Raised in the Dirt: The Story Behind JG Grading & Landscaping

The Values My Granddaddy Instilled in Me from the Start

From the time I was a kid, I didn’t realize just how much my granddaddy was shaping me. At the time, it just felt like being around machines, riding along in trucks, or getting a chance to “play” in the dirt. Looking back now, I see that every one of those moments carried lessons — about work ethic, trust, responsibility, and believing in yourself.

My granddaddy was more than a teacher. He was patient enough to let me try, to fail, and to figure it out — all while quietly instilling values that would stay with me for life. He always said the one thing you can’t buy is work ethic. He also told me a man’s word is all he has, and once it’s broken, you have nothing left. Those lessons took root in me from a very young age.

Most kids sit in a sandbox and pretend they’re pushing dirt one day. I got to live that dream for real. And honestly, I don’t think I ever really grew up — my sandbox just got bigger.

Looking back now, I just feel blessed. Blessed that I grew up with someone who chose to teach me, who took the time to instill values and knowledge in me at such a young age. I truly owe it to my granddaddy for shaping me into the man I am today.

Most kids dream of it. I got to live my dream very young. And I’m still living it today. The truth is, I never left it behind — it just grew with me.

Why I Wrote These Stories

This collection — Raised in the Dirt — isn’t just about machines or memories.
It’s about the lessons that built who I am and what JG Grading & Landscaping stands for today.

Each story below marks a different chapter in my journey — from the first time I ever ran a machine on my own, to buying my first truck, to learning what it means to build a business the right way. These aren’t just stories of dirt and diesel; they’re reminders of faith, family, and the responsibility that comes with carrying on a legacy.

I wrote them because I believe people should know why I do what I do — not just what I do.
I’ve been blessed to grow up this way, and I’ll always be proud to share it.

The Raised in the Dirt Series
1️⃣ A Lesson in Belief – The Backhoe on the Trailer
2️⃣ Learning by Doing – The Day Everything Clicked
3️⃣ A Lesson in Grit – Where It All Began
4️⃣ The Real-World Lessons – The Diesel Truck & the Dump Trailer
5️⃣ My First “Real” Job – The Old Takeuchi TL-140
6️⃣ A Lesson in Business – The Glover Way
7️⃣ Growing Up – Growing the Business
8️⃣ Where I Am Today – Now I Realize All Those Lessons
9️⃣ Meet JG – The Heart Behind the Machines

The Backhoe on the Trailer

I remember one weekend when I was about 8 or 9 years old, i was with my grandaddy like most weekends, we are pulling up at the shop and walking out to see a machine sitting there on the trailer. From as far back as I can remember, I was always so intrigued by equipment. If there was a machine at the farm, I wanted to be on it — even if it was just to ride along. I just always loved machines.

This time, it was a backhoe, loaded up on a 25-ton tag trailer behind the dump truck. My granddaddy had brought it home from another job they were working on in Raleigh that they had finished with it on, and he planned to take it to another job on Monday. To me, though, seeing that backhoe sitting there was like Christmas morning. I wanted nothing more than to get it off the trailer and put it to work.

My granddaddy knew how bad I wanted to try it. He looked at me and said, “Son, if you can flip those ramps over and unchain it, you can go out there and dig some holes.”

That stuck with me, because he didn’t say “we” were going to go do it. He meant me. This was my chance. He was going to let me go out there on my own and run that machine. I guess because it was at the farm, he knew if I messed anything up, he could always fill it back in. But that didn’t matter to me — what mattered was this was probably the first time he ever let me truly operate a machine all by myself.

Those ramps were heavy — solid steel with oak boards — and I was just a kid. But I was determined. I wrestled the chains, flipped the ramps down, and climbed up into the backhoe myself. I thought he was going to help me unload it, but instead he told me, “If you want to dig the holes, then you’ve got to unload it yourself.” He didn’t want to dig any holes — he was letting me.

Looking back, it amazes me. He was putting me on a machine he depended on for work the very next week and trusting me to drive it off a trailer. He had to know in his head something could go wrong — but he trusted me. Maybe he wanted me to see something in myself at a young age that I didn’t see. The part where he could already see that I could do it.

Maybe he was teaching me even then: you have to believe in yourself the way he believed in me — and trust that you can do what you don’t think you can do.

He then told me to follow him, and we drove over to a field at the farm. He pointed to a spot and said, “Go ahead, dig your hole right there.”

I spent that whole afternoon digging holes, learning how the controls moved, how the bucket cut into the dirt, and how every little motion made a difference. My granddaddy sat nearby in his truck, just watching me. He didn’t hover, he didn’t correct every move — he let me figure it out.

Later, when the day was winding down, he reminded me: “Don’t forget, that machine has to go back to work on Monday.” So I climbed back up, loaded it onto the trailer, and chained it down myself. He came back to check it, tightened everything up, and made sure it was good — but he let me handle the responsibility.

Looking back now, I realize that wasn’t just a fun afternoon of digging holes. That was my granddaddy teaching me independence, responsibility, and confidence. Most kids dreamed about running machines when they were out in the sandbox. I got to live that dream young — and that day was one of the first times I felt like I was really stepping into the life that would one day become my calling.

The Day Everything Clicked

From riding along to running machines — how a childhood passion became a lifelong calling.

One of my earliest and most memorable memories was the first time I ever ran a machine on a job completely by myself. It was summertime, I was out of school, and my granddaddy was on a brand-new church building project in Fuquay-Varina. I remember it clearly — it was a brand-new site where the general contractor he was working for was building a church from the ground up, and my granddaddy’s company was handling the site work. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but I’d say around twelve or thirteen. That morning, two of the guys on his crew didn’t show up, which left him short-handed.

That meant he was doing it all — hauling loads in the dump truck, climbing up on the dozer to spread dirt, and keeping the project moving. But this wasn’t unusual. No matter what life threw at my granddaddy, he always had a way through it. He never let anything whoop him or beat him, and that toughness is something I carry with me today.

On this particular job, they had completed building the permanent erosion control pond on the site. Now it was time to fill in the temporary pond that had been used during construction. Load after load, we dumped dirt into that basin until the piles built up too high to keep dumping. That’s when he parked the truck, looked at me, and motioned for me to get out with him.

Confused, I got out of the truck and followed him over to the bulldozer. He climbed up in the seat, then motioned for me to climb up with him. By this age, I was getting too big to sit in the seat with him like I had when I was younger, but I climbed up anyway.

I had rode on plenty of machines with him before, growing up as a child, and I always watched him — always so intrigued by the little motions of his hands on the controls and seeing the skill come alive with the person behind the machine. He looked at me and said, “Son, watch what I’m doing. Watch how I’m running it.”

I had sat and watched him many times before, but little did I know this time was going to be different. After a few minutes, he stood up, got out of the seat, and told me to sit down.

I thought we were both heading back to the truck, but he looked back at me and said:

“Where are you going? You’re gonna stay here and push dirt so I don’t have to keep climbing up and down. You’ll figure it out — you’ll never learn if I don’t let you try.”

So there I was — a kid on summer break, running a bulldozer by myself on a brand-new church site. At first, I was nervous, but as I started pushing and leveling the dirt into that pond, something happened. It was like it started becoming second nature. Something clicked, and I could see the results instantly.

I think that day my granddaddy saw in me something I didn’t yet see in myself. Over the years, he would tell me — and even tell others — that running equipment was a God-given gift I had. I never thought of it that way at the time, but looking back, maybe he first saw it in me on that very job. Or who knows — maybe he saw his younger self in me.

Looking back now, I know he took a risk letting me run that dozer at that age. But he also knew I needed that chance. And that day became one of the most important lessons of my life — about responsibility, trust, and falling in love with the work that would eventually become my life’s calling.

Where It All Began

I’ve always said I was raised in the dirt — and that’s the truth. My story starts right here on the same family farm where my granddaddy, Robert “Bobby” Glover, spent his life building things that lasted.

When I started out, I had an X-Mark zero-turn mower, a 1993 Toyota pickup, and a homemade trailer my granddaddy had built on the farm years earlier. He loved fabricating things and built trailers for folks all over town. Most of what he kept toward the end of his business were pieces of equipment that needed fixing — and that’s where I learned one of my first lessons: if something’s broken, you don’t throw it away; you fix it, learn from it, and make it work again.

Following in His Footsteps (Without Even Knowing It)

Looking back, it’s wild how much I ended up following in my granddaddy’s path — without even realizing it at the time. He started out in landscaping and maintenance, and that’s exactly how I began, too.

In high school, I was mowing lawns, taking on small landscaping jobs, and saving every dollar I could to build up enough working capital for what I really wanted — grading and excavation. From 10th grade through my senior year, I was running small jobs after school, learning business the hard way, and dreaming about the day I could buy my first real machine.

🚘 Diesel Truck & Dump Trailer

When I first started out, I worked with what I could afford. My granddaddy always told me, “Son, you don’t have to have everything new — just make sure the tools you use every day are dependable.”

So that’s what I did. I bought a brand-new X-Mark zero-turn mower, a Stihl weed eater, and a backpack blower. That was my setup. Everything else, I pieced together.

Back then, I was still in high school — mowing, trimming, laying pine straw, and trying to build a name for myself. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. I didn’t realize it at the time, but those years were shaping how I’d run my business later — take care of people, manage what I had, and always do what I said I’d do.

As time went on, I started to outgrow what I had. My old Toyota had served its purpose, but it was time for something that could pull and haul. Sitting in class one afternoon, I was scrolling through Oxford Car & Truck’s website. I knew they sold a lot of diesel trucks around here, and I had my heart set on one.

That same afternoon, I drove over there to take a look — and I quickly realized I didn’t have the money for what most of those diesel trucks cost. But that’s when I met Eddie Caudle, the owner. Eddie saw something in me, I guess. Instead of turning me away, he took the time to help me find something that would work.

The truck I ended up buying didn’t come off the lot — it came straight off Eddie’s own farm. A red 2005 Dodge 2500. It had dents, faded paint, and over 220,000 miles, but to me, it was everything. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Eddie giving me that shot, I don’t know if I’d have ever owned a diesel truck at that point in my life. It probably would’ve been years down the road before I got one.

Next step was to go talk to Granddaddy — because he’s the one who had the signature to go behind mine.

I was very familiar with that yellow legal pad because I’d watched him figure out jobs on them my entire childhood, sitting in that same office, using that same Pilot G2 pen. There was something about that pad — every line on it meant something.

And funny story — nobody could ever read his handwriting but him. One of the ladies who worked in his office used to get so frustrated because she was the one who had to type up all his bids and quotes. I think I must’ve inherited that same trait, because we both write like a pair of chicken scratchers.

You know me — I was just a kid. All I wanted was the truck. I knew what he was trying to do; he was trying to convince me not to get it. But all I could think was, “Granddaddy, let’s go get this truck. I can pay for it.” Of course, he didn’t want to hear that — he wanted me to slow down and think.

So when he pulled out that pad that day, I already knew what was coming: a lesson. He started writing numbers, figuring out what it would cost, what I could make, and how I’d manage through the slow season. At that time, I was still in high school and only working for other people during the week after school and doing my own jobs on the weekends. I think he really wanted me to understand what I was getting ready to sign my name on.

Looking back now, I realize what he was really showing me — that putting something on paper changes how you see it. When you see the numbers right in front of you, it hits different than when you’re just running it through your head.

He wasn’t trying to talk me out of it — he was teaching me how to think before I jumped.

I ended up getting the truck. We went there the next day and brought it home. I graduated high school and started doing more work for myself, but I still wasn’t busy enough yet to go full time. I kept working for other people during the week and took on as many of my own jobs as I could.

I stayed consistent, kept making the payments on the truck, and kept growing little by little. But by the end of that year, I could tell I really needed a trailer. I was borrowing friends’ dump trailers and equipment trailers all the time, and I knew a dump trailer was the next thing that would take me to the next level.

So, here we go again — back to Granddaddy’s office. We need something else.

That next conversation went almost exactly the same way. Same office, same yellow pad, same pen, same life lesson.

A few days later, I bought my first dump trailer — a 7×14 Load Trail from Sandling Golf Carts in Oxford. I remember scrolling through them online and comparing prices, just like I had with the truck.

At that time, I really thought I was something — I had a diesel truck, a dump trailer, and a dream. That was my start. And looking back, it was one of the biggest steps I ever took.

Those two yellow-pad talks were the start of everything. They taught me that growing in life means stepping out, thinking ahead, and earning every single thing you put your name on.

The Old Takeuchi TL-140

Before I could ever put my granddaddy’s old Takeuchi TL-140 back to work, I needed something strong enough to move it. I didn’t have anything that could haul that machine until I got my diesel truck. Once I had that red Dodge, I finally had the power and the means to move real equipment — and that’s when the TL-140 came back into the picture.

It had been sitting around the farm for a while with a broken track, but we eventually got it going again with a used one. As part of my senior project at Oxford Prep, I brought the TL-140 to school to help build an outdoor classroom.

During my senior year, we had to complete a senior project. With the help of Mr. Kenner — my art teacher who became one of my best friends — and a few others from my graduating class, we decided to build an outdoor classroom for the school.

We wanted to make it accessible for everyone, so we designed and built ramps that would allow handicapped students and teachers to get down to the lower level. You know me — I was itching to get back on that TL-140, so I brought it to school to help with the grading and setup.

We even used the same decks we’d taken down two years earlier, back when the school moved the modular buildings. That made it special — recycling what we had helped tear down and giving it a new purpose.

That old TL-140 hadn’t been off the farm since my granddaddy retired from the business, and this was the first time I had ever taken it anywhere to work — the first real “job” it had been on in years. It moved and helped hold the decks in place while we bolted them to the 6x6 posts that supported the structure.

While the machine was there, I also took and spread some extra rock that had been left in a pile from the school construction project — grading it out to make a smoother pathway down to the outdoor classroom.

That machine helped us do something that stood for years — right up until Oxford Prep expanded again and built the new lower school.

That moment meant more than most people probably realized. It was the first time I got to use one of my granddaddy’s machines for something out in the world — a project that would actually help people.

The next spring, not long after I graduated, Oxford Prep reached back out and asked me to come build a new cross-country trail. That job became my first paid commercial grading project — not for a residential homeowner, but for an organization. And the fact that it was the same school I’d just graduated from made it even more meaningful.

To most companies, it probably wouldn’t have seemed like a big deal, but to me, it meant everything. It showed that people who knew me — teachers, staff, my own community — trusted me with real work.

I used my granddaddy’s TL-140 along with a mini excavator I rented to complete that project, and that job confirmed what I already knew deep down — this was the kind of work I was meant to do.

That trail project was the moment everything clicked. I’d gone from a high-school kid with a mower and a truck to someone shaping land with real equipment — and I knew right then that this was my path.

The Glover Way

After finishing that cross-country trail job, I was using my granddaddy’s TL-140 more and more. One day he sat me down and said,

“Son, if you want to keep using that machine, you’re gonna have to rent it or buy it.”

He wasn’t being hard on me — he was teaching me responsibility. My granddaddy believed that if something was worth having, it was worth paying for. He offered to owner-finance the machine to me, but it wasn’t just a handshake deal.

That fall of 2017, I signed my first legal agreement on a piece of equipment — the machine that would truly start my journey in this business. I had signed papers before on trucks and trailers, but this one felt different. This wasn’t just transportation — it was a piece of equipment my granddaddy had used in his own business, and now it was my turn to keep it working. It was written out, notarized, and official — if I missed three payments, no matter when, the machine became his again.

He held me to it, too. Every month he’d ask,

“John, where’s my money?”

I bought that TL-140 from him for $16,000, and I think the payments were around $500 a month. Back then, that was a lot for me, but it was the best deal and the biggest lesson I ever got. That skid steer had about 3,000 hours when I bought it, and now it’s pushing close to 9,000.

I still run that same machine today. It’s like my baby — my pride and joy — and a reminder of where this all started. It’s also a piece of equipment my granddaddy used in his own business all those years, and I think that’s the part that sticks with me the most — because it’s like I carry a piece of him and his business with me all the time.

Growing the Business

Over the next few years, things really started to take off. That TL-140 never stopped running, and neither did I. I kept that old Dodge running until it just couldn’t anymore and eventually bought my first dually truck. Not long after that, before I even turned 21, I bought my first brand-new truck — a milestone that meant more to me than just a new set of wheels. It was proof that the long days, the stress, and all those lessons from my granddaddy were paying off.

That brand-new truck was also the last thing my granddaddy ever co-signed for me. Over the years, he had co-signed on three trucks and a trailer — not by giving me things, but by giving me a chance. If I ever missed a payment, it was his, and he made sure I understood what that meant. Those moments taught me that credit, accountability, and integrity are what truly keep a business alive.

From there, JG Grading & Landscaping began to grow — one job, one machine, one customer at a time. I started adding more equipment — dump trucks, service trucks, and newer machines — and with each investment came new opportunities. Every year, another piece of the dream started to fall into place.

But no matter how much the business has grown, the lessons never changed. Work hard. Be honest. Do what you say you’ll do. Those values from my granddaddy’s office on the farm still guide me every single day.

Now I Realize All Those Lessons ✅

Today, I’m proud to say that the same work ethic and lessons my granddaddy taught me still drive everything I do. I may have started with an old Toyota, a homemade trailer, and one skid steer, but those early years built the foundation for what JG Grading & Landscaping has become.

What started as a dream in high school has grown into a full-time business built on hard work, honesty, and faith. We’ve added more trucks, more equipment, and more capability — but what matters most hasn’t changed. Every single job still gets the same level of care and pride that I had on day one.

To me, this business has never just been about moving dirt. It’s about building relationships, earning trust, and leaving every piece of property better than we found it. I take pride in knowing my customers can count on me to do what I say I’m going to do — and to do it the right way.

I know where I came from, and I know the work it takes to keep building something that lasts. Every project, every customer, and every machine on the job site is a reflection of that. This isn’t just a business — it’s a continuation of a legacy.

The Heart Behind the Machines

At the end of the day, I’m just a man who loves what he does. I grew up learning that if you work hard, stay honest, and treat people right, everything else will fall into place. I believe that God blesses hard work and humility, and I try to keep those values at the center of everything I do — in life and in business.

When you hire JG Grading & Landscaping, you’re not hiring a “weekend warrior” or a fly-by-night outfit. You’re hiring someone who was literally raised in the dirt — someone who built this business from a pickup, a prayer, and a promise to do every job like it was being done for family.

For me, it’s never just about finishing a project. It’s about making sure when I leave a property, the customer feels like they made the right decision — that they can look at what we built and say, “That’s quality work done by someone who cares.”

This business isn’t just my career — it’s my calling. It’s my way of honoring where I came from, the people who believed in me, and the man who taught me what it means to build something that lasts.