Homesteading is a lonely lifestyle. Not everyone gets it — and honestly, not everyone’s meant to. But if it speaks to your soul, if it makes you feel alive and purposeful, then it’s your lifestyle. And you should live it, fully and unapologetically.
Life is always shifting, just like the seasons. People come and go. Some show up to support or learn, others to mock or discourage — but eventually, everyone moves on. Animals and plants? They change, too. Some grow, some leave, and some… well, they pass on. That’s the way of life. Joy and sorrow, hand in hand. It’s a rhythm I learned young and one that continues to shape how I live. Maybe that’s why homesteading feels like such a natural fit for me. It’s ever-changing, like the weather — and honestly, so am I.
The chicks are hatching!
2013 kicked off with new life — sixteen little chicks hatched from eggs that arrived in the mail. I set them December 11, 2012, and they started pipping on New Year’s Eve. By the time the ball dropped and the sun rose on New Year’s Day, I had 16 fluffy babies chirping in tubs indoors. The remaining 8 eggs didn’t hatch, but I gave them a few extra days just in case.
Those chicks quickly became part of the daily rhythm. They’re in large plastic tubs with lids — safe and warm. I added four Silver Laced Wyandottes from Big R to the mix a few weeks later. Jeffrey’s been working hard laying new flooring in the coop so the older chicks can move in once the cold snap lifts. Until then, each morning starts with tub cleaning, fresh newspaper, a sprinkle of Coop N Compost, and plenty of feed and water. It’s a bit of a process, but having extra feed dishes and tubs helps keep it manageable.
Waiting on eggs...
Last year’s four hens are thriving in the new coop, though they’ve yet to lay their first eggs. I’ve got their nest boxes lined with herbs, the droppings cleaned daily, and their food and water refreshed each morning. With the coop holding steady around 69°F at night, it’s just a matter of time.
The goats, the barn, and bittersweet moments
There’s still a long way to go in the barn, but Leonardo’s in his own stall now, which makes it easier to check on the girls. Johnny’s calm, but Leo had started getting aggressive. Tulip and her baby Raven are doing well, thankfully. Sugar miscarried this year — a heartbreak, but I’ve ordered herbs from Molly’s Herbals to help her bounce back. I’m milking her twice daily to keep things healthy. Spice is still pregnant, and I suspect we’ve got another month to wait. The others? Hard to say. Either Leo didn’t get to them, or they’re still early along.
It’s odd to have babies this early — usually, we don’t see kids until May, June, or even July.
Water woes and a genius solution
Getting water to the livestock has been harder than usual. Hoses are freezing more often, which adds hours to chores. But today, I had a bit of a lightbulb moment — and it actually worked. I bought a Gilmour Marine & Recreation Space Saver Hose, hooked it up to my greenhouse line, ran it to the barn, then coiled it up and stored it indoors afterward. It’s lightweight and easy to handle. No more hauling heavy buckets — and that alone is a win worth celebrating!
Seeds and seedlings everywhere
On top of the animal care — which takes about four hours each morning — I’ve been starting seeds like a madwoman. One greenhouse is already packed with seedling flats, and I’ve got a shelf in the living room crammed with tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, and tropicals. The greenhouse still dips into the 40s at night, so the heat-loving crops stay cozy indoors for now.
Current seedling count? 5,632 in the greenhouse, and 1,032 indoors — and I’m nowhere near finished. My plan is to sow 300 to 600 seeds each day over the next six weeks. Some will go into my garden, some I’ll donate to local community projects, and the rest will be sold.
Why it all matters
So what does all this have to do with that opening thought — about how homesteading is lonely and life is constantly changing?
Everything.
Because here, on the homestead, you don’t get to look away. You witness life and death up close. You face the joys and the heartbreaks head-on. This lifestyle either makes you stronger or breaks you down. Some days, I cry from frustration. Other days, I cry from joy. But I wouldn’t trade this life for a soft city existence. The 9-to-5 grind just isn’t for me.
This is who I am. This is the life I choose — challenges, mud, heartbreaks, baby chicks and all.
At the end of the day, I get to eat fresh eggs, fruits, vegetables, and sometimes meat — all raised right here. I blend herbs and spices straight from my garden. I cook from scratch, using ingredients that have a story — a connection. And really, what more could I ask for?