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How a Simple Venison Stir Fry Taught Our Family the Heart of Homesteading

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There’s something special about meals that tell a story. The kind of food that’s more than a recipe — but part of life. For us, that story came together in one simple dish: a homemade venison stir fry. It started months ago in the garden, wound through a winter greenhouse, and ended at a table surrounded by six hungry, happy faces. This wasn’t only food, but it a reminder of why we homestead in the first place.

A Stir Fry That Tells a Story

We had venison stir fry for dinner recently, a meal that smells like effort and tastes like reward. Stir fry always means chopping, sizzling, and a little chaos in the kitchen, but every bite feels like celebration. The dish is never quite the same for us. It shifts with the seasons and whatever our garden and freezer produce. That’s part of its beauty — it’s a living reflection of our homestead.

From Seed to Skillet

The story of this particular stir fry starts late last winter when we started onion and pepper seeds inside. We watched them grow, and my son delighted in trimming the onion shoots to give more life to the roots. Come spring, we pressed carrot seeds into the earth and transplanted our onions and bell peppers. By summer, our days smelled sweet and green. My kids loved pulling up carrots, brushing off dirt, and biting in right there in the garden. Their juice was sweeter than candy. The onions swelled to the size of softballs. When their stalks dried, we cured them in the basement. Then we set them inside old fruit crates beside jars of last year’s preserves. Peppers overflowed in waves of green, so I bagged and froze them for colder days.

Onions as they first sprouted from the ground.

Homesteading tip: Frozen bell peppers don’t need blanching. To preserve, just slice, seed, and freeze them raw for perfect stir fry texture later. Onions can be cured and placed in a cool dark place to keep over winter.

By November, we tucked our last carrots under straw, the soil still holding its warmth like a secret.

Winter’s Sweetest Harvest

In December, I scraped away snow and straw with my bare hands to dig some carrots. (A mistake I won’t repeat — frostbite nearly earned an invitation to dinner.) My son peeled them eagerly, and when we tasted the first one raw, its sweetness floored us. Cold turns carrots into sugar. They’re winter candy disguised as vegetables.

Homesteading note: A thick straw mulch keeps carrots from freezing and lets you harvest them into early winter.

Greenhouse Gold

The bok choy came from a new experiment. I helped my experienced friend start a winter garden. I still remember stepping into her small greenhouse surrounded by snow. The chill outside vanished into crisp air that smelled of soil and life. Beneath soft covers, green leaves glowed faintly in the filtered light. Harvesting bok choy in December felt like a small miracle.

Winter gardening tip: A simple plastic-covered hoop house and landscape fabric over each row can extend your growing season by months. The flavor difference in fresh winter greens is unbelievable.

Family in the Kitchen

Cooking became a family affair. My daughter stood at my side, eyes watering over the cutting board, proudly dropping onion slices into the container as I sliced them with this knife (affiliate link). My six-year-old son learned how to make rice that night — a big responsibility. We’d bought the rice from our local scratch-and-dent store for much less than retail. It wasn’t something we grew ourselves, but it was another way to live intentionally, supporting local businesses and stretching our budget.

He measured the rice, water, and bouillon with quiet focus, stirring carefully to break up every clump in the pressure cooker (affiliate link). Watching his concentration, I realized that learning to cook simple staples might be one of the best skills a homesteader’s child can develop.

Parenting philosophy: Give your children small but meaningful jobs in the kitchen as you cook. It takes the burden from you to endlessly entertain them, and they learn real life skills.

Wild Meat, Real Gratitude

The venison came from the road. This deer was recently hit by a car, and my husband found it on his way to town one chilly fall day. He hauled it home, and that night he and his dad processed every usable piece. We made jerky from some and froze the rest for meals like this. There’s a quiet satisfaction in knowing exactly where your food came from, in salvaging instead of wasting.

Homesteading philosophy: Nothing should go to waste. This includes an animal, harvest, and opportunity to teach your children how to create value from what’s available.

From Skillet to Supper Table

When it was time to cook, I sliced the venison thin while half-frozen and marinated it overnight. The next day, the meat hit the hot skillet (affiliate link)— hissing, sizzling — browning into tender, caramelized pieces. My kids stole bites faster than I could cook them.

Cooking tip: Slice meat against the grain while it’s half-frozen for cleaner cuts and more tender results. This small trick makes all the difference with lean game meat like venison.

The vegetables followed: frozen peppers releasing water that deglazed the pan. The onions soaked up the sauce until they were golden brown. The carrots softened just a bit. The bok choy folded gently into the mix. The whole kitchen filled with the earthy perfume of garlic, soy, and family.

Six Around the Table

By dinner, the six of us — our little family and my husband’s parents — gathered around a steaming pot of rice and a glossy pot of stir fry. It wasn’t just delicious; it was ours — every part grown, harvested, found, or crafted by hand. That’s the heart of homesteading for me. It’s not simply saving money or knowing what’s in your food. It’s seeing how the garden dirt beneath your nails, a salvaged deer, and a child’s curiosity can all end up in the same bowl. It’s nourishment that carries the story of your family’s seasons.

Homestead Notes

Preserve what you grow: Freeze peppers raw and store onions in breathable boxes.
Extend your harvest: Straw-mulched carrots and cold-frame greens can provide fresh food even in winter.
Use what you have: Venison, garden vegetables, and discounted pantry staples can turn a simple meal into a story.
Teach through involvement: Kids remember the meals they helped make far more than the food they simply ate.

If our venison stir fry story stirred something in you — a memory, a craving, or just a bit of inspiration to slow down and cook what you grow — we’d love for you to join our little homestead circle.

Click like if you enjoyed this story. Share it with someone who’d appreciate the journey from seed to supper. Subscribe to follow along as we grow, cook, and live season by season.

Walking Through Life — From Farm Chores to Family Joy

What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?

Growing Up Active
Growing up on the farm, movement wasn’t something we planned, but a way of life. We spent our days feeding animals, keeping them clean, stacking hay bales, and pulling weeds in the garden. It was tough work. But it taught me early on that using your body is purposeful, satisfying, and good for the soul. Even now, when I feel that pleasing ache in my muscles after a workout, I’m reminded of those crisp mornings when effort came as naturally as breathing.

Finding Balance in Movement
That active foundation stuck with me. Today, I still crave that connection between effort and reward — walking, gardening, or tackling a tough workout. I love almost every exercise, especially when it challenges me. During a workout, I might grumble through the final reps, but afterward, I always feel lighter, stronger, and proud. That post-exercise glow makes every drop of sweat worthwhile.

The Simple Power of Walking
If I had to choose one favorite way to move, it would be walking. It’s simple, grounding, and fits into every season of life. Sometimes I listen to music or take a phone call. More often though, I walk while letting my mind steady to the rhythm of my steps and talking to myself. Walking clears my head. It reconnects me with gratitude — for my body, the air around me, and the life I’m privileged to live.

Living an Active Lifestyle
Our lifestyle naturally keeps us moving. We still raise pigs, chickens, and turkeys, and every season brings new chores and outdoor projects. I also make a lot of our food from scratch — stirring, kneading, chopping, and gathering ingredients from our garden. Those small, steady movements fill my days with a rhythm that feels both productive and peaceful.

Family Fun in Motion
The best movement, though, happens with my kids. Whether we’re sledding down snowy hills, digging in the sand, or playing our beloved “burrito game,” we’re laughing, racing, and making memories. My husband and I stay active both for ourselves and to show our kids how important it is to move. Activity isn’t only a chore, but a celebration of life and health.

Joy in Motion
Movement shaped my childhood, sustains my adulthood, and strengthens our family bond. It’s not only about fitness or strength; it’s about gratitude, connection, and joy. Walking — the simplest movement of all — ties it together. Each step reminds me where I came from, grounds me in the present, and carries me toward every new chapter ahead.

If this journey from muddy boots to family moments warmed your heart, give it a like, share it with a friend, and subscribe for more stories that celebrate the beauty of everyday life.

Biggest Garden Yet: Lessons, Laughs, and Pig-Approved Produce

We grew onions the size of softballs, harvested mushrooms from straw, and accidentally bred watermelons that tasted like cucumbers. It wasn’t perfect—but it was unforgettable.

There’s something grounding about tucking a garden in for winter. As we wrap up the 2025 season, I can’t help but look back on all the experiments. There were victories and “well, that didn’t work” moments from our biggest garden yet. From one-pound onions to hybrid mishaps, it’s been a year full of growth in more ways than one.

Strong Starts and Small Wins

This year, we tried something new—consistent weeding. Just fifteen minutes each evening turned the chaos of past summers into tidy, thriving rows. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like real progress. Small, steady habits made a big difference.

The Stars of the Season

Our onions stole the show. Started from seed, they matured into hefty red and yellow bulbs, some weighing over a pound. They’ll serve us well through the winter. It’s hard not to feel proud knowing how far they came from those tiny seeds.

We also are running a few fun experiments. Carrots will overwinter right in the garden under a thick layer of straw. The celery turned out beautifully—tall, green, and crisp—and I’m exploring ways to preserve it for soups and sauces. We even grew oyster mushrooms on straw, then added the spent substrate to enrich our Three Sisters garden beds.

Natural Harmony: The Three Sisters Garden

The corn, beans, and squash worked together like old friends. The corn stood tall. The beans climbed gracefully up the stalks. The squash spread wide, shading the soil and keeping weeds away. Watching that ancient partnership in motion felt like seeing teamwork at its best.

Tomato Chaos and Watermelon Surprises

Of course, no season is without its blunders. Our tomato patch turned into a jungle. Skipping the trellis was a rookie mistake, and by midsummer, the plants were an impenetrable mass of green. The cherry tomatoes only added to the chaos.

And then there were the watermelons—except they weren’t just watermelons. Somehow, they crossed with cucumbers, resulting in fruits that looked beautiful but tasted dismal. Definitely not something we’ll repeat, but it gave us a good laugh and another lesson in garden genetics.

Beauty, Abundance, and a Helping Hoof

The basil overflowed this year, so we got creative—pesto, basil salt, and enough dried leaves to last till next summer. It was fun sharing armfuls with friends and neighbors.

Cosmos, marigolds, and sunflowers framed the whole garden, drawing pollinators and adding a cheerful backdrop to every harvest. And when our produce exceeded what we could use, our pigs were more than happy to indulge. Nothing went to waste; every harvest found its purpose.

Lessons That Stick

Every season teaches something new. This one reinforced patience, balance, humor, and gratitude. From those oversized onions to the watermelon-cucumber mystery, the garden reminded us that even the oddest outcomes have value.

As we close the gate on this season, I’m thankful for muddy hands. I appreciate the full baskets and the quiet wisdom that comes from working close to the soil.

Your Turn

What garden surprises or “oops” moments stood out for you this year? Did something unexpected turn into a favorite memory? Share your stories in the comments below!

Keep the Story Going
If you enjoyed this peek into our growing season, give this post a like. Share it with your fellow gardeners. Subscribe for more garden updates, experiments, and lessons learned along the way.

#gardening #garden #gardeninspiration #plants #nature #growyourown #homegrown #vegetablegardening #gardenlife #flowers #plantlover #springgardening

November 2, 2025

Learning from the Three Sisters

Ancient Wisdom, Modern Lessons

The “Three Sisters” — corn, beans, and squash — show what true collaboration looks like. Rooted in ancient Indigenous wisdom, this companion-planting method isn’t just sustainable; it’s a living model of balance.

Corn stands tall and strong, offering the beans a natural trellis. The beans return the favor, fixing nitrogen that enriches the soil. Meanwhile, squash sprawls across the ground, shading the earth to keep in moisture and crowd out weeds. Together, they form a self-sustaining ecosystem — one that thrives through cooperation and reciprocity.

A Lesson Replanted

I first learned about the Three Sisters in grade school, probably around Thanksgiving, during a brief mention of Indigenous agricultural knowledge. I didn’t think much of it then. But last year, while searching for more sustainable gardening methods, the lesson resurfaced. Curious and skeptical, I decided to try it myself.

Armed with blue dent corn seeds for homemade tortillas, pinto beans for the adventure, and leftover spaghetti squash seeds (because I couldn’t justify buying more), I planted in late May. The corn went in first, followed by the beans once the stalks reached ten inches, and then the squash two weeks after that.

A Living Experiment

To my delight, the beans twined effortlessly up the corn, just as promised. The old squash seed lagged behind but eventually pushed through, turning what looked like a “Two Sisters” garden into a full trio. For good measure, I added spent oyster mushroom substrate from another homestead experiment. Volunteer cherry tomatoes, which I didn’t have the heart to thin, soon joined the party — a wild, happy sprawl of coexistence.

Harvest and Harmony

By October, our small 25×10-foot plot had given us a treasure: a banana box of blue dent corn drying in the attic, a pound of pinto beans, and two proud spaghetti squashes still ripening. Even the leftover oyster mushroom spawn revived after each rain, and cherry tomatoes kept offering up baskets of surprises — nature’s generous encore.

Seeing this ancient partnership unfold transformed a childhood lesson into something alive and immediate. The “Three Sisters” reminded me that balance isn’t about control — it’s about trust, patience, and reciprocity.

Looking Ahead

Next spring, we’ll start earlier and use fresh squash seeds. But even now, the garden has offered more than food — it’s fed our curiosity, connection, and hope. My son’s dreaming of blue tortilla chips, and I’m dreaming of next year’s lessons, both in the soil and beyond it.

Your Turn

Have you ever grown something that changed how you see the world? Share your story in the comments — and if this post inspired you, give it a like, share it with a fellow grower, and subscribe for more gardening stories!

#ThreeSistersGarden #RegenerativeGardening #IndigenousWisdom #SustainableLiving #GrowYourOwnFood #HomeGarden #NatureInspired #GreenLiving #SoilHealth #HomesteadLife #EcoFriendly

October 19, 2025

The Power of Local Food: Lessons from Ethnic Cooking

Until I attended college, I believed that cultural influences on food were largely a thing of the past. I grew up in a part of small-town Wisconsin where the cultural influence of my German dairy farming heritage had diminished over the years. Regional dishes, while still present, were largely nationalized. Food was sourced from boxes at the grocery store in the wintertime. Even in summer, the food from gardens supplemented our dishes, but were never the bulk source of our food. Farmers’ markets were present, but we did not patronize them. I thought this was how everyone lived.

The first chance I had to learn about different culinary experiences was after I started college in Madison, a nearby city. From childhood on, I had always wanted to learn how other people lived, and suddenly I was surrounded by many different cultures. European, Asian, and African cultures all coexisted together on campus, practically begging for me to observe their customs. During my 6-year undergrad and graduate school tenure, I made Asian dumplings, drank Turkish coffee, watched African dance, and had hot pot many times with such great company.

Towards the end of undergrad, I began working in a soils lab, performing experiments to better understand the swelling properties of bentonite clay. For a person who majored in geological engineering, it was a dream come true and my first real job in my chosen industry. Although the work was tedious and painstaking, I felt like I was finally flourishing as a professional. And it beat one of my previous jobs of counting corn kernels.

During this time, I frequently ate lunch with my Chinese coworker, whose parents had recently immigrated to Madison from China. I was always fascinated with his lunches. Every day, he ensured he ate every morsel of food on his plate, saying “Every grain of rice is a drop of sweat from a farmer’s brow.” His sautéed wood ear mushrooms looked delicious every time he brought them, which was frequently. In turn, he seemed fascinated with my own solo culinary exploits during “spaghetti week”, the time I inadvertently made a pot of spaghetti so large it lasted for a whole week’s worth of lunches and dinners. I was only too happy to share some with him, as anyone who has made too much spaghetti knows. We became such good friends that he gladly accommodated me at his parents’ house during “Homeless Night”, the one night every year when the apartments near campus are prepared for next year’s leasers, and I needed a place to stay.

That night, I was excited to ask how I could help him prepare supper. The rice cooker was already humming as he grabbed a knife and basket and gestured me to follow him to his back yard. Just outside the door was a green grass carpet about 6 inches tall and the footprint of a child’s backyard swing set. These were Chinese chives, also known as garlic chives. The patch was (and still is) the largest I had ever seen. Using the knife, he carefully severed handfuls of chives at the base, leaving an inch for the stubs to regrow. He slowly filled his basket, then proceeded to lead me back to the house.

I kept him company that night as he prepared the most delicious sauteed Chinese chives over a bed of rice. The wok sizzled as he poured in the oil then added the chives. A faint allium smell wafted over to me as he added salt and pepper to taste. Dinner was on the table in short order. The chives were garlicky, salty, and chewy. The rice was fluffy and perfect. He prepared another dish, but for the life of me I cannot remember what it was.

Ethnic traditions and edible landscaping were not completely new concepts at the time. My family grew asparagus, horseradish, and rhubarb, perennial plants that were beautiful as well as being edible. But it always seemed that these foods augmented a grocery store-sourced meal, not the other way around. That simple dinner that my friend prepared was the first time I truly observed the power of the “outdoor pantry” in action. Fresh, local food that comprises much of your dinner can be as close as your backyard and eaten within an hour of harvesting. That meal made an indelible mark on me, and I’ve strived to source the bulk of my meals from local sources ever since.

I’ve lost contact with this friend in the intervening years. I moved several times, got married, and had 2 wonderful children. Last I heard from him, he was still in Madison and enjoying himself. If he’s reading this, I wish him well as he’s moving through life. Your humble meal inspired me to prepare many simple delicious meals from my backyard.

My personal priorities have changed over time, but my feelings about food remain unchanged. I have been successful in expanding my food preparation skills over the years, learning to bake bread, preserve vegetables, and ferment cabbage into sauerkraut, a practice in line with my cultural heritage. I have even started growing mushrooms for our table. I still remember my friend from time to time as I establish and expand my chives patch or harvest an especially large bounty of food to share with family and friends.

Did you learn something valuable from another culture? Share your stories below, and subscribe to join a community of like-minded people.

May 22, 2025

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