Practical Homesteading

Category: homesteading

  • Why the Library Is One of Our Favorite Places (And Not Just for Books)

    Why the Library Is One of Our Favorite Places (And Not Just for Books)

    When I think about places that quietly shape our family life, the library is near the top of the list. It’s easy to overlook—a brick building on a corner, a place you “mean to visit more often.” But for us, it’s one of the sweetest gifts our community offers.

    It’s where we go to learn, to rest, to play, and to remember that we’re part of something bigger than our own four walls.

    More Than Shelves of Books

    On the surface, the library is about shelves: picture books, novels, cookbooks, gardening guides, and everything in between. But when you look a little closer, you realize it’s about access and abundance.

    With one library card, you can:

    • Bring home stacks of books without worrying about the price tag.
    • Try new authors and topics without committing to buying anything.
    • Follow curiosities—history, homesteading, parenting, faith, crafts—one checkout at a time.

    For families trying to live simply and steward resources well, that kind of shared abundance is a gift. For our family, the local library fits us beautifully.

    Movies, Equipment, and Children’s Toys

    Another perk of my local library (and many others) is that they offer free or very low‑cost movie rentals. They carry everything from new releases to classics to some of the best movies ever made.

    Many libraries also lend out equipment and games. At ours, we’ve:

    • Borrowed board games for family game nights.
    • Checked out a portable Bluetooth speaker I wanted to test before buying one.

    Depending on your library, you might also find:

    • Simple tools like stud finders or power meters.
    • Tech items such as hotspots, tablets, laptops, or projectors.
    • Craft or STEM kits for kids.
    • Puzzles or outdoor yard games.

    All of these can be tried without a big upfront cost, which is a huge help when you’re living on a budget or just don’t want to own everything you use occasionally.

    In addition, my children absolutely love to go to the children’s section and either play computer games (my 6‑year‑old son adores a mechanics game where he designs systems that make things work and solve problems), or play with the wooden train set and other toys we don’t have at home.

    Passes, Perks, and Everyday Adventures

    One of my favorite “hidden” features of our local library is how it opens doors around town without adding to our budget.

    Depending on where you live, your library might offer:

    • Passes to local pools and attractions you can borrow like books.
    • Discounts on souvenirs or gift shop items at partner museums or zoos.
    • Free or reduced parking when you visit certain places with a library‑issued pass.

    These little perks turn “maybe someday” outings into real possibilities. Before we buy tickets or plan a special day, we’ve learned to ask: “Does the library have a pass or a partnership for this?” Sometimes the answer is yes—and the savings are substantial.

    Lego Days, Summer Programs, and a Monthly Book Club

    Our library isn’t just about quiet reading; it’s also about community and play.

    A few favorites in our area are:

    • Lego days. Tables covered in bricks, kids of all ages building side by side, imaginations running wild. It’s simple, noisy, and wonderfully free. We walk in with empty hands and walk out with tired, happy kids and a few new book titles to explore.
    • Summer reading program, with special library events organized around a central theme. This year at my local library, they’re celebrating America’s 250th birthday with events like “Party Like It’s 1776” and “Eat Like It’s 1776,” where my son had an absolute blast making homemade butter in a plastic cup with a lid. There are prizes for meeting reading goals (free ice cream, tickets to local attractions, trinkets), and there’s even a program for the adults.
    • A monthly book club. Adults (and sometimes older teens) gather to talk about a book they’ve all read—sharing perspectives, hearing different viewpoints, and making connections across ages and backgrounds. It’s an easy way to keep reading stretching us, not just entertaining us.

    These aren’t just events; they’re regular rhythms that help us feel anchored in our community. Not every library will have these exact events, but many have their own version—craft days, story times, clubs, or seasonal celebrations.

    How the Library Supports Simple Living and Homesteading

    For those of us who garden, homestead, or love rural life, the library can quietly support that, too.

    You might find:

    • Gardening books that help you plan your beds or troubleshoot pests.
    • Cookbooks and preserving guides that walk through canning, freezing, and fermenting.
    • DIY and skills guides—sewing, carpentry, herbal remedies, simple repairs.

    Instead of buying every book you’re curious about, you can borrow, learn, and then decide which ones you truly want to own. It keeps clutter and costs down while still feeding your brain and your skills.

    Teaching Kids to Love Shared Spaces

    The library is also a gentle way to teach kids that some things belong to all of us.

    Every visit is a chance to practice:

    • Using quiet voices when needed.
    • Walking even when they’re excited.
    • Putting books and toys back where they belong.
    • Being considerate of other kids and adults who are sharing the space.

    We can explain that the books, bricks, passes, and programs don’t live at our house—they’re part of a shared resource that we help care for. When we’re done enjoying them, we send them back so someone else can enjoy them too. It’s a small but meaningful way to plant seeds of community‑mindedness and respect.

    Making the Library Part of Your Family Rhythm

    You don’t have to turn the library into a big production. Sometimes the best approach is simple and steady.

    Ideas to try:

    • A weekly “library day” with a special snack afterward.
    • Letting each child choose a set number of books—one purely for fun, one about something they’re curious about.
    • Checking the library calendar at the start of each month and circling Lego days, book clubs, and seasonal events.

    Over time, these small routines add up. The library becomes not just a place you visit, but a regular part of your family’s story.

    A Small Thank‑You to the People Behind the Desk

    Behind all the books and programs are real people: librarians and staff who know the collection, plan events, and quietly help families and individuals find what they need.

    They:

    • Recommend titles based on a few hesitant questions.
    • Register kids for Lego days and summer reading programs.
    • Help track down that one book that’s “about trees” or “had a blue cover.”

    They keep the whole operation running, often with limited budgets and a lot of heart.

    If you’re reading this and love your library too, maybe this can be a gentle nudge: the next time you’re there, consider saying a simple “thank you” to the person who helped you—or sending a short note of appreciation.

    If your family uses the library, I’d love to hear: what’s one program, perk, or little ritual that makes it special for you?

    If this post gave you new ideas or reminded you how much your own library offers, would you share it with a friend or fellow parent? Your shares and comments help these stories reach more families—and more librarians who deserve a thank you.”

    Read Next: Simple Summer Fun that Doesn’t Break the Budget

  • Simple Summer Fun That Doesn’t Break the Budget

    Simple Summer Fun That Doesn’t Break the Budget

    Summer goes fast, especially with kids. The kids are off school, the days are long, and the temptation to spend big on activities is everywhere. Big trips can be wonderful, but they’re not the only way to give kids a great summer. Some of the best memories don’t require plane tickets, pricey passes, or a suitcase—just a little creativity, some local resources, and a willingness to enjoy what you already have.

    Here are a few ways to save money while still having a genuinely fun summer with your kids.

    Turn Your Yard Into “Casa de Backyarda”

    You don’t need a fancy inflatable water park to make the backyard magical. Sometimes all it takes is a hose and a simple sprinkler.

    In our house, we call it “Casa de Backyarda.” When the weather heats up, we:

    • Set up a basic sprinkler in the yard.
    • Add a few extras—a plastic kiddie pool, buckets, or cups for pouring water.
    • Let the kids run, jump, and invent their own games.

    Pair it with popsicles, bubbles, a simple little picnic on a blanket, or a “no shoes” rule, and suddenly you’ve got a full afternoon of fun for the cost of water and whatever you already own. It’s low-stress, low-prep, and high joy.

    Make the Most of Your Local Library

    Your local library can be a quiet powerhouse for summer fun and savings. Many libraries offer far more than books and story time.

    Depending on your library system, you may find:

    • Passes you can borrow for local pools, museums, zoos, and other attractions.
    • Discounts on souvenirs or gift shop purchases at partner locations.
    • Free or reduced parking when you visit certain spots with a library‑issued pass.
    • Summer reading programs with small rewards, events, and special activity days.
    • Free equipment rentals (such as Bluetooth speakers) which really amp up the vibe of any activity.

    Not every library has every perk, but it’s worth checking what your local system offers—you might be surprised. A simple habit: before you buy tickets or plan an outing, check what your library offers. Sometimes all it takes is a library card and a bit of planning ahead to turn a “maybe too expensive” activity into something doable.

    Camping as a Main Summer Trip

    You don’t have to fly across the country to have a memorable family vacation. A simple camping trip can be both an adventure and a major cost saver.

    When camping is your main trip for the summer, you often get to:

    • Save on lodging. Campsites are usually much cheaper than hotels or rentals.
    • Spend more time outdoors—hiking, swimming, stargazing, cooking over a fire.
    • Build traditions around campfire stories, card games, and simple meals.

    Camping can be as rustic or “soft” as your family needs—anything from tent camping at a state park to renting a small cabin or camper. Either way, the focus shifts from expensive attractions to shared experiences: setting up camp together, exploring trails, and unplugging a bit from screens.

    Lean Into “Small Fun” That Adds Up

    Kids often remember the small, repeated joys more than the one big, expensive outing. A few “small fun” ideas that don’t cost much:

    • Weekly library visits with a special snack afterward.
    • Neighborhood walks or bike rides with a stop at a playground.
    • Walking a storybook trail at a local park.
    • Firefly chasing in the backyard.
    • Living room movie nights with blankets and popcorn.
    • Simple crafts using what you already have—chalk, cardboard, paints.

    You don’t have to fill every day with something elaborate. A few steady, simple traditions can carry a lot of weight over a whole summer.

    A Gentle Reminder for Summer Parents

    It’s easy to feel pressure to do “everything” in the summer—big trips, fancy outings, perfect memories. But your kids don’t need perfection. They need you, some time, and a few simple experiences to hang onto.

    A sprinkler in the yard. A borrowed library pass. A weekend camping trip instead of a hotel. A stack of books and a bowl of popcorn. Those can be enough.

    If you have a favorite low‑cost summer tradition, I’d love to hear: what’s one simple thing your family does every year that makes summer feel special without stretching the budget?

    If this post gave you a few ideas or reminded you of the simple things you already love, would you share it with another parent or caregiver? Your shares and comments help these budget friendly ideas reach families who might need them.

    Read Next: Where the Red Fern Grows and the Sprinkler Flows

  • Zone 4B July Garden Tour: Our 2026 Garden Updates

    Zone 4B July Garden Tour: Our 2026 Garden Updates

    Somehow, it’s already early July. How is your garden doing?

    We’re in Zone 4B, and in late May I shared what we planted in our garden this year. In this post, I’m expanding on that first update and sharing how things are going now. How much work have we done so far? What veggies have we harvested already (spoiler: not too many yet, but that’s changing fast!)?

    It’s been a fairly wet season so far (with plenty of tornado warnings), which has meant we haven’t had to start watering yet. I expect that to change as July continues and we slide into our usual hotter, drier stretch.

    Think of this as a walk-through of our garden rows, plus a few notes on what’s working, what isn’t, and what we’ve noticed already this year.

    Strawberries: The Semi-Permanent Front Row

    The first two rows of our garden are dedicated to strawberries. This is a semi-permanent location for them. Back in April, we transplanted the plants, and since then we’ve pinched off the blossoms and weeded the rows.

    We’ve been pinching blossoms to allow the plants to focus more on strong root and leaf growth, but have recently stopped. We’ve harvested a grand total of two berries so far (and they’re delicious!). Besides the berries, the plants themselves have sent off large shoots that re‑root themselves. We’ve been working to direct those so they don’t take over the middle of the row.

    Root Vegetables: Fresh Salads Now, Storage Roots Later

    The next rows are dedicated to root vegetables and salad greens. These rows have shown a rapid return, with us harvesting many salads’ worth of lettuce and spinach (my salad spinner is working overtime!), and we’ve finished harvesting radishes.

    Other veggie updates:

    • Parsnips: They didn’t come up well, so we replanted a couple of weeks ago.
    • Carrots: They’re coming up great, and we hope to harvest our first fresh carrots (nature’s candy) within the next couple of weeks. My son cannot wait.
    • Beets: We hope to harvest these soon too.

    Red and Yellow Onions

    After the root bed come two full rows of onions—both red and yellow.

    Our transplanted yellow onions have been growing vigorously; they are now about the size of baseballs. Our red onions are a little further behind, but are still quite healthy.

    We’ve started harvesting some of the larger yellow onions. Fresh onions from the garden are divine!

    Peas: Kid-Favorite Garden Candy

    Our peas are starting to blossom, which means any week now they’ll begin producing. The kids think of them as garden candy, and eat them straight from the vine.

    Cucumbers in the Middle (On Purpose) + Tomatoes and Peppers

    The cucumbers are coming up well and are starting to blossom. We’ll start getting cucumbers in just a couple of weeks. We planted them in the middle of the garden on purpose, where they’re easy to water and can climb on a trellis without taking over the edges.

    I did see my first cucumber beetles this week. Right now I’m just keeping a close eye on them; if anyone has favorite ways to manage cucumber beetles organically, I’d love to hear your advice.

    We’ve actually started harvesting some peppers already—delicious!

    We have tiny Roma tomatoes on the vine that are steadily getting bigger, and some Early Girls. I expect to get a couple of Early Girls in a couple of weeks, then the Romas and Mortgage Lifters by the end of July into early August.

    Cruciferous Row: Cauliflower, Kale, Broccoli, and Brussels Sprouts

    I’ve harvested my first kale and made my first batch of Zuppa Toscana. It was lovely—though maybe not the best meal to eat on a 90‑degree day, haha.

    Cauliflower, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts haven’t produced yet. I expect the broccoli to start producing within the next couple of weeks. The Brussels sprouts will likely be ready in about 2–3 months (they have a long growing period).

    Cabbage, Bok Choy, and Kohlrabi

    The next row is a mix of:

    • Cabbage: Destined for sauerkraut, boiled cabbage, and coleslaw. Not ready yet, but I expect smaller heads to be ready in about a month.
    • Bok choy: We harvested our first head, and it was delicious in our beef stir fry.
    • Kohlrabi: The “heads” are starting to form (they look like a little bulb with leafy hair coming out).

    Summer Squash, Rutabagas, and a Few Flowers

    In the back corner of the garden, we planted summer squash—three hills of it.

    In my unsolicited opinion, three hills is about two hills too many. If you’ve ever been buried in zucchini or summer squash, you know exactly what I mean. We also have several volunteer squash plants coming up in random spots throughout the garden. If a volunteer squash plant pops up in a really inconvenient spot (where it will interfere with my favorite veggies), I pull it out.

    The rest of that row holds garlic and rutabagas:

    • We plan to harvest the four bulbs of garlic within the next couple of weeks.
    • The interplanted rutabagas will begin to be harvested in about a week or two.

    We’ve also tucked marigolds into the garden, which I love both for their pest‑control benefits and because they’re simply beautiful. On top of that, we have a lot of volunteer sunflowers coming up throughout the garden—they add a bit of cheer and should make the bees happy later in the season.

    Sweet Corn and Cantaloupe at the Front

    The front of the garden holds our sweet corn patch. It’s doing well so far. They always say corn is doing well if it’s “knee high by the Fourth of July,” and this year it’s about waist high (I’m writing this on the Fourth). I suspect we will be battling the raccoons and possums for the crop later in the season, and I hope we win at least some this time!

    The cantaloupe patch is on the other side. So far, so good—the plants are still small, but they grow fast this time of year. I expect to harvest our first cantaloupes in about a month.

    How Much Weeding We’ve Done (So Far)

    We weed the garden the most at the beginning of the garden season. My dad has always said, “You win or lose the battle with weeds in the month of June,” and I wholeheartedly agree.

    If you catch them early and don’t let them go to seed, there are fewer by the end of the year (although you still have to do maintenance weeding after that). In June, my husband and I have spent an average of 3–4 hours per week on weeding. As the weather gets drier and the plants start to shade out more of the garden, I expect that time to be drastically reduced, down to about an hour per week.

    I’ll shift that “extra” time to harvesting and preservation as the season continues. Stay tuned for all the ways I like to preserve garden‑fresh veggies!

    Potatoes, Pumpkins, and Future Plans

    Beyond the main garden rows, we have two additional patches:

    • The potato patch has been hilled, and we’re starting to find the dastardly potato bugs (both the babies and the adults). For now we’re picking them off by hand and doing our best to stay ahead of them.
    • Behind our barn, we have established a pumpkin patch, and I’m already picturing fall—whether that means jack‑o’‑lanterns, pies, or both.

    So far, I don’t have big “lessons learned” to share this season. I’m sure they’re coming as the summer unfolds, but right now we’re mostly observing, adjusting as needed, and enjoying the early harvests.

    That’s where things stand in our Zone 4B garden this early July.

    Garden produce starting to come in?

    My free Grow What You’ll Use planner helps you decide what to eat fresh, freeze, dehydrate, store, share, or use up this week—before the harvest gets ahead of you.

    Send Me the Free Planner

    If you’re gardening in a similar climate, I’d love to hear: what’s thriving for you right now, what pests you’re seeing, and what’s been your biggest surprise so far this season?

    If this garden tour was helpful or encouraging, would you share it with another gardener—especially someone in a colder zone? Your shares and comments help these updates reach more folks who are growing right alongside us.

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

  • How to Be Quietly Patriotic This Fourth of July

    How to Be Quietly Patriotic This Fourth of July

    Every Fourth of July, there’s a lot of noise—fireworks, parades, red‑white‑and‑blue everything. I don’t begrudge any of it.  In fact, I embrace all of it, and these events are some of my favorite of the summer. But my own patriotism tends to show up in quieter ways, especially as we head toward America’s 250th birthday in 2026.

    This season isn’t just about looking up at the sky. It’s about looking back with gratitude, looking around with clear eyes, and asking how we can love this place well in the small, ordinary days we’ve been given.

    Remembering the People Who Got Us Here

    When I think about America 250, my mind goes first to gratitude—for the people who made it possible for me to be here at all.

    My own ancestors left Germany in the mid‑1800s, walking away from upheaval and uncertainty. They traded familiar villages and language for the unknowns of an ocean crossing and a new country. I think about what it must have taken for them to move entire families and villages to a new country. I picture them on crowded docks, clutching children and trunks.  In their arms they carried everything they owned in the world, placing a fragile hope in a place they had never seen.

    They came because they believed there might be room here to build a life, raise families, worship freely, work hard, and build a legacy. That courage—and the opportunities they found—is a gift I didn’t earn but get to receive. Remembering that fills me with humility and gratitude, not guilt.

    Learning Our History as an Act of Love

    When we love a person, we usually want to know their whole story—the good, the hard, the in‑between. I think loving a country can be similar.

    Quiet patriotism, for me, means:

    • Celebrating the ideals that shaped this place—liberty, self‑government, freedom of speech and assembly.
    • Learning more about the people who helped build those ideals into reality: farmers and factory workers, teachers and soldiers, abolitionists and suffragists, civil rights leaders and small‑town organizers.
    • Making room in my understanding for stories that aren’t just like mine, so I can better appreciate how wide and complicated “we the people” really is.

    For me, learning the harder parts of our history doesn’t lessen my love for this country; it deepens it. This isn’t about dwelling on what’s wrong. It’s about loving our country enough to know it deeply, the way you’d want to really know a friend or a spouse. The more I learn, the more amazed I am by the resilience, creativity, and everyday goodness woven through our history.

    Noticing the “Good” Right Where We Live

    It’s easy to talk about “America” in big, abstract terms. But most of the reasons I love this country show up in small, local ways:

    • The freedom to plant a garden on a little patch of ground and teach my child our core values.
    • The mix of people in even a small town—different backgrounds, different stories—finding ways to live side by side.
    • The libraries, parks, and back roads that quietly serve as the backdrop of our lives.
    • The ability to speak, write, and vote without asking permission, even when we disagree with our leaders.

    These are not small things. They’re daily gifts my ancestors hoped for and that many people in the world still long for. Part of being patriotic, to me, is pausing long enough to notice and appreciate them.

    Everyday Acts That Feel Patriotic

    Fireworks last only a few minutes. The rest of the year, love of country looks much more ordinary.

    In my own life, quiet patriotism shows up when I:

    • Tend our little homestead with care—paying attention to soil and water, making efficient use of everything we have, remembering that stewardship is part of gratitude.
    • Try to be a steady wife, mom, daughter, and friend—keeping promises, apologizing when I’m wrong, showing up as my whole self even when no one is watching.
    • Raise a child who understands both the gifts and responsibilities of living here: that others fought, marched, worked, and invented so we could enjoy things we now call “normal.”
    • Show up for neighbors—bringing casseroles, clearing brush, watching kids—because strong communities are one of the best defenses against despair and division.

    Those things may never be described as patriotic in a speech. But they are my way of saying, “I’m grateful to be here, and I want to leave this place a little better than I found it.”

    Civic Habits That Keep Hope Alive

    Beyond our own homes and neighborhoods, there are also quiet ways to care for the wider country we share.

    Love of country isn’t only a feeling; it’s also a set of habits that keep a free society going. That can sound intimidating, but it often looks quite simple:

    • Voting, even in the “small” elections (because that’s where the decisions that most affect our lives are anyway), and explaining to our kids why it matters.
    • Paying attention to what’s happening in our town, not just on national headlines.
    • Writing or calling leaders respectfully when something matters deeply to us.
    • Practicing kindness and curiosity toward people who see things differently, remembering we share more than we think.

    These habits aren’t a burden; they’re privileges. They are some of the ways we get to participate in the experiment our founders started and that many generations in between have since tried to improve.

    Letting the Fourth Be Joyful and Honest

    I don’t want a Fourth of July that’s only serious and heavy. I want room for joy too:

    • For kids waving flags at small‑town parades.
    • For families gathering around grills and picnic tables.
    • For fireworks reflected in ponds and rivers and wide‑open fields.

    At the same time, I don’t want a Fourth that’s only sentimental. I want a celebration that honors the good, acknowledges the hard, and leans toward hope.

    It’s possible to be deeply grateful for America’s gifts and still honest about its flaws. In fact, I think that combination—gratitude plus honesty—is one of the most patriotic stances we can take.

    A Gentle Invitation for America 250

    As we move toward America’s 250th birthday, you don’t have to overhaul your life to “be patriotic.” You might simply:

    • Learn one new story from America’s past that you didn’t know before—maybe from a perspective different from your own.
    • Take a moment on the Fourth to name out loud a few things you genuinely love about this country.
    • Thank someone in your life who quietly embodies the best of what you hope America can be.
    • Choose one small civic habit—registering to vote, attending a local meeting, supporting a local farm or business—and commit to it as an act of gratitude.

    My ancestors crossed an ocean so I could live here. My way of honoring that isn’t loud or flashy. It’s to keep learning, keep noticing the good, keep tending my little corner, and keep believing that our shared story can keep bending toward something truer and kinder.

    Feature Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

    If you’re willing to share, I’d love to hear: what’s one thing you’re genuinely grateful for about this country—and one small way you’d like to pass that gift on to the next generation?

    If this resonated with you, would you pass it along to a friend or family member who loves this country in a quieter way too? Your shares and comments help these reflections find the people who might need them.

    Read Next: The Heart of Knowles: Fourth of July Traditions

  • June Dairy Month Recap: Stories from the Farmyard

    June Dairy Month Recap: Stories from the Farmyard

    As June Dairy Month comes to a close, I’ve been thinking about how much this month’s writing has revolved around farmers, hayfields, and the quiet weight of rural life. It wasn’t a strategic content plan so much as an honest outflow of what’s on my heart—and on my mind—this time of year.

    In case you missed any of the recent posts (or want to revisit them with fresh eyes), here’s a look back at the stories we’ve walked through together.

    The Old New Holland Baler and a Haying Legacy

    In one post, I took you out to the hayfield, where an old New Holland baler still clatters its way across the field, tying bales as steadily as it did in the 1960s. We followed its story from my grandfather’s horse-drawn days, through my dad’s years of frantic shear-pin changes and late‑night repairs, all the way to today’s summers under my father’s care.

    That baler became more than a machine—it stood in for a family legacy of persistence, resourcefulness, and care passed down from one set of hands to the next. Each bale it drops is a small monument to the people who refused to let it quit.

    Learning to Stop Hiding My Farm Roots

    Another post shifted from machinery to identity. I shared my “confession” that, for years, I tried to tuck my farm background away—doing just enough chores, avoiding being “too farm kid,” and choosing choirs over FFA. I wanted the values without the label.

    But homesteading habits kept creeping back: blanching green beans, learning to make sauerkraut, failing (and eventually succeeding) at homemade pizza. A glut of cucumbers and a Facebook post finally opened my eyes to how unusual my access to fresh food really was—and how much others valued what I took for granted.

    Through coworkers’ questions and friends’ enthusiasm, I began to see my rural upbringing not as a liability, but as an asset: a source of work ethic, resourcefulness, and a perspective that still shapes how I parent, homestead, and show up in my community.

    Naming the Hidden Weight Farmers Carry

    We also zoomed out to look more directly at farmer mental health. That post walked through the way farming has changed over the past forty years: fewer, larger farms; bigger equipment; “land rich and cash poor” realities; new diseases and pests; and markets that feel like a roller coaster.

    Layer by layer, we named the unseen pressures—chronic stress, isolation, identity and legacy, and stigma around asking for help. The goal wasn’t to drown anyone in statistics, but to give words to what many farmers and farm families are already feeling: that toughness doesn’t make you immune to stress, and that talking about it is an act of courage, not weakness.

    We also talked about what farmers need to hear (that being exhausted doesn’t mean you’re failing) and what the rest of us can do in small but meaningful ways: listening well, supporting local, sharing resources, and checking in after hard news.

    June Dairy Month from the Farmyard Side

    In honor of June Dairy Month, another piece turned the camera toward what June actually feels like on the farm. While towns see smiling cow posters, ice cream specials, and farm breakfasts, farmers see early alarms, hot barns, hayfields racing storms, and bills riding in their back pockets.

    I shared memories of June as “hold on tight and hope the machinery cooperates,” and explored how it can feel to be “celebrated” while you’re barely keeping up. For some, June Dairy Month is joyful; for others, it’s complicated. We imagined what farmers might actually want this month: fewer speeches and more listening, real prayers for safety and rest, quiet texts that say, “How are you holding up?” and resources that gently say, “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

    I also mention practical ways to honor farmers—asking better questions, dropping off food or encouragement during haying, and telling kids the story behind the milk in their glasses.

    A Barn Roof, a Helping Hand, and a Farm Friendship

    Most recently, I shared a story from before I was born, about how one small act—stopping to help on a red barn roof—turned two neighboring farmers into lifelong friends. A neighbor pulled in, climbed up despite a fear of heights, and offered a hand. From that afternoon on the peak, their lives became deeply intertwined through haying days, shared meals, weddings, and tough seasons.

    As a kid, I joined those hay crews, stacked bales until I was covered in dust, and ate big meals that felt like our own modern threshing bees. Looking back, I can see how that one moment of courage and kindness rippled through decades and shaped the community I grew up in.

    What Threads These Stories Together

    Across all these posts, a few themes keep surfacing:

    • The steady, sometimes unnoticed persistence of farmers and farm families
    • The way small acts—fixing an old baler, sharing cucumbers, stopping to help on a roof—carry forward into generations
    • The tension between public celebrations of agriculture and the private weight many farmers carry
    • The quiet, sturdy beauty of rural friendships and communities

    June Dairy Month may be the official reason to talk about cows and fields, but the stories don’t fit neatly into one month on a calendar. They’re ongoing, season after season.

    Feature Photo by GG LeMere on Unsplash

    If one of these posts resonated with you, I’m glad you were here. And if you’re a farmer, or love one, thank you—for the work you do, the courage it takes, and the stories you’re still living.

    If you have a minute, I’d love to know: which of these stories stuck with you most, and what would you like to see more of in the months ahead?

    If you know someone who loves farm stories—or someone who lives them—would you share this recap with them? Your shares and comments help these stories find the people who need them.

    Read Next: Growing Up on a Wisconsin Dairy Farm: Reflections for June Dairy Month

  • Farmer Mental Health: The Hidden Toll of Bigger Farms and Bigger Debt

    Farmer Mental Health: The Hidden Toll of Bigger Farms and Bigger Debt

    Hay season means long days, heavy decisions, and worries that don’t clock out when the sun gets low.

    When most people picture a farmer, they imagine strong hands, early mornings, and a deep connection to the land. Those things are true. But what’s less visible is the mental and emotional weight that modern farmers carry—often in silence.

    Over the last 40 years, farming has changed dramatically. We’ve seen consolidated farms, bigger machinery, larger herds, and new technology. Alongside those changes came something else: bigger debt, more uncertainty, and worries that don’t clock out when the day is done.

    This piece isn’t about statistics. It’s about naming some of the pressures farmers feel, and why mental health deserves to be part of the conversation when we talk about agriculture.

    From Many Small Farms to Fewer, Bigger Ones

    A generation or two ago, it was common to see many small and mid-sized family farms clustered within a few miles of each other. They could lean on each other for basic help. My dad and a good farmer friend lived two miles apart and shared haymaking equipment and labor. We would spend a day baling hay at the friend’s place, and another day baling hay on our farm.

    On a good day with lots of help, we could bale and put away 2,000–3,000 small square bales—enough to fill a hay mow from the floor to the rafters and keep a dairy herd fed for months. All the while, we had good conversations, got a solid workout, and ate a good meal afterward. There was a sense of satisfaction I didn’t fully appreciate at the time as I coughed up dust all night and well into the next day. We could rely on each other for reciprocal help that taught me what true community support looks like.

    Over the past few decades:

    • Many small operations have closed or merged.
    • Land has consolidated into fewer, larger farms.
    • Surviving farms often feel pressure to “get bigger or get out.”

    This shift means:

    • Less shared workload between neighbors.
    • More land, animals, and responsibilities on fewer shoulders.
    • A sense of loss—not just of businesses, but of communities and a way of life.

    My dad and his friend both sold their cows around the same time. I remember the farm auction they jointly held when I was an early teenager. At the time, I was thrilled that we didn’t have the cows anymore. In adulthood, that relief turned into sadness, because it meant there were two fewer dairy farms in the area. Now, the farms with 100 or fewer cows are few and far between. My dad used to joke that FFA—“Future Farmers of America”—really stood for “Father Farming Alone.” He wasn’t wrong.

    For the farmers who remain, this consolidation can bring a mix of gratitude (for still being here) and grief (for those who aren’t).

    “Land Rich,” Cash Poor

    Another layer in all of this is what people sometimes call being “land rich.”

    Many farmers:

    • Own or are paying on hundreds of acres of land.
    • Have barns, sheds, and equipment worth significant money on paper.

    From the outside, it can look like wealth. But the reality is often:

    • Most of that value is tied up in land and buildings that can’t be easily sold without dismantling the farm.
    • Day-to-day cash flow can be tight, especially when prices are low or inputs are high.
    • The same land that represents security also represents responsibility, taxes, and debt.

    Being “land rich and cash poor” is its own kind of mental strain. Farmers can feel:

    • Trapped between the desire to keep the farm going and the weight of the bills.
    • Guilty for even considering selling something that generations built.
    • Misunderstood by people who only see acreage and assume comfort, not stress.

    When the balance sheet says “asset,” but the checking account says “barely,” it adds another quiet layer of pressure.

    Bigger Equipment, Bigger Debt

    With larger farms comes larger equipment:

    • Bigger tractors, combines, balers, and harvesters.
    • More sophisticated technology—GPS, monitors, sensors, and software.

    These tools can boost efficiency, but they come at a cost:

    • High purchase prices, ongoing payments, and subscription fees.
    • Expensive parts and repairs when something breaks (usually at the worst possible time).
    • The constant knowledge that a breakdown—or a bad year—could put the whole operation at risk.

    Carrying that level of debt isn’t just a line item in a budget. It’s a weight in the back of a farmer’s mind, especially at night. Farming has always been stressful, but when you add costs that are ten or a hundred times higher than they used to be, the stress compounds right along with it.

    Mutating Diseases, New Pests, and Biosecurity Worries

    The last few decades have also brought:

    • New or mutating livestock diseases.
    • Crop diseases and pests that adapt quickly.
    • Rising biosecurity concerns, especially with larger, more concentrated herds.

    This adds another layer of stress:

    • One outbreak can threaten years of hard work.
    • Farmers must constantly update protocols, vaccinations, and preventative care.
    • There’s a nagging worry: “What if something slips through? What if we miss something?”

    The responsibility of caring for animals and crops isn’t just physical; it’s emotional. When animals get sick or crops fail, it can feel like a personal failure—even when it isn’t.

    I recently heard the sad story of a local strawberry farm that lost much of its crop to a disease that thrives in wet soil after a particularly rainy spring. I’ve also watched them rebound in a way that is truly inspiring—launching a strawberry-scented skincare line made from the berries they could salvage and using their platform to educate the public about soil health. Even in resilience, you can feel the weight of what was lost and the effort it took for them to pivot.

    Markets That Feel Like a Roller Coaster

    Farmers today live with:

    • Fluctuating commodity prices.
    • Sudden changes in demand, trade policies, and global events.
    • Input costs (fuel, fertilizer, feed, repairs) that don’t always match what they’re paid.

    That means:

    • It’s harder to plan even one year ahead, let alone several.
    • A good production year doesn’t always mean a good financial year.
    • Farmers carry the constant question: “Will this be the year we can’t make it work?”

    Uncertainty isn’t just a math problem. It’s a mental burden—especially when an entire family’s livelihood, legacy, and identity are tied to the farm.

    More Worries, Less Margin for Error

    Put all of that together, and you get a heavy load:

    • Bigger farms and fewer people to share the work.
    • Bigger machines and bigger debts.
    • Disease, pests, and biosecurity concerns that never truly go away.
    • Markets that can swing wildly from one season to the next.
    • Land that looks like wealth on paper, but doesn’t always translate into financial breathing room.

    And yet, despite all this, many farmers still:

    • Get up before sunrise.
    • Work long days in all kinds of weather.
    • Care deeply about their animals, crops, and customers.
    • Try to show up at community events and be good neighbors.

    They do it not because it’s an easy business decision, but because farming is a calling—a way of life they care about too deeply to walk away from lightly.

    From the outside, it’s easy to see just the toughness. From the inside, farmers know: toughness doesn’t make you immune to stress, anxiety, or depression. It just makes you more likely to keep quiet about it.

    The Quiet Strain on Farmer Mental Health

    Some common mental health pressures on farmers include:

    • Chronic stress. There is always something to worry about—weather, prices, animals, equipment, finances.
    • Isolation. Many farms are rural and remote, with fewer opportunities to socialize or talk openly about struggles. The isolation has only increased as farms have consolidated and neighbors have sold out.
    • Identity and legacy. The farm often isn’t “just a job.” It’s a family identity and a multi-generation story. The fear of being “the one who couldn’t keep it going” runs deep.
    • Stigma. In many farm communities, there’s an unspoken rule: you work hard, keep your head down, and don’t complain. Asking for help can feel like weakness, even when it’s actually courage.

    It’s not unusual for farmers to feel:

    • Overwhelmed
    • Guilty for feeling overwhelmed
    • Unsure where to turn or what resources exist

    Naming these realities doesn’t mean farmers are broken. It means they’re human.

    What Farmers Need to Hear

    If you’re a farmer, or married to one, or raising farm kids, you may need to hear that:

    • Feeling stressed or anxious doesn’t mean you’re failing.
    • Being exhausted by the weight of decisions and responsibilities is understandable.
    • You are not the only one who lies awake at night worrying about the bank, the herd, the crops, the land, the next generation.
    • Talking to someone—a friend, pastor, counselor, doctor—is not a sign of weakness. It’s one more way of caring for your farm and family, because you are part of both.

    What the Rest of Us Can Do

    For those who aren’t farming but care about farmers, there are small but meaningful ways to help:

    • Acknowledge the weight. Simply saying, “I know things are tough right now, and I appreciate what you do,” can matter more than you realize.
    • Listen without minimizing. Resist the urge to say “It’ll all work out” or “At least you get to live in the country.” Instead try: “That sounds really hard. Do you want to talk about it?”
    • Support local when you can. Buying from local farms and small businesses helps, even if it’s not a complete solution.
    • Share resources. If you hear about mental health hotlines, local support groups, or farm stress programs, pass them along without pressure: “I saw this and thought it might be useful if you ever wanted it.”
    • Check in after hard news. A bad storm, a price crash, a big equipment breakdown—these are good times to send a message or stop by.

    A Small Invitation

    Over the past 40 years, farms have gotten bigger, equipment has gotten bigger, and the to-do lists and worries have grown right alongside them. What hasn’t grown at the same pace is our willingness to talk honestly about what all of that does to a farmer’s mind and heart.

    For many farmers, this work is more than a career. It’s a calling they’ve been born into, chosen, or both—and that’s part of why the weight can feel so heavy.

    I don’t pretend to speak for every farmer or every situation, but these are some of the patterns I’ve seen and lived.

    We can’t solve everything in one conversation or one blog post. But we can:

    • Start naming the pressures.
    • Make it normal to talk about stress and mental health in farm communities.
    • Remind farmers that their worth is not measured only in bushels, pounds, acres, or how many acres they “own” on paper.

    If you’re a farmer, or you love one, I hope this gives you language for some of what you’re feeling—or seeing.

    And if you’re reading this from town or city, maybe the next time you pass a tractor on the road, pour a glass of milk, have a steak, or drive by a field, you’ll remember: behind that scene is a person carrying more than just a workload.

    Feature Photo by John-Mark Strange on Unsplash

    If you feel comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear: what’s one thing you wish people understood about the mental load farmers carry—or one small way you think we could better support them?

    If this post helped put words to what you’ve seen or felt, would you share it with someone who cares about farmers—or save it to revisit later? Your stories matter too. I’d be honored if you shared a small piece of your experience or tagged a farmer who deserves a quiet “thank you.”

    Read Next: Buying Meat from a Farmer: A Complete Guide to Bulk Meat, Freezers, and Butchers

  • Growing Up on a Farm: How I Learned to Appreciate My Dairy Roots

    Growing Up on a Farm: How I Learned to Appreciate My Dairy Roots

    “I grew up on a farm.”

    For a long time, that sentence felt like something I needed to tuck away, not lead with. In high school, I carefully sidestepped anything that might mark me as “too farm kid.” I avoided FFA and agriculture classes, choosing instead to spend time with the choir crowd—some of the kindest people you’ll ever meet (and, let’s be honest, who doesn’t love friends who can sing?).

    On the surface, I was doing what a lot of teenagers do: trying to blend in. Underneath, I was quietly distancing myself from a way of life that had shaped me more than I realized.

    Trying to Tuck My Farm Roots Away

    Looking back, I can see how much effort I put into not looking “too farm.”

    • I did the bare minimum caring for the steers assigned to me.
    • I half-heartedly tended the garden that had been so generously entrusted to my “care.”
    • I laughed off my farm chores as “no big deal,” even when they meant missing events or coming to school smelling faintly of silage.

    I share more about the steers here, but the short version is this: I wanted the values of my upbringing (work ethic, responsibility, resourcefulness) without the label that came with them. I thought being “the farm kid” made me less interesting, less sophisticated, less…something.

    Even in college, I was hesitant to share details about my rural background. I listened to friends talk about their favorite coffee shops and city neighborhoods, and I stayed quiet about gravel roads, hay balers, and cleaning cow yards.

    The Homesteading Bug That Never Quite Left

    And yet, there was always a part of me that genuinely enjoyed homesteading.

    The summer after my freshman year of college, I found myself slipping back into familiar rhythms:

    It was as if my hands remembered what my pride wanted to forget. I loved the feeling of putting food by, the satisfaction of seeing freezer bags full of vegetables, and the simple rhythm of working alongside my parents.

    At the time, I still didn’t connect this with identity. It just felt like “what we do in the summer”—use what we have, store what we can, waste as little as possible.

    The Cucumber Story That Started to Change My Perspective

    I remember clearly when my perspective started to shift.

    Shortly before my junior year of college, our garden produced a glut of cucumbers. In a moment of practicality, I posted on Facebook asking if anyone wanted some. Several college friends responded enthusiastically.

    I didn’t believe they were serious.

    To me, cucumbers were just…there. They showed up in the garden, we ate what we wanted, and the rest sometimes ended up in the compost if we couldn’t keep up. I assumed everyone had access to as many fresh vegetables as they wanted, if they just “put in the effort.”

    So I left the cucumbers at home.

    When I saw my friends later, their disappointed faces told me I’d made a mistake. They had genuinely looked forward to those garden-fresh cucumbers. In that moment, it hit me: my experience of having plentiful fresh vegetables was not typical. What I saw as ordinary was, to many others, special.

    That simple misunderstanding planted a metaphorical seed. Maybe my farm background wasn’t something to hide. Maybe it was something to share.

    Realizing My Background Was an Asset, Not a Liability

    Later, at my post-college job, that seed grew.

    Coworkers would ask the usual small-talk questions: “Where did you grow up?” “What did your parents do?” When I mentioned my agricultural background—dairy cows, hay fields, chores before school—I was surprised by their reactions.

    They were impressed.

    They asked follow-up questions. They wanted to know what milking was like, how long haying days really were, what it meant to care for animals every single day. They didn’t hear “small town, limited experience.” They heard “work ethic,” “responsibility,” and “a perspective I don’t have.”

    Slowly, I began to see that the very things I had once tried to downplay were the things that made my story unique and valuable.

    What Farm Life Actually Gave Me

    When I think about my farm childhood now, I don’t just see early mornings and missed parties. I see the deeper gifts standing behind them:

    • A strong work ethic. You show up even when you’re tired, because the animals still need care.
    • Follow-through. You don’t quit halfway through cleaning the yard or milking a herd.
    • Resourcefulness. You learn to fix things, make do, and find ways to stretch what you have.
    • Respect for land and animals. You see firsthand that your choices affect living creatures and the soil under your feet.
    • Community awareness. You understand that your work feeds people you know by name.

    Those values follow me into parenting, into how I manage our small homestead now, and into how I show up in my community.

    Sharing the “Confession” with Pride

    Today, I share my “confession”—that I grew up on a farm—not as something to gloss over, but as something I’m proud of.

    I’m proud of:

    • My parents, who modeled consistency and care when no one was watching.
    • My extended family, who have been (and still are) stewards of the land.
    • The countless farmers who live out the same story in their own quiet, steadfast way.

    I’m also grateful for the friends and coworkers who helped me see my background differently—those who wanted the cucumbers I thought were nothing special, and those who lit up when I shared stories about dairy cows and hay fields.

    A Note of Thanks for June Dairy Month

    So, in the spirit of June Dairy Month, consider this post a small thank-you:

    • To the farmers who are up before dawn, again.
    • To the families who build their lives around the needs of animals and land.
    • To the kids who might someday feel tempted to hide their farm roots, just like I did.

    If you’re one of those kids, I hope you’ll come to see what I finally did: your story matters, and your background is a strength—not something to be smoothed over.

    Happy June Dairy Month—to all the hardworking farmers out there, and especially to the friends and family who keep showing up, season after season.

    If this story resonated with you—or reminded you of your own farm kid days—would you share it with a friend or save it for later?

    I’d also love to hear from you: did you grow up on a farm, or are you just now learning where your food comes from? Your perspective matters too.

    Read Next: Buying Meat from a Farmer: A Complete Guide to Bulk Meat, Freezers, and Butchers

  • Our 1964 New Holland Baler and the Legacy of A Dairy Farm

    Our 1964 New Holland Baler and the Legacy of A Dairy Farm

    The baler rattles across the field, kicking up dust in its wake. Each stroke of the plunger on our old New Holland baler strikes a rhythm I’ve known for as long as I can remember, growing up on a hay farm. To most, it’s just an old machine grinding through another hay crop. To me, it’s the steady heartbeat of family history.

    My grandfather was born in 1911 and grew up working with horses in the field. He didn’t fully retire the horses until after World War II. In 1951, he bought his own farm, and in 1977 he purchased the farm next door—the place where I would grow up, and the one I hope to someday manage.

    Somewhere in the middle of all that change, he bought this New Holland baler new in 1964. Sixty-two years later, under my father’s care, it’s still knotting twine and spitting out hay bales—stubborn as ever.

    A tool that old doesn’t survive by luck. It lasts because hands refuse to let it quit.

    I think of frantic shear pin replacements in the field before storms, grease-slicked wrenches, evenings spent tightening chains or swapping bearings as clouds pushed in.

    Each repair was more than maintenance; it was a promise that the baler would see another hay harvest. Its clatter is proof of care passed from one set of hands to the next.

    What I value most isn’t only its reliability, but the story etched into every dent and weld. Farming has changed in ways my grandfather never could have imagined—mammoth tractors, bigger bales, GPS-guided rows—but this old New Holland baler remains, a bridge tying his summers to mine. Each bale it drops is more than forage; it’s a small monument to persistence, tangible proof that his investment still pays forward.

    There’s a quiet pride in watching it work—steady, unassuming, framed by sun and dust. I sometimes imagine my grandfather and father standing beside me, hearing that same hum carry across the field, nodding at the machine they once trusted with a season’s livelihood.

    And as long as the chute spits out hay beneath the summer sky, their legacy endures. Someday, when I hand the lines to the next set of hands, I hope they’ll listen closely. If they do, they won’t just hear an old clatter in the field. They’ll hear the rhythm of persistence, the echo of care, the sound of a haying legacy worth continuing.

    I’d also love to hear from you: is there a piece of equipment, a tool, or a sound that instantly takes you back to your own family’s farm story?

    If this little glimpse into our haying history resonated with you, would you share it with someone who loves old equipment or grew up on a farm?

    Read Next: Buying Meat from a Farmer: A Complete Guide to Bulk Meat, Freezers, and Butchers

  • From Driveway Weeds to Tea: How to Forage Chamomile at Home

    From Driveway Weeds to Tea: How to Forage Chamomile at Home

    I always knew about chamomile tea. I’d heard people talk about winding down with a mug before bed and mention the health benefits—things like calming the nervous system, easing digestion, and supporting better sleep.

    What I didn’t know was that you could forage your own chamomile blossoms…until I watched my husband’s grandmother do it.

    She walked right out into the driveway and started picking what I had always thought were just little white-and-yellow weeds. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head. These “weeds” I’d seen growing all over the driveway actually produce a delicious tea? Mind officially blown.

    If you’re not familiar with foraging your own chamomile, this is a simple guide to help you:

    • Recognize chamomile in the wild
    • Harvest it (bonus points if you involve kids)
    • Dry and store it
    • Brew your own homemade chamomile tea whenever you want—without the grocery store bill

    As always, I’m sharing our experience for informational purposes; it’s not medical advice.

    Where Chamomile Likes to Grow

    One of the most surprising things about chamomile is where it chooses to grow. It doesn’t always show up in neat garden rows or carefully tended herb beds.

    You’ll often find it in:

    • Gravel driveways and along the edges of paths
    • Road ditches and disturbed soil
    • Around barnyards, fence lines, and well-traveled areas
    • Sometimes in garden beds if it’s self-seeded or naturalized

    It seems to have a soft spot for tough, compacted, “nobody wants to grow here” spots—which is part of its charm. Once you know what you’re looking for, you may start seeing it everywhere.

    Chamomile typically blooms through much of the warmer season, often late spring into summer depending on your climate. That’s the time of year you’ll want to start scanning those driveways and ditches for blossoms.

    If you’re foraging near roads, be mindful of:

    • Spraying (avoid areas that may have been treated with herbicides)
    • Pet or livestock traffic (look for cleaner patches)
    • Traffic dust and grime (driveways and paths on your own property are usually a safer bet)

    What Chamomile Looks Like (and Smells Like)

    Before you start picking anything, it’s important to be confident in what you’re harvesting.

    Chamomile generally has:

    • Small daisy-like flowers
      • White petals
      • Yellow, dome-shaped center
    • Fine, feathery leaves
      • Light, airy, almost carrot-top-like foliage
    • A sweet, apple-like scent when you crush the flower heads between your fingers

    A few simple tips:

    • Look for patches of low-growing plants with lots of little white-and-yellow flowers rather than single, tall stems here and there.
    • Rub a flower gently between your fingers and smell it. That sweet, apple-y scent is a good sign you’re in the right place.

    There are a few different chamomile and chamomile-lookalike species out there, and some “daisy” weeds can be mistaken for chamomile at first glance. If you’re unsure, start in a spot where you know chamomile has already been identified correctly (a family member’s patch, a friend’s garden, or your own yard from purchased seed), and cross-check with a field guide or trusted resource before branching out into roadside foraging.

    How to Harvest Chamomile Blossoms

    When you’re ready to harvest, focus on the flower heads rather than the stems and leaves.

    Basic harvesting steps:

    • Choose a dry day.
      Harvest when the flowers are dry (late morning or afternoon is usually best, after the dew has evaporated).
    • Look for open flowers.
      Pick blossoms that are fully open and cheerful-looking—not browned or fading.
    • Pinch or snip.
      Gently pinch the flower head between your fingers and thumb and pop it off the stem, or use small scissors if you prefer.

    You don’t need the whole stem for tea—just the flower heads. Stems and leaves can be a bit more bitter and aren’t necessary for a nice cup of chamomile.

    In a short picking session, you can easily gather enough blossoms to fill a small bowl or two, which will translate into several jars’ worth of tea once they’re dried.

    Make It a Family Foraging Activity

    Chamomile harvesting is a perfect kid job.

    Why it works so well with children:

    • The flowers are low to the ground and easy to reach.
    • The “popping” motion of picking the flower heads is actually fun.
    • There’s a clear, satisfying end product: “We’re picking these to make tea we’ll drink later.”

    Give each child:

    • A small basket, bowl, or container
    • A simple instruction: “We’re picking the little white flowers with yellow centers—no leaves, no grass.”

    It’s a gentle way to:

    • Teach plant identification
    • Talk about where our food and herbs come from
    • Connect everyday “weeds” to real, useful things in your kitchen

    How to Dry Chamomile for Tea

    After you’ve picked a bowl of blossoms, it’s time to dry them so they don’t mold and will keep well through the year.

    Option 1: Using a Dehydrator

    Ready to steep and drink!

    If you have a dehydrator, this is the most controlled method.

    • Spread the blossoms in a single layer on your dehydrator trays.
    • Set the temperature to around 95°F (a low, gentle setting to preserve flavor and color).
    • Dry for about 24 hours, or until the flowers are completely dry and papery to the touch.
    • Test a few by crushing them between your fingers—there should be no softness, just a dry crumble.

    Option 2: Air-Drying or Sun-Drying

    If you don’t have a dehydrator, you can still dry chamomile.

    • Spread the blossoms in a single layer on a clean screen, rack, or baking sheet.
    • Place them in a warm, dry place out of direct rain and heavy dew.
    • Make sure there is good airflow—near a sunny window or in a protected, breezy spot outside works well.
    • Gently stir or turn them once a day so they dry evenly.

    Depending on humidity, it may take several days. Again, you want the blossoms fully dry and crisp before storing.

    How to Store Dried Chamomile

    Once your flowers are fully dry, you can store them for months.

    Simple storage options:

    • Glass jars with lids (mason jars work great)
    • Clean, food-safe containers with tight-fitting lids
    • Or, going old-school: something like a washed and dried Cool Whip container, just like my husband’s grandmother used

    Whichever container you choose, keep it:

    • In a cool, dry place
    • Out of direct sunlight
    • Labeled with the contents and date

    Properly dried and stored, your chamomile should keep its flavor and gentle fragrance for a year or more.

    Brewing Your Own Foraged Chamomile Tea

    Now for the best part: turning those foraged blossoms into a cozy mug of tea.

    I have chamomile tea, the kids are drinking other tea tonight!

    On a cool winter night (or whenever you need a moment to relax), you can:

    • Take a tea ball, reusable tea bag, or small infuser.
    • Add about 1 tablespoon of dried chamomile flowers per cup of water.
    • Pour boiling water over the tea.
    • Let it steep for about 5 minutes (longer if you like a stronger flavor).
    • Remove the infuser, let the tea cool slightly, and enjoy.

    You can drink it:

    • Plain
    • With a drizzle of honey
    • With a splash of milk or cream, if you like it a little softer

    For us, it’s become a go-to when someone needs to unwind or has a slightly unsettled stomach, and there’s something extra special about knowing you picked those flowers yourself.

    A Few Gentle Reminders

    As with any foraged herb:

    • Make sure you’ve correctly identified the plant before consuming.
    • Avoid areas that may have been sprayed or heavily contaminated.
    • If you’re pregnant, nursing, or on medications, it’s always wise to double-check with a trusted healthcare provider before adding new herbal teas regularly.

    From “Weed” to Teacup

    Watching my husband’s grandmother bend down in the driveway and start picking “weeds” for tea completely changed how I look at what grows around us.

    Chamomile went from being a box on a grocery shelf to a living, growing plant that shows up in the unlikeliest places—and now, to something our family can gather, dry, and sip together.

    If you’ve ever wondered whether you could forage your own tea, chamomile is a gentle, beginner-friendly place to start.

    Have you ever foraged something you used to buy at the store?

    If this chamomile guide gave you some ideas (or a little confidence to try foraging), would you share it with a friend or save it for later?

    You can also join my email list for more simple, from-scratch homestead projects—from wild teas to what we’re growing in the garden.

    Read Next: Foraging Stinging Nettles – A Wild, Nutritious Spring Green

  • Zone 4B Vegetable Garden Ideas: What We Planted in 2026

    Zone 4B Vegetable Garden Ideas: What We Planted in 2026

    Our Late-May Garden Tour: What We Planted and Why

    Somehow, May is already almost over. If you plant a garden, have you gotten yours in yet?

    We’re in Zone 4B, and by late May our garden is finally in full swing. If you’re looking for ideas for your own Zone 4B vegetable garden, here’s exactly what we planted this year and why. In this post, I’m sharing what we planted in our garden this year and the order we planted it in (spoiler: it definitely did not all happen in one day). Think of this as a walk-through of our garden rows, plus a few notes on what’s working, what isn’t, and what we’re excited to try.

    Strawberries: The Semi-Permanent Front Row

    We started about a month ago by dedicating the first two rows of our garden to strawberries. This will be a semi-permanent location for them.

    Here’s our basic setup:

    • Transplanted strawberry plants into two full rows.
    • Plan to layer straw on top to help suppress weeds and hold moisture in during the warm months.
    • I’m pinching the blossoms off all the plants for the first two months.

    The blossom-pinching feels a little cruel in the moment, but it lets the plants focus on strong root and leaf growth. If all goes well, we should be enjoying delicious berries by July or August from the everbearing varieties.

    Strawberries plants are hidden amongst the straw (for now)

    Root Vegetables: Fresh Salads Now, Storage Roots Later

    Next, we planted our root vegetables and salad greens. This is one of my favorite parts of the garden because it gives both quick wins and long-term rewards. (You’ll notice I have a lot of “favorite” parts—my garden just brings me that much joy.)

    In this section we planted:

    • Parsnips – for fresh roots next March and April.
    • Radishes – for quick crunch and color in early salads.
    • Lettuce and spinach – fast growers, so we can enjoy fresh greens in just a couple weeks.
    • Carrots – for fresh eating in the next couple months and for later winter storage.
    • Beets – for roasting, pickling, and everything in between.

    I plan to share in a future post how we keep garden-fresh carrots through the Wisconsin winter, and also how we turn all of these roots and greens into actual meals (rather than just “good intentions” in the crisper drawer).

    Radishes, we just harvested our first bunch last night!

    Onions: The Powerhouse Vegetable (and a Confession)

    After the root bed came two full rows of onions—both red and yellow.

    I prefer transplanting onion plants rather than using onion sets. That was the plan this year too…in theory.

    Confession time:

    • I did start onion seeds this year.
    • Between poor starting soil, my “casual” watering habits, and not trimming the tops, my onion starts never made it to the garden.

    Instead, my dad kindly shared some surplus onion plants he purchased from the Amish, and they became our onion rows.

    Don’t judge me too harshly for the crooked row. I was planting with a toddler in tow…

    Why we love onions:

    • They’re a true powerhouse vegetable in the kitchen.
    • They store well when kept under the right conditions.
    • Even in our less-than-perfect storage setup, I pulled my last onion from last year’s harvest about a month and a half ago.

    We plant:

    • Red onions for fresh eating and pickling (they’re fantastic pickled).
    • Yellow onions for long-term storage and everyday cooking.

    Peas: Kid-Favorite Garden Candy

    Next up: peas.

    Peas are one of our family’s favorite vegetables to eat right in the garden. The kids love:

    • Picking them straight off the vine.
    • Popping the pods open.
    • Eating the peas fresh, still warm from the sun.

    They disappear almost as soon as they ripen.

    We installed a trellis right away, but “trellis” might be a generous term. In true homestead fashion, we used:

    • An old corn crib side as the main panel.
    • Old fence posts to hold it in place.

    We love recycling old farm implements wherever possible—it saves money, reduces waste, and gives these materials a second life.

    Somewhere in the sky, an old farmer is smiling down on our resourcefulness (I hope)

    Cucumbers in the Middle (On Purpose) + Tomatoes and Peppers

    Next came cucumbers.

    Some gardeners might be clutching their pearls at this, but yes: we plant our cucumber patch in the middle of the garden.

    The reason we can get away with this is our trellis. Instead of letting the vines sprawl everywhere, we:

    • Use an old cattle panel as a trellis.
    • Hold it in place with old fence posts.

    This keeps the vines mostly vertical and contained, which makes it easier to walk around the garden and keeps the cucumbers cleaner and easier to harvest. It might not be traditional, but it works for us.

    Once the cucumbers were in, we filled the rest of that row with transplanted veggies:

    • Peppers (both bell and hot).
    • Tomatoes – a mix of early-ripening varieties, Romas (for sauce), and Mortgage Lifters (for big slicing tomatoes).
    Peppers galore!

    Cruciferous Row: Cauliflower, Kale, Broccoli, and Brussels Sprouts

    The next row is devoted to some of my favorite vegetables: cauliflower, kale, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts.

    I love cruciferous veggies for a few reasons:

    • They’re incredibly versatile in the kitchen.
    • They freeze beautifully, which makes them a big part of how we keep eating vegetables all winter without visiting the grocery aisle.
    • They’re hardy and forgiving once established.

    In a future post, I hope to share exactly how we prep and freeze these so they stay tasty and usable.

    Quick kale note: I may be late to the party, but I also love kale soup. I’m still not sold on kale chips—mine tend to swing between soggy and burnt—but I’m open to conversion if someone can show me the magic method. Shoutout to my friend who shared her Zuppa Toscana (and the recipe!) and officially turned me into a kale-soup person.

    Cabbage, More Cauliflower, Bok Choy, and Kohlrabi

    The next row is a mix of:

    • Cabbage – destined for sauerkraut.
    • More cauliflower – because we’re not sure how well the older seed in the other row will germinate.
    • Bok choy – for stir-fries and Chinese dumplings.
    • Kohlrabi – one of my underrated favorites.

    A quick note about kohlrabi: the name literally translates from German as “turnip cabbage,” describing its shape. I grew up with it, but I don’t know how many people outside German ancestry know what it is.

    Why I love kohlrabi:

    • It grows above the ground and matures in about two months.
    • Around the 4th of July, it’s usually ready, and it’s one of my favorite veggies to snack on then.
    • It’s delicious raw—peeled and sliced.
    • The flavor is like a cross between a mild radish and broccoli.

    I’ve experimented with cooking it, but honestly, we usually eat it raw before I get a chance to cook or roast it. I’ve also pickled it with great success.

    If you’ve never tried kohlrabi and you love cruciferous veggies, I’d highly recommend grabbing some seed and giving it a spot in your garden.

    Summer Squash and Rutabagas

    In the back corner of the garden, we planted summer squash—three hills of it.

    In my unsolicited opinion, three hills is about two hills too many. If you’ve ever been buried in zucchini or summer squash, you know exactly what I mean.

    The rest of that row holds garlic and rutabagas.

    • The garlic was planted way too late last October, and it shows; it didn’t come up well.
    • To make better use of the space, we interplanted rutabagas.

    Rutabagas are another veggie I’ve only recently fallen for. They make a great “potato” replacement in mid-summer and are wonderful:

    • Sautéed.
    • Roasted.
    • In pot pies.

    Sweet Corn and Cantaloupe at the Front

    The front of the garden holds our sweet corn patch.

    Full honesty: I have not had the best luck with sweet corn in recent years. The local raccoons and possums seem to love it even more than we do. We’ll see how it goes this year.

    On the other side, we planted cantaloupe. In my experience (Zone 4B), you don’t need to transplant cantaloupe:

    • When you plant seed directly into soil that’s warm enough (late May here), it catches up quickly.
    • Direct-seeding saves time and space in the seed-starting area.

    If you’re curious about how we store carrots, freeze broccoli and cauliflower, or use bok choy in dumplings, those posts are coming (or, in the case of Chinese dumplings, are already here).

    Potatoes, Pumpkins, and Future Plans

    Beyond the main garden rows, we have two additional patches:

    • My husband planted a patch of potatoes using a restored potato planter, which was a fun bit of old-meets-new on the homestead.
    • Behind our barn, we plan to establish a pumpkin patch.

    I’m already dreaming of fall pumpkins, roasted seeds, and maybe even some homegrown pumpkin purée for baking.

    That’s our lineup for this year’s Zone 4B garden, from strawberries in front to pumpkins out back.

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    What’s growing in your garden this year, and which veggie are you most excited to harvest first?

    If this little garden tour gave you some ideas (or just made you feel less behind on planting), would you share it with a fellow gardener or save it for later?

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