Community – Page 2 – Practical Homesteading

The Booyah Curling Club: Finding Community in Unexpected Places

If you started a sports team, what would the colors and mascot be?

Some people dream of owning a football franchise or a professional basketball team. Me? I’d rather build something smaller—something you can actually show up for without needing a corporate sponsor or a teleprompter.

Mainstream sports have their own kind of magic, sure, especially when you’re in the stadium. But on TV, the spectacle loses me. I like it when the cheers sound human, when the players still smile between plays, and when half the fans know each other by name.

So if I ever started a sports team, it’d be for a smaller, beautifully odd sport—something like curling. There’s something endearing about it: people sliding polished stones across ice while others sweep furiously in front of them, shouting like they’re casting spells. It’s strategy and silliness in perfect balance—a humble sport that celebrates precision, patience, and teamwork.

And, of course, every team needs a mascot. Mine would honor my own past. I’d call the team The Booyahs, after the hearty chicken-and-vegetable stew I first encountered while living in Green Bay.

To be clear, I’m not talking about the Green Bay Booyah baseball team that existed for a while—my inspiration comes from the local dish itself, a slow-cooked celebration of community. Booyah isn’t just soup; it’s a small-town event unto itself, cooked in huge pots at church picnics and county fundraisers, filling the air with the scent of onions, broth, and belonging.

The mascot? A cheerful, steaming soup pot named Brothy, wearing a wool scarf and holding a curling broom. It’s a little goofy, a little heartwarming—honestly, perfectly Midwestern.

The colors would come straight from the soup bowl: bright orange like carrots, deep green like cabbage, and warm golden yellow like the broth. Those are colors that feel alive and approachable—like warmth on a cold day.

What would make The Booyahs special isn’t the sport itself, but what it represents. It’s a reminder that community doesn’t have to be loud to matter. The best teams aren’t always the ones with the biggest stands or flashiest jerseys—they’re the ones that bring people together to laugh, cheer, and share stories over a hot bowl of something good.

Because in the end, whether it’s curling stones or life itself, we all just want the same thing—to belong somewhere that feels genuine, where joy bubbles slowly, shared and savored.
And if that happens to involve a pot of soup and a broom on ice? Even better.

If you could start your own team—sports or otherwise—what would it be called? What would your colors, mascot, or mission be? Share your creative ideas in the comments below! I’d love to see what you’d dream up.

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Get weekly reflections on finding happiness in the simple and the small—whether it’s a day on the homestead, a drive down memory lane, or, in this case, a curling team that lives in your heart

My Biggest Influences from Family, Homesteading, and Simple Living

Who are the biggest influences in your life?

Keywords
simple living inspiration, homesteading lifestyle, family-centered life, personal growth journey, rural living values, community and connection, self-sufficiency and family, gratitude and intention

Influence comes in many forms—some quiet and steady, others bold and life-changing. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on who’s helped shape my journey toward simple living, family-centered growth, and self-sufficiency.

Books That Shape My Thinking
Books have always been my greatest teachers. I can spend hours tucked into a good nonfiction guide—whether it’s about self-improvement, gardening, or preserving old homestead traditions. The works of Midwestern authors like Jerry Apps hold a special place in my heart. His book about rural school life reminded me of the values that built strong communities: honesty, grit, and compassion. Reading it inspired me to start writing again and to live more intentionally.

Another influential book is Ben Logan’s The Land Remembers. His stories of growing up in Wisconsin capture what I love most about rural living. He talks about connection to the land, rhythm of the seasons, and the quiet lessons found in hard work. These authors remind me that storytelling preserves the values and wisdom worth passing on.

Just as books have shaped how I think about simple living, the people around me continue to shape how I live it each day.

Community That Inspires Me
Social media has become a surprisingly powerful influence in my life. My Facebook followers bring so much joy, encouragement, and creativity. We swap garden tips, share family stories, and remind each other that we’re not alone in pursuing intentional living.

What’s even more special is how online connections can grow into real friendships. Just last week, a friend from high school reached out after reading one of my posts. We met for coffee and had a wonderful conversation. It’s one that bridged years and reminded me how connection can start anywhere, even with a simple post.
Platforms like YouTube have also become part of my daily rhythm.

Watching fellow homesteaders and lifestyle creators encourages me to keep learning new skills and to approach life’s routines with curiosity and gratitude.

Family That Grounds Me
At the heart of my life is family. My parents and in-laws are always ready to help. Sometimes, it’s lending a hand with a project. Other times, it’s offering wisdom when I need it most. My husband is my constant partner—steadfast, kind, and right beside me whether we’re tending the garden or tackling challenges together.

My children have become my best teachers. They remind me to slow down, play, and find joy in the small things. Through them, I’ve learned patience, creativity, and how to truly appreciate everyday blessings.

And my sisters hold a special place in my heart. We share humor, sorrow, and plenty of homesteading projects. Their support and laughter keep me rooted, even when life feels hectic.

Living and Learning Together
Every influence—books, community, and family—forms part of the foundation that supports my growth. They motivate me to write, to homestead with purpose, and to live each day with gratitude. Growth doesn’t happen in isolation; it blossoms through shared stories, nurturing relationships, and open hearts.

Now it’s your turn. Who or what have you found to be influential in your life?

If this journey speaks to you, I’d love to have you join this community. We discuss simple living, homesteading, and personal growth through family life. Subscribe to my blog for weekly reflections, practical tips, and heartfelt stories about building a life rooted in intention and simplicity. Let’s keep growing and creating something meaningful together.

When Trust Feeds the Soul: Homesteading, Community, and the Power of Showing Up

Are you a good judge of character?

Some people guard their trust like a locked gate—but I’ve never been one of them. In homesteading and in life, I tend to meet others with open hands and an open heart. Out here, community isn’t just a pleasant idea. It’s something we build with every borrowed tool, shared chore, and kind word. I choose to believe the best of people, trusting they’re drawn by the same sense of purpose and generosity that keeps this way of life thriving.

When we brought our daughter home after she was born, that spirit of community wrapped around us in the most tangible way. We walked into a freshly mopped home, the dishes washed, the floor gleaming, and our table covered in homemade comfort—lasagna, sloppy Joe’s, meatloaf, and warm bread just out of the oven. It wasn’t just food; it was love, poured into every bite. Those acts of kindness reminded me that trust and connection don’t just make a community—they are the community.

Sure, now and then, I misjudge someone, and disappointment arrives like an unexpected frost. But time and again, choosing trust has brought more blessings than setbacks. It has built friendships rooted in understanding, neighbors who show up without being asked, and a shared sense that we’re stronger together than apart.

The land teaches that same truth daily. A garden can’t thrive without care, and neither can a community. When we nurture each other—with warmth, patience, and gratitude—we all flourish. That meal train, that clean house, those helping hands—they were proof that the seeds of kindness I try to plant don’t just grow; they multiply. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.

What’s one way your community has shown up for you when you needed it most?

If this story touched your heart, spread the warmth! 💛

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Real Happiness Isn’t Perfect—It’s Present

When are you most happy?

When I stop and think about it, I realize happiness isn’t a single moment or destination. It’s a rhythm that threads quietly through daily life. I’m genuinely happy right now, and to be honest, that still scares me a little. After enough seasons of joy and hardship, I’ve learned happiness is fragile—and I hold it more gently now. Things aren’t perfect, but I’ve grown steadier, more willing to face the bumps with grace.

I’m happiest when life feels balanced—when I can handle its joys and challenges without losing my footing. Moving my body helps clear the fog; it’s how I reset my mind as much as my muscles. Eating food we’ve grown or cooked slowly pulls me back to the present—the smell of herbs, the warmth of a skillet, the satisfaction of work made real. And sleep, when I finally give myself enough of it, has a way of making everything else fall into place.

Family time fills me in a way nothing else can. The laughter around the dinner table, a quiet morning coffee before the kids wake, even teamwork in the garden with dirt under our nails—all of it reminds me why this slower, more intentional life matters.

And then there’s friendship—the kind that weaves into daily life like a second family. Friends I can call when I need help, and who know I’ll show up for them too. The ones I meet for coffee to swap stories and laughter while the kids race through the yard. Those moments—ordinary and real—anchor me in community, reminding me we’re not meant to do life alone.

Finally, happiness shows up when I allow myself to feel everything. To laugh without restraint. To cry when I need to. To be seen in all my humanness and still be loved. It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence.

So, when am I happiest? When life feels honest and steady—rooted in family, nurtured by friendship, and grounded in the quiet rhythm of being human.

Now it’s your turn—when do you feel most at peace or happiest? Is it in your family routine, shared laughter, or that first quiet sip of morning coffee? Share your thoughts in the comments below. I love hearing your stories and reflections.

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The Men Who Shaped Me: Love, Marriage, and Life Lessons from Our Homestead

Describe a man who has positively impacted your life.

When I’m kneeling in the garden with my hands in the soil, I often think about how deeply the men in my life have shaped the person I’ve become. From the way I plant a seed to how I nurture my family, their lessons live everywhere in our homestead. Each one taught me something about hard work, humor, grace, and love that now guides how I grow both our garden and our life together.

My dad, for all his imperfections, taught me that steady work and community build both fences and character. His lessons come to mind whenever I face a task that takes time, patience, and persistence. It could be when I’m tending a sick animal or planting a new garden bed.

My high school choir and creative writing teachers showed me that beauty lives in both sound and language. From them I learned that creativity, like gardening, flourishes slowly, needing room, courage, and care. Later, my university professor proved that intelligence doesn’t have to stand apart from humor. The best minds often laugh easily and love deeply.

My past and present work mentors each modeled different kinds of strength and leadership. They also remind me that passion means little without purpose. And my father‑in‑law has quietly taught me the power of service. The quiet, steadfast kind that grounds a family and gives meaning to the work of each day.

Still, if I had to choose just one man who has most profoundly shaped my life, it would be my husband — my companion through every season. We started out as naive teenagers, knowing little about love and even less about life. Over the years, we’ve built something sturdy and honest: a relationship rooted in communication, respect, and shared goals. We’ve learned to disagree without tearing at the foundation, celebrate without comparison, and choose each other even when life feels heavy.

Together, we also learned how to be parents — fumbling through the sleepless nights and uncertain firsts. Parenthood stretched us, revealing both our flaws and our capacity for grace. It taught us that raising children isn’t just about shaping them. It’s about allowing them to shape us too.

When I look around at the life we’ve built, I see our home standing steady on its foundation. The garden is growing richer each year. I see traces of every lesson those men passed along. Most of all, I see the love my husband and I have tended through each season, like the soil beneath our feet. It’s worked by hand, fed by patience, and full of promise.

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From Sleepless Stress to Self-Care Triumph: How Real Connections Transformed My Year

Is your life today what you pictured a year ago?

Imagine waking at 2:13 a.m., heart pounding in the dark, stress coiling tighter with every unanswered worry. That was me a year ago, before I discovered self-care and genuine connections as my anchors for mental health.

My mom lay in the hospital, her condition a shadow over everything, and I felt utterly alone in carrying it.

The weight turned inward: sleepless nights blurred into exhaustion, sapping my strength as a working mother.

My 5-year-old son’s tantrums erupted without warning, mirroring my frayed nerves; my 1-year-old daughter toddled into milestones I barely registered. Workouts? Forgotten. Writing flickered as a distant dream, not yet a lifeline.

Then, small shifts began to gather like dawn light. My five sisters and I started a text group chat during Ma’s hospital stay—sharing updates, memes, funny videos, and pictures. It evolved into our ongoing lifeline of laughter and support, helping immensely through the tough days. I carved out time for self-care—short breaths in quiet moments, a 15-minute workout stretched to half an hour one morning. As sweat beaded and muscles protested, my 2-year-old daughter stirred, padding in with sleepy eyes and a grin. She became my unexpected buddy, mimicking my stretches, then splashing water on my face in a gleeful post-workout ritual. In that simple joy, I felt a breath of ease.

Ma’s health improved, steadying us all. My 6-year-old’s outbursts softened as he watched me pause, breathe, and respond calmly—modeling what words alone couldn’t teach. After I started my blog, each blog post and Facebook update became my ritual of release. Honest words spilled out like exhales. They drew bridges back to old friends, family ties, and sparked new kindred spirits. Tonight, I’ll meet with a high school pal with whom I’d lost touch. I’ve been working on a winter garden project with another. Showing up as my best self has even strengthened my relationship with my mother-in-law—a quiet win I cherish.

Self-care stitched my body whole; connections wove my mind steady, thread by quiet thread. One year later, lying awake feels rare, replaced by mornings alive with possibility.

What’s your anchor when stress coils tight? Share below—let’s lift each other.

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Look for the Helpers: Real-Life Kindness in a Parenting Struggle

What is something others do that sparks your admiration?

I’m about to describe every parent’s nightmare.

A few months ago, I was in a busy parking lot. I was coaxing my five-year-old to move quickly through the crosswalk while balancing my toddler on one hip. I had a diaper bag on my shoulder and a plastic bag of groceries in my other hand. It was one of those parenting moments that are public, stressful, and hard to manage gracefully.

Then a woman stopped, met my eyes, and said, “You’re doing a good job.” She took my bags and placed them in the car so I could focus on my kids. Her kindness caught me off guard. It didn’t need to be grand—just genuine.

Mr. Rogers once said to “look for the helpers,” and that day, I truly understood what he meant. I admire people who notice when someone is struggling and choose compassion over indifference, or worse, judgment. There’s quiet courage in stepping forward when others might look away. That woman’s small act reminded me that empathy doesn’t need an audience to matter, and even brief kindness can leave a lasting mark on someone’s heart.

As humans just trying our best, we spend a lot of time caring for others. But sometimes, we’re the ones in need of a small kindness. Let her reminder echo for all of us: a simple, sincere act can change the tone of someone’s entire day.

If this story resonated with you, please like, share, and subscribe for more reflections on homesteading, personal growth, and the messy, beautiful work of parenting. Let’s keep spreading compassion—one small act at a time.

Harvesting Traditions

The hum of diesel engines and the scent of dusty corn fill the air every fall, signaling harvest season and long days ahead. For the local farmers, this time of year brings both relief and pressure—hundreds of acres to harvest before rain or early snow set in.

My dad is always there to help, his steady hands and decades of experience behind the wheel making all the difference. With his CDL and a lifetime spent operating heavy equipment, he’s the kind of person neighbors know they can count on when the fields demand every ounce of daylight and sometimes half the night.

This morning, he asked my six-year-old son to ride along as the corn was hauled from the field to the grain elevator to be processed. Before climbing into the truck, my son spotted a single kernel of corn lying by the road. He picked it up, studied it for a moment, and declared it his “lucky corn.” My dad just smiled, and together they climbed into the cab, a small tradition beginning in that instant.

As the truck pulled away, I realized that what my dad is teaching goes beyond driving or hard work. He’s showing the next generation what community looks like—the kind built not by grand gestures, but by showing up, season after season, when it matters most.

What traditions or small moments in your family remind you of where you come from?

#HarvestSeason #FarmLife #FamilyTradition #Generations #HeartlandStrong #SmallTownPride

November 30, 2025

Pet Peeves Can Teach Us More Than We Think

Name your top three pet peeves.

Everyone has pet peeves—those small irritations that can silently gnaw at our patience. For me, they reveal more than just frustration; they mark my journey toward empathy and self-awareness. I try hard not to complain because I know I am truly fortunate. I have a life filled with comfort and people who support me. When I’m asked about my top three pet peeves, I realize they reflect who I am beneath the surface. They also show how far I’ve come. My three top pet peeves are based on how we treat each other: moral superiority, selfishness, and condescension.

The Weight of Judgmental, Morally Superior People
I learned a painful lesson about judgment from a friend. She rightfully withdrew after I reacted to her with criticism rather than compassion. That moment still lingers—when they vulnerably shared their struggles, and I judged their choices instead of hearing their heart. The sting of that loss taught me how easy it is to judge without walking in someone else’s shoes. Now, when I face moral superiority, from others or myself, I pause to remember. We all live complex lives shaped by experiences others can’t fully grasp. Judgment is a quick and lonely reaction; empathy takes more courage but builds connection.

The Sting of Selfishness and Isolation
Selfishness frustrates me deeply. I am especially frustrated by the refusal to embrace community in parenting and care giving. I once believed I could handle everything alone, armed with sheer will and rigid routines. Yet endless sleepless nights and isolation soon shattered that illusion. I still recall the raw exhaustion and quiet desperation before I accepted help and found strength in community. Watching others withdraw or show impatience with children stings because it undermines what I now know. We thrive in villages, not in solo isolation. People can also act selfishly without fully understanding how their choices ripple outward and affect those around them. This makes compassion and honest conversation even more important.

The Quiet Poison of Condescension from a Loved One
Condescension is unlike judgment in a profound way. It is steeped in strong feelings and visible actions: the raised eyebrow, the patronizing tone, the dismissive glance. These actions communicate contempt and make you feel small. I unfortunately became intimately familiar with those feelings from a trusted loved one during my childhood. Back then, I believed shrinking myself might somehow earn their approval. The sting of those subtle rejections echoed for years. Building my confidence has been a slow, ongoing process that still unfolds. Recognizing condescension as thought, behavior, and emotion has helped me protect my worth today. It has also marked a crucial part of healing.

From Peeves to Perspective
These pet peeves are more than annoyances; they are milestones on my path of growth. They lay bare the familiar traps of judgment, selfishness, and contempt. They remind me of how far I have come in responding with compassion toward others and myself. Complaining only raises my heart rate and drags me into a negative head space. Instead, I lean into these moments of discomfort as invitations to think and learn. After all, life is a messy, beautiful journey, and we are all works in progress navigating it together.

If this essay resonated with you, please like, share, and subscribe to stay connected. Your support helps spread these reflections on growth and empathy to others who need them. Join the conversation and let’s learn and grow together.

Bridging Time: Meeting the Courage of My Ancestors

If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?

If given the chance to meet any historical figure, I would choose not a famous leader or thinker.

I’d choose to meet my own ancestors in both Germany and Austria between the 1850s and 1870s. These were ordinary people facing an extraordinary choice-to leave everything familiar behind and journey into the unknown by migrating to the United States.

I imagine sitting with them around a simple wooden table lit by flickering candlelight. We’d share a modest meal of bread, butter, and cheese. The scent of wood smoke would fill the room as we would gaze out at the garden beyond. In that humble setting, I would listen intently to their stories, carried across time with quiet strength.

Their decision was not made lightly, fueled by hope yet shadowed by uncertainty. I see cold, harsh winters; backbreaking labor; and political unrest shaping their daily lives. They were bound by tradition and faced limited opportunity. They risked everything—their homes, their communities, their ways of life. They crossed a vast ocean in search of freedom and a new beginning.

What fears kept them awake at night? What sacrifices did they endure silently? Hearing their firsthand accounts would reveal the resilience and courage that anchored their journey.

This connection would deepen my gratitude for the life I live today. Their sacrifices laid the foundation for my family’s present and inspire me to face my own challenges with courage. Knowing they braved the unknown encourages me to take risks of my own. I dare to put my words to the page. I push forward even in moments of fear and uncertainty. My ancestors did not seek to change history; they aimed to build a future. Their journey teaches me that true growth often requires stepping boldly into the unknown.

Meeting my ancestors would mean more than satisfying curiosity—it would strengthen my roots and nourish my spirit. Their legacy reminds me who I am and empowers me to write my own story. Hope, resilience, and gratitude will flow through every word.

If you could meet an ancestor or historical figure from your own family history, who would it be? What would you most want to ask or learn from them? Share your thoughts and stories in the comments below. I’d love to hear about the journeys and courage that inspire you!

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Category: Community

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