Welcome to today's Survival Diary April 14.
Homesteading isn’t just chores and checklists—it’s a deeply personal journey.
It’s early mornings, muddy boots, and learning to find peace in the chaos.
But it’s also healing, especially when your past has been anything but peaceful.
That’s what these Survival Diary posts are about—not just what I do each day, but why I do it.
Why I find comfort in a goat’s stubbornness, joy in fresh-baked bread, and hope in every chick that hatches.
These little moments may seem ordinary, but to me, they’re everything.
They represent the life I’ve worked hard to create, one rooted in resilience and love.
If you’ve ever felt like you were rebuilding from the ground up—whether it’s your home, your faith, or your sense of self—I hope my story reminds you that you’re not alone.
Come sit with me for a bit. Let me show you what real life on a homestead looks like.
Darla's Funny Antics Make Homestead Life Brighter
Some days, it’s the smallest things that carry the heaviest meaning.
Like a goat who knows how to work the camera.
Darla, my dairy goat and full-time diva, has this uncanny ability to brighten even the toughest days.
She poses, stomps, and throws fits like she’s auditioning for a soap opera.
And honestly?
I love her for it.
Her antics bring a smile to my face and remind me that joy can show up in the quirkiest packages—even in the form of a stomping goat demanding alfalfa hay like it’s five-star cuisine.
But behind those laughs is something deeper.
See, Darla’s stubbornness sometimes pushes my buttons.
I want things to go smoothly—I want her to cooperate, to stand still when I’m milking, to eat what I give her without a dramatic snort.
And when she doesn’t, when she’s all goat-y about it, I feel that old tension rise up.
The desire for control.
The need for things to be predictable and safe.
That comes from somewhere.
As a child, I never had control.
Peace was a rare commodity in my home.
I wasn’t even allowed outside unless I was at my grandparents’—even hiding in my closet, I never felt safe.
I was always bracing for the next wave of chaos.
So today, when Darla acts out and I find myself frustrated, I’ve learned to pause.
I breathe.
I step back.
I remember: she’s just being a goat.
And I’m not trapped in that past anymore.
Bread, Butter, and a Taste of Security
After chores, I retreated to the kitchen—my sanctuary—and baked a batch of honey wheat bread.
The aroma of it filled the house, warm and familiar.
I slathered a slice with fresh butter made from Darla’s milk, then paired it with the chocolate ice cream and rich hot fudge I’d made earlier this week.
This is more than just dessert.
It’s a declaration.
When I cook from scratch, when I see my shelves lined with food I’ve preserved or made myself, I feel something I didn’t have growing up: security.
Empowerment.
Proof that I have skills to care for myself and my family—and that we won’t go hungry again.
I didn’t get that kind of nurturing as a child.
Food wasn’t comfort.
It was control, punishment, or withheld entirely.
So now, every loaf, every jar, every batch of butter is a step toward healing.
Life Begins in the Incubator
Early today, five of our chick eggs began to pip—one day ahead of schedule.
It never stops feeling like a miracle.
That first crack, that tiny cheep, the way they push their way into the world.
I could sit and watch for hours.
There’s something redemptive about helping life begin.
Watching those chicks stumble, then find their footing, take their first sips of water—it reminds me that every life is worth nurturing.
When my own children were taken from me, when my twins were just eight months old and my girls were three and four, my heart shattered.
I was already dealing with postpartum issues and the trauma of an abusive marriage.
I lost so much then.
And yet, through every birth, every hatching, I reclaim a little piece of myself.
Every life I nurture is a silent promise: I won’t give up.
Small Projects, Big Joy
While snow fell gently today, I stayed cozy indoors, working on a little wooden squirrel feeder to mount outside the living room window.
Something simple, really—but those small projects bring so much joy.
I imagine watching the squirrels nibble on corn while the cats and dogs peek through the window, fascinated.
It's a scene I never got to have as a child.
Peace wasn’t part of my early life—but I’m building it now.
I might not have the family I once dreamed of.
My biological father told me he was disappointed in me the last time we spoke, and we no longer keep in contact.
My mother and stepfather are both gone now, but they left behind wounds I’m still learning how to mend.
The hope I had of finding a father and siblings who would love and accept me?
That’s gone.
But I have my animals.
They love without conditions.
They’ve become the family I once longed for.
And every act of care I give them heals a little more of the damage that was done.
A Quick Shuffle in the Coop
The ducklings and most of the chicks have now moved into the main coop, making space in the brooder for new arrivals—including a few guinea eggs I’ve tucked into the incubator.
Watching them grow, transition, and claim their new space is such a beautiful reflection of my own journey.
Because like those chicks, I’ve had to grow through darkness.
I’ve had to claim new spaces.
I’ve had to fight to find my footing.
Looking Ahead
This Saturday, I’ll be at the North Park Mall from 2 to 4 PM for Earth Day, sharing about Plant-A-Row For The Hungry and the National Wildlife Federation.
Both causes are deeply personal to me.
When you grow up not knowing if there will be enough food, the idea of planting an extra row just to help someone else?
It hits home in a profound way.
And speaking of sharing—I'm working on launching gardening videos soon.
Practical, step-by-step guides for those who want to grow their own food and find healing through the soil, just like I have.
If you’ve been following these survival diaries, thank you.
They’re not just updates—they’re pieces of my heart.
I’m not here to just tell you how many eggs I collected or what I planted.
I’m here to show you what it’s like to build a life when yours was once torn apart.
So tell me, what makes you feel whole?
What helps you heal?
Let’s talk.