Sunday, May 15, 2016


My heart has always swooned over the idea of "homestead." Whether it was Pa and Ma on the prairie or Kristin and Mark Kimball diving headlong into draft horses, raw milk and radishes, the idea appealed to my inner idealist. In my mind's eye my homestead was plenty of acreage (whatever that might mean!), a creek meandering through the property, a flock of docile hens, happily pecking in the dirt, a clothesline stretched across the backyard with sheets snapping in the breeze, and a farm house, as white and crisp as the sheets.

Ummm . . . yes, that would be just perfect.

But reality moves in to take the place of the idealistic dreaming. And the farmhouse melts away to a very lovely, new, brick, two-story. The acreage transforms into the respectable 1/3 acre. And the subdivision restrictions assure that neither chickens nor flapping sheets will ever be seen in the backyard.

And so the dream slowly evaporates and is gone right? So, then why does this desire for "homestead" linger on and knock inside the heart. And what even is a homestead anyway?

 home·stead - the home and adjoining land occupied by a family

Oh, really? It's just my home and land? My homestead can be these very common and ordinary bedrooms and bathrooms? The laundry room that wasn't made for 7? The back fence a scant 10 feet from the door? Two cats and zero chickens? Well, okay then! 

This then is my homestead and these are its tales.

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