Homestead Chronicles

I used to think summer was my favorite season, all nostalgia and golden light. But this year, no matter how many swims or sundaes I tried to stack against it, I couldn’t shake the hum of anxiety and overwhelm. The farm was abundant—peas, squash, raspberries, pickled peppers—but under the surface I was wrestling with the same old tug between ambition and ease. August reminded me that the garden isn’t just about harvests. It’s also about learning to take up space, to let things fail, and to notice beauty that can’t be captured in pictures.

A hip sushi restaurant. A regrettable cocktail. And a moment of identity crisis so absurd, it snapped me out of months of people-pleasing. This one’s about sugar coating, self-respect, and why being liked by everyone might actually be a warning sign.

We talk about simple living like it’s either a memory or a myth—something for old folks and off-gridders. But what if simplicity isn’t the easy path at all? What if it’s a radical act of choice?

Paige and husband have spent four years growing food on leased land—experimenting, adapting, and even the occasional smuggling. This post walks through how our garden’s evolved, what still fills our quarter-acre plot, and the plants that teach us patience (hello, asparagus).

Spring on the farm isn’t just blooming flowers—it’s cats going missing, ducks eloping, and chicks falling asleep face-first in their food. Each day, between the drama and the quiet, I learn a little more about what it means to be alive alongside them.