My Story, Two Years Later

Chicken footprints in the late snow

Today Facebook reminded me that I wrote a blog post— A New Story— exactly two years ago. It was my public declaration that I had found a new passion to explore:

My new story is Home... It’s a vision of a lifestyle that is as self-sufficient as possible, with little waste and much abundance. It’s a vision of community, of roots in earth, of slow-bearing fruit. It’s a row of glass jars in the fridge full of homegrown snap peas. It’s a future full of apple trees and hazelnuts and quail eggs and solar collectors and enough watermelon to share with everyone at Bible study. It’s the beauty of a red-bellied woodpecker perched awkwardly on the bird feeder. It’s homegrown tomatoes eaten sun-warmed straight off the vine. It’s a vision of parties and potlucks and open doors for travelers. It’s a dream of sitting on the front porch in the sun, snacking on nasturtium blossoms and blowing soap bubbles into the breeze. It’s a vision of sourdough boles and fine aged mead and balls of fresh mozzarella, homemade in our little kitchen. It’s bare feet in the dewey grass while I water my carrots, it’s a compost pile turning eggshells into black earth, it’s a daily walk through the woods that brings to my attention every hue and shimmer of my beautiful Missouri River.

I’m happy to say that, two years later, we’ve made huge strides forward in developing this story. We just planted twelve edible trees and shrubs in our backyard, our chickens are laying every day, we eat almost exclusively home-cooked food, I have one square foot garden fully planted and another coming soon, we’re growing tomato and pepper seedlings in our spare room, and I’ve read dozens of books that help me connect the dots between what I plant, how I garden, what I buy, what I eat, and how it changes the world. 

Although the story has taken some unexpected twists (such as deciding to travel out west last summer), the focus has remained the same: create a life of abundance that spills over to other people, our community, and the earth. 

This is always a work in progress, but sometimes moments jump out to me, such as talking to a neighbor who drives by our house every day to visit her son in the hospital: she told me that she loves slowing down to look at our chickens before driving on. I see my story while sitting in the backyard with my best friend chatting about random stuff and using sticks to draw designs in the mulch. I see it when I’m able to share a meal of homemade sourdough bread and eggs that we gathered minutes before. 

Moments like these bring my life into focus, and help mark my way, showing that I’m on the right path. I don’t know how the story will continue to unfold, but I know that I’m excited to find out.

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