconds passed.

Then: gunshot.

"There she goes," Matt said.

Walking back into the room to witness the slaughter, or processing, was arresting, unforgettable and would deepen this emerging truth:

If we eat meat, we need to understand and see the process behind the slaughter.

"Each animal gets care and attention it should have," Matt said.

JD and a colleague laid the carcass flat on a table, then hung it from metal hooks in the ceiling. They hack sawed off hooves and head, then skinned the pig, pausing as the USDA inspector eyeballed the hide and carcass.

Then, gutting and saving organs in a bucket that would eventually become manufactured dog food.

From walking the animal it to hanging it in the cooler?

"Thirty-five minutes," JD said.

During Covid, Matt watched the supply chain kink and bind up across the nation. He's built a brilliantly effective and localized alternative: meat processed at Hampton's soon ends up in the coolers at the farm store next door.

When we visited, he was selling ground beef for $8 per pound.

"I can't keep it in stock," he said.

The farm store sits adjacent to the slaughterhouse, and there's a message here:

Life and death exist together.

Both exist in concert together.

Isn't that the original food story that modern food has attempted to hide and disguise?

When they decided to go all-in on the farm store and processing plant, Matt commemorated it with a tattoo.

Burn the ships.

Under it, a favorite verse from Corinthians:

If anyone is in Christ, a new creation has come. The old has passed away.

"Our faith is our everything," he said. "The journey we went on ... it's truly a good thing."

Things lie dormant until the right time.

In this modern world of techno-convenience, where stores open-close every week, stocked with foods and ingredients we can't name that are — to use the term differently — processed God-knows-where, Hampton's exists as a treasure: real food grown by neighbors dignified by fair prices.

We need such new creations. Let the old pass away.

"When folks come in, there's not as much price shock as I expected," he said. "It's all going back to the farmer."

Story ideas, questions, feedback? Interested in partnering with us? Email: david@foodasaverb.com

This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.

food as a verb thanks our sustaining partner:

food as a verb thanks our story sponsor:

CTAC

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read more
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Matt McGhee grew up in the '90s suburbs. Grunge, Goodfellas, Bush-then-Clinton, but no row crops, chicken tractors or pig hooves.

"I played band and high school golf," he said.

Things lie dormant inside until the right conditions shake and bake and wake them up. The teenage trumpet player and then-8-handicapper is now a vegetable and cattle farmer and, more importantly, an agrarian entrepreneur and leader across multiple counties.

It began years ago, as these things do, when he and his wife made a simple move.

"We bought an old farmhouse," he said, "and a little land."

Then, chickens.

"The gateway drug," he laughed. "Start with five, then 20, then 100."

Now, the McGhees — Matt, his wife, their son and daughter — own and lease land where they grow vegetables and run cattle. They are farmers.

"I fell in love with it," he said. "It gets in your blood and there's nothing you can do about it."

Earlier this year, he went even farther.

The McGhees opened The Farm Store at Hampton's which sells regional meat and produce from regional farmers and growers.

The Meigs County store shelves are full of products grown by Meigs County folks, for Meigs County folks. It's a 21st-century model of yesteryear's farm store.

The Farm Store at Hampton's is architecturally and ethically aligned. Clean and inviting, right in the heart of Decatur, for the people, by the people.

We visited in late summer. The shelves carried products sourced from two dozen vendors selling everything from cured sausage to ground beef to vegetables, candles, soaps and homemade spaghetti pasta.

Folks love it.

"It's their community growing all this stuff," Matt said. "It's their neighbors."

Years ago, Matt had read a USDA report that said most farmers only receive pennies on the dollar for what they produce. That's crazy, he said to himself, as an idea formed.

Bravely and generously, he began asking the question many great people ask: how can I help?

"Our vision was to always have some type of farm store at our farm," he said.

They offer farmers a generous return on all produce and meat sold, far surpassing that penny-to-dollar ratio in that USDA report. (Some 70 cents, for example, on every dollar of meat sold.)

Even more compelling?

The McGhees also own the slaughterhouse next door.

Three years ago, they bought Hampton's Meat Processing, a Meigs County institution that began decades ago. ("In the '30s," Matt said.)

There are 30 current USDA-certified processing plants — this means a USDA inspector works on site, every day — in Tennessee, according to university research.

"He's here every day," Matt said of the inspector. "Those four letters on his name mean the world."

Since purchasing Hampton's — now called Hampton Meat Co. — Matt said he's seen a regional decline in similar plants.

"I watched three plants close all around us," he said.

He receives livestock from regional farmers five days a week.

Currently, Hampton's processes approximately 50,000 pounds a month.

"Most of next year is booked. We could book three years out," he said. "We're booking for animals not even on the ground yet."

The demand is so high, Matt began construction expanding the processing plant, more than doubling its size.

"The big outfits," as Matt calls them, process an unimaginable 1000s of animals each day.

Hampton's usually processes eight or nine per day.

"Yeah, I like it. Every animal is different. I like doing a good job," said JD Maldonado, who leads the processing. "It's a lot easier to go to work and do something I"m good at."

Matt ushered us out into the hall as a pig was being brought into the kill chamber.

We waited outside the door to the killing floor door as inside, JD loaded a magnum bullet into a .22 rifle. and waited for the pig to still.

Forty-five seconds passed.

Then: gunshot.

"There she goes," Matt said.

Walking back into the room to witness the slaughter, or processing, was arresting, unforgettable and would deepen this emerging truth:

If we eat meat, we need to understand and see the process behind the slaughter.

"Each animal gets care and attention it should have," Matt said.

JD and a colleague laid the carcass flat on a table, then hung it from metal hooks in the ceiling. They hack sawed off hooves and head, then skinned the pig, pausing as the USDA inspector eyeballed the hide and carcass.

Then, gutting and saving organs in a bucket that would eventually become manufactured dog food.

From walking the animal it to hanging it in the cooler?

"Thirty-five minutes," JD said.

During Covid, Matt watched the supply chain kink and bind up across the nation. He's built a brilliantly effective and localized alternative: meat processed at Hampton's soon ends up in the coolers at the farm store next door.

When we visited, he was selling ground beef for $8 per pound.

"I can't keep it in stock," he said.

The farm store sits adjacent to the slaughterhouse, and there's a message here:

Life and death exist together.

Both exist in concert together.

Isn't that the original food story that modern food has attempted to hide and disguise?

When they decided to go all-in on the farm store and processing plant, Matt commemorated it with a tattoo.

Burn the ships.

Under it, a favorite verse from Corinthians:

If anyone is in Christ, a new creation has come. The old has passed away.

"Our faith is our everything," he said. "The journey we went on ... it's truly a good thing."

Things lie dormant until the right time.

In this modern world of techno-convenience, where stores open-close every week, stocked with foods and ingredients we can't name that are — to use the term differently — processed God-knows-where, Hampton's exists as a treasure: real food grown by neighbors dignified by fair prices.

We need such new creations. Let the old pass away.

"When folks come in, there's not as much price shock as I expected," he said. "It's all going back to the farmer."

Story ideas, questions, feedback? Interested in partnering with us? Email: david@foodasaverb.com

This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.

Food as a verb thanks our story sponsor:

Food as a Verb Thanks our sustaining partner:

Food as a verb thanks our story sponsor:

Join our table

keep reading

November 26, 2025

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READ MORE
November 23, 2025

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READ MORE

Regional Farmers' Markets

Brainerd Farmers' Market
Saturday, 10am - noon
Grace Episcopal Church, 20 Belvoir Ave, Chattanooga, TN
Chattanooga Market
Sunday, 11am - 4pm
1820 Carter Street
Dunlap Farmers' Market
Every Saturday morning, spring through fall, from 9am to 1pm central.
Harris Park, 91 Walnut St., Dunlap, TN
Fresh Mess Market
Every Thursday, 3pm - 6pm, beg. June 6 - Oct. 3
Harton Park, Monteagle, TN. (Rain location: Monteagle Fire Hall.)
Hixson Community Farmers' Market
Saturday, 9.30am - 12.30pm with a free pancake breakfast every third Saturday
7514 Hixson Pike
Main Street Farmers' Market
Wednesday, 4 - 6pm
Corner of W. 20th and Chestnut St., near Finley Stadium
Ooltewah Farmers' Market
The Ooltewah Nursery, Thursday, 3 - 6pm
5829 Main Street Ooltewah, TN 37363
Rabbit Valley Farmers' Market
Saturdays, 9am to 1pm, mid-May to mid-October.
96 Depot Street Ringgold, GA 30736
South Cumberland Farmers' Market
Tuesdays from 4:15 to 6:00 p.m. (central.) Order online by Monday 10 am (central.)
Sewanee Community Center (behind the Sewanee Market on Ball Park Rd.)
Walker County Farmers' Market - Sat
Saturday, 9 am - 1 pm
Downtown Lafayette, Georgia
Walker County Farmers' Market - Wed
Wednesday, 2 - 5 pm
Rock Spring Ag. Center