In a town growing as quickly as Mount Juliet, it’s easy to assume progress always comes at the cost of the past.
New neighborhoods rise. Businesses expand. Land that once held stories becomes something new.
But for Jeremy Hayes, some stories aren’t meant to be replaced. They’re meant to be protected.
For families like his, the land isn’t just a backdrop to life - it’s part of the family itself, holding memories, milestones, and moments that can’t be recreated once they’re gone.
Knowing his children are the fifth generation to be raised on their family farm is, as he puts it, “a feeling that’s hard to put into words… a deep mix of joy and pride.”
That pride isn’t rooted in convenience. In fact, it comes with sacrifice.
“Anyone who owns land like this will tell you - it’s hard work,” Hayes says. “Financially, it’s a real sacrifice… our money goes back into the farm, and I spend long hours away from my children tending to things that need doing.”
And yet, it’s exactly those long days that have given him some of the clearest glimpses into what this land truly means.
He recalls one moment from last summer, sitting on his tractor, glancing back across the field as his children played. For a brief second, time folded in on itself.
“I could see my grandfather playing in that very same spot when he was a boy,” he says. “That image hit me hard.”
Moments like that don’t just connect generations - they remind him that what he’s protecting isn’t just land, but a living history.
That’s the kind of legacy money can’t touch.
Still, money has tried.
Like many longtime landowners in Middle Tennessee, Hayes has been approached by developers offering millions for his property. And like anyone, he admits, it made him stop and think.
“When someone offers you millions of dollars… it stops you in your tracks,” he says.
But what followed wasn’t a business decision, it was a spiritual one.
“As I’ve watched our community steadily lose more farmland… I’ve found myself praying about what our family’s legacy will be,” Hayes explains.
Because for him, the question was never just about what he could gain - it was about what would be lost.
“Just another farm turned into a parking lot. Another piece of our community’s history wiped away and forgotten.”
At one point, Hayes even explored creative ways to preserve the land, working with the city to create a park for the public. But he withdrew that offer from consideration when he discovered that the contractual verbiage would allow a developer to purchase the land.
“At the end of the day, selling our family’s land is a road I’m simply not willing to go down,” he says.
“Some things matter more than money.”
For Hayes, that “something” is hard to quantify, but easy to feel.
He describes the property as “as close as we can get to heaven on earth.”
It’s in the quiet sunrises. The wildlife. The open space where his children run freely. The same space his grandfather once knew.
It’s the kind of peace that can’t be manufactured - only preserved.
“No check from a developer could ever come close to replacing that feeling,” he says.
That perspective feels especially poignant in a town that has changed as rapidly as Mount Juliet.
Hayes remembers when the landscape looked very different: when Cracker Barrel and Waffle House were the landmarks, and a new gas station felt like a milestone.
“We all thought, ‘Wow, Mt. Juliet has finally made it,’” he says with a laugh.
He remembers sledding on hills that are now lined with restaurants. A time when “everybody knew everybody’s name.”
“I know change is inevitable,” he says. “But that small-town heart is what made Mt. Juliet special.”
Today, his concern isn’t growth itself - it’s what unchecked growth might cost.
“My big worry is that we’re slowly pushing longtime residents out of their homes,” he says, pointing to rising costs and infrastructure struggling to keep pace.
Even so, Hayes is quick to emphasize that his stance isn’t about telling others what to do.
“I never want to tell people what they should do with their own finances,” he says. “I don’t know the battles their family is fighting.”
Instead, his message is simpler - and far more personal.
“Life is short. When our time here is over, what are we leaving behind?”
For Hayes, the answer is rooted deep in both faith and heritage.
His family history stretches back generations - from Scotland’s Clan Hay to those who fought in the Revolutionary War. It’s a legacy he didn’t always fully appreciate, but one that now shapes how he lives.
“I hope my actions bring honor to our family name and to those who came before us,” he says.
And ultimately, his decision comes down to a truth that feels both simple and profound:
“Money eventually runs out, but they’re not making any more dirt.”
It’s why he’s chosen the harder path - the one that requires sacrifice, patience, and trust in something bigger than himself.
Because for Hayes, this land isn’t just property.
It’s a story.
It’s a promise.
And, if he has anything to say about it, it’s one that will continue for generations to come.
“I hope that when the Lord calls me home, my children will understand why I chose not to take the easy road,” he says. “This property is far more than just dirt under our feet. It’s our family’s roots, our story, and our legacy.”
“I know change is inevitable,” he says. “But that small-town heart is what made Mt. Juliet special.”
“I hope when the Lord calls me home, my children will understand why I chose not to take the easy road. This property is far more than just dirt under our feet. It's our legacy."