Personal Growth – Practical Homesteading

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.”

July 12, 2026

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.

July 9, 2026

How Two Neighboring Farmers Became Lifelong Friends

In today’s post, I want to share a story from more than a decade before I was born—one that shaped my childhood in a foundational way. It’s the story of how two farmers became friends, and how that friendship became part of the fabric of our family.

The Farmer on the Barn Roof

My dad, set to inherit the family farm, was working on my grandparents’ red barn roof. He had not yet met my mom and was about 25. My grandparents were laying the groundwork for the farm handover. They’d helped him buy the property next door (where I eventually grew up) and taught him farming from childhood (as was customary).

That day, he was up on their red barn. This wasn’t some tiny shed—it stretched about 60 feet long, with the roof starting roughly 25 feet off the ground and peaking even higher. In other words, working up there was no small task.

A Simple Act of Help Changes Everything

A local farmer, a couple years older than my dad, drove by and spotted him. He pulled in, climbed up to the roof, and offered a hand. My dad said yes, and the farmer sat on the peak for a couple minutes—gathering his nerve—before joining in the work. What my dad didn’t know at the time was that this farmer was afraid of heights. That detail makes the moment even more meaningful to me—he set his fear aside to help a neighbor.

From that afternoon on the barn roof, a friendship sparked that continues to this day.

A Farm Friendship That Shaped Decades—and My Childhood

They wove themselves into each other’s lives completely. They attended each other’s weddings (sharing not just the same first name, but wives with the same first name too). They sponsored each other’s kids and teamed up for big jobs like baling hay across large fields.

From the time I could lift bales, I pitched in during those haying days. As one large team with two small New Holland balers, we would bale 2,000 to 3,000 small bales in a day—enough to fill a haymow and feed the cattle for months. I’d finish covered in dust and sweat—I didn’t exactly love it then—but I look back on those memories fondly now.

After the hard work wrapped up, we’d always share a big meal together. I didn’t realize it as a kid, but it felt like our own version of the old threshing bees, where neighbors gathered to help put away the feed, eat, and celebrate the harvest.

Before that day on the roof, they were just acquaintances. Afterward, they were like brothers. That one choice—to stop, help, and climb despite his fear—rippled through shared work, celebrations, tough seasons, and the community I grew up in.

And it all started with one farmer seeing another on a tall red barn and deciding not to drive on by.

Photo by Maksym Ivashchenko on Unsplash

Do you have a story of a neighbor or friend whose one small act changed the course of your farm or family?

If this story brought someone to mind—a neighbor, a friend, or a farmer you’re grateful for—would you pass it along to them or share it so others can be reminded how much small acts of help matter?

June 25, 2026

Coffer Dams and Motherhood: Being Seen on the Hard Days

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. Motherhood is one of the most rewarding and difficult jobs of my life. Some days it stretches me to my limits, and some days it surprises me with small moments of grace. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

When Motherhood Feels Heavy

The other day was one of the hard ones. Nothing dramatic—just the slow pileup of decisions, messes, and worries that comes with raising small humans while trying to keep everything else in life moving forward.

By bedtime, I felt wrung out and a little hollow, like I was running on fumes and expectations.

That’s when my 6-year-old son, who knows how much I love reading about infrastructure and engineering, surprised me. That world is part of my work as an environmental professional, and it was a big focus in college. I still find it endlessly fascinating: how bridges stand, how dams hold, how someone once looked at a river or a marsh and thought, “We can build something here.” I love the history behind it too—the choices, mistakes, and bursts of ingenuity that gave us running water, paved roads, and power at the flip of a switch.

An Engineering Book and a Small Act of Love

That night, when it was time to pick out a book to read, my son paused a little longer than usual in front of the shelf. Normally he reaches for something about pirates or a familiar favorite. Instead, he pulled out an engineering book someone had given him. He flipped through the pages with a purpose and then landed on a section about coffer dams. He looked up at me and said he picked “the engineering part” because he knew it would make me happy.

It stopped me in my tracks more than any store-bought Mother’s Day card ever could.

We settled in to read. I started explaining what a coffer dam is, how it lets people work in a dry space while water is held back by steel walls, called sheet piles, driven into the earth. As I explained, I remembered my college professor with a Latin American accent who loved teaching about sheet piles. He knew exactly how the term sounded when he said it and would stretch it out with mock innocence that had the entire class laughing every single time. It’s a silly, fond memory, and it reminds me that even in the most technical fields, there’s a human side behind all the math and steel.

As I read and shared those stories, I realized what my son had really done. He hadn’t just picked a book; he had reached for something that felt like me. In his 6-year-old way, he was saying, “I see you, Mom. I know what you like. I want to bring a little bit of that back to you.”

His 2-year-old sister climbed into my lap too, not concerned with coffer dams or sheet piles—just happy to be included, her small body warm against mine. One child choosing the book he knew I’d love, the other snuggling in for the sound of my voice and the feel of my arms around her.

There I was: tired, a little worn down, and surrounded by the two people who make this job both exhausting and holy.

How Motherhood Feels Like Engineering

It struck me how much motherhood feels like those engineering concepts I love. We build supports we hope will hold. We design routines and boundaries like invisible scaffolding. We stand in the middle of messy, rushing currents—school schedules, work deadlines, dinner, tantrums—and try to carve out solid ground where connection can happen. Some days the structure wobbles. Some days the coffer dam leaks. But then there are nights like this, when a 6-year-old chooses an engineering book to make his mom smile, and a 2-year-old tucks herself under my arm, and for a moment everything feels steady.

This Mother’s Day, I’m thinking less about flowers or brunch and more about these small, thoughtful gestures—the way our kids notice us, even when they can’t quite put it into words. The way they remind us who we are outside of “Mom,” and love that person too.

To all the moms who are tired, overwhelmed, and still showing up: I see you. May you get your own small coffer-dam moments—just enough dry ground, just enough support, and a few unexpected ways your kids show you they’re paying attention.

What’s a small, thoughtful thing your child has done that made you feel truly seen as a mom?

If this story resonated with you, would you take a moment to like, comment, or share it with another mom who might need a little encouragement today?

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May 10, 2026

One Year of Homesteading Stories: Thank You for Being Here

This is a little bonus post because today marks one year since I started this blog.

One year ago today, I hit publish on my very first blog post: a piece called “Sourdough Bread,” a humorous take on how something as simple as baking bread can be both maddeningly difficult and deeply rewarding all at once. It felt like the perfect metaphor for the kind of life I wanted to write about—messy, slow, sometimes sticky, but full of small wins that make the effort worth it.

Since then, this little corner of the internet has branched out in all sorts of directions. I’ve shared anecdotes from our homestead and family life, how-tos, reflections, and everything in between, all delivered in my own quirky, hopefully humorous voice. Some posts have been practical, some have been tender, and some have just been me trying to make sense of the chaos of growing food, raising kids, and building community. One of my poems, “If You Buy Your Wife a Chicken,” even made it into GRIT Magazine—something I didn’t think was possible when I started.

What has surprised me most, though, are the connections that have grown beyond the screen. Friends have mentioned a post at the park or over coffee, neighbors have told me they tried a recipe or related to a story about the kids, and people I barely knew have said, “Hey, I read your blog.” Those little in-person moments have made this space feel less abstract and more like part of my real, everyday community.

What you may not know is that, before I started writing here, I had mostly convinced myself that my voice didn’t really matter—that what I noticed or felt wasn’t worth saying out loud. Hitting “publish” that first time felt like stepping out of a very familiar pattern of staying quiet. Your encouragement over this past year hasn’t just kept the blog going; it’s helped me find my footing again and rediscover the things that have always brought me joy, like writing and gardening.

To everyone who has taken the time to read a post, click like, leave a comment, or hit ‘subscribe’ over this past year: thank you. Truly. Every view, every “like,” every “I’ve been there too” in the comments has meant more to me than I can put into words. You’ve given this aspiring writer the affirmation that maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

It means so much that you’ve let me show up in your inbox or feed with stories about bread that refuses to rise, kids who say the most unexpected things, garden experiments that sometimes flop, and the small moments that make it all feel worthwhile. I’m also deeply grateful for your patience when life got hectic and I took a hiatus, and for the way you still showed up as I found my way back to a more consistent rhythm.

I’m so thankful for each of you who has stuck around, cheered me on, and made this space feel less like I’m talking into the void and more like a real community gathered around a virtual kitchen table.

Here’s to year one of this blog—and to whatever year two brings. I can’t wait to keep writing, experimenting, and sharing the journey with you. Thank you, from the bottom of my quirky, homesteading, bread-obsessed heart, for being here.

If you’ve been reading along this year, I’d love to know: what post or topic has stuck with you the most, or what would you like to see more of in year two?

If this blog has encouraged you, made you laugh, or given you a helpful idea this year, would you take a moment to like, comment, or share this post with a friend who might enjoy it too?

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May 9, 2026

The Best Concerts of My Life: From Awolnation to Concerts in the Park

Daily writing prompt

What is the best concert you have been to?

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What is the best concert I’ve ever been to? I can’t pick just one concert experience. The “best” concert seems to depend on who I was at the time. Live music has a way of marking seasons of life, and a few Green Bay concert memories stand out for very different reasons.

Awolnation in a Gritty Green Bay Bar

In 2016, in Green Bay, Wisconsin, I bought tickets for my now-husband and me to see Awolnation. The show was in a bar with a large open area usually reserved for winter volleyball leagues. The ground was somehow both gritty and sticky. The concert started late; the crowd was all in, and I sang every word along with them. At one point, the lead singer changed a lyric in “Run” from “capable of doing terrible things” to “capable of doing beautiful things,” and that shift stuck with me. I started at the back of the room and slowly worked my way to the front, carried by the energy of the crowd. Near the end, he threw a guitar pick into the audience, and somehow, I caught it. It still sits in my curio cabinet, ready to tell its story—whether anyone asks or not. Even now, ten years later, it feels worth the lost sleep and the slow next day at work.

A Beatles Tribute and Pregnancy at Lambeau

A few years later, in 2019, music met me in a quieter moment. I was pregnant with my son when Paul McCartney came to Lambeau Field—a huge event for Green Bay. The night before, Titletown hosted a free concert with a Beatles tribute band, BritBeat. We brought lawn chairs; my husband grabbed a beer and an iced tea for me, and I settled in for a calm evening of familiar Beatles songs. The Beatles have a special place in my heart. In high school, an influential choir teacher introduced them to us, and it was the first time I realized how much lyrics matter—how they can turn a song into something that stays with you. As the band played “She Loves You” and “Eleanor Rigby,” I felt my son start to move. Sitting there, singing along, it felt like we were sharing the moment. It wasn’t loud or electric like Awolnation, but it carried a quieter kind of weight.

Family-Friendly Concerts in the Park

These days, concerts look different again. We go to local family-friendly Concerts in the Park, where my kids run off to play tag and make instant friends while the music drifts in and out. I sit in a lawn chair with a friend—or occasionally my husband, if I can convince him to come—and still sing along, sometimes making up my own lyrics just to keep things interesting. I run into acquaintances and friends who deepen my sense of belonging in the community. The music is still there, but now it plays under everything else: kids racing past, someone calling out a name, a conversation that pauses and picks back up between songs.

How Live Music Marks Each Season of Life

Someday, I’d love to bring my kids to a concert like that Awolnation show—something loud and unforgettable. But for now, this season of life fits. The best concert wasn’t just one night; it’s the way live music has followed me—from crowded floors to quiet evenings to kids running in the grass—changing right along with me as I’m raising kids and building community.

Feature Photo by Phil Desforges on Unsplash

What’s the best concert you’ve ever been to, and what season of your life does it remind you of?

If this story reminded you of your own favorite concert memories, please like, share, or pass it along to a friend who loves live music too.

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May 8, 2026

Amish Bakery Visit for Bulk Groceries: A Homesteading Family Tradition

About every two months, I make the hour-long trip to the nearest Amish settlement to stock up on bulk groceries. It’s a steady rhythm in our homesteading life—bringing home 50-pound bags of bread flour, dried vegetables, bulk pasta, and active dry yeast that stock our pantry and turn into loaves of bread, tortillas, and buns in the weeks that follow.

But if you ask my kids, the highlight of every trip is the same: the Amish bakery.

On this particular Saturday, it seemed like everyone else had the same idea. The parking lot was full, and the line stretched halfway across the gravel lot. For a moment, I considered turning around—but one look at my 6-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter made it clear we were staying.

So, we settled in.

There was a chill in the wind, but standing in the sun made it feel like a perfect spring day. Nearby, a little Amish boy—maybe three—chased a chicken across the yard, getting just close enough each time to keep trying.

We started with a round of “I Spy,” which didn’t last long. Soon, we were watching horses in the pasture, sheep grazing in the distance, and pigeons circling overhead—much to my daughter’s delight, who confidently called them all “ducks.”

As the line slowly moved, the wait began to shift. What felt long at first softened into something slower and more enjoyable. People started talking. A couple behind us—one from Sun Prairie, another from Watertown—struck up an easy conversation about travel, baking, and everyday life.

The line as I got closer to the entrance. The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries was intoxicating.

Meanwhile, my kids wandered off and found a little girl to play with, disappearing into their own world for nearly twenty minutes.

My kids found a little girl to play with while I waited in line.

By the time we reached the door, the smell of the Amish bakery had already found us—warm bread, sweet glaze, and something deeply comforting. Inside, shelves were lined with cakes, pies, and fresh-baked goods, but there was no question what we came for.

We walked out with warm donuts in hand—chocolate for my daughter and me, glazed for my son—and barely said a word as we ate them back at the car.

Somehow, the hour-long wait didn’t feel long at all.

Trips like this are never just about bulk groceries or even the Amish bakery itself. They’re about filling a pantry that feeds our family, giving our kids space to grow and learn patience, and finding small moments of connection with people we might not otherwise meet.

It’s growing food, raising kids, and building community—sometimes in the most unexpected places.

And yes… the donuts help, too.

Have you ever stuck out a long wait and realized it was actually the best part of the day?

If you’re trying to slow down, raise your kids a little differently, or build a more intentional life—like and share this with someone on that path too.

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May 7, 2026

Letter to My 100-Year-Old Self: Homestead + Kids Dreams

Daily writing prompt

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

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Dear 100-year-old self,

Right now, our days overflow with three big works. I’m writing this when I’m 36 years old. I hope you’re looking back on this time fondly, with a loving husband, two beautiful young children, and a growing homestead and writing hobby that is starting to bear some fruit.

Raising Emotionally Intelligent Kids

I’m working hard to help my children grow into emotionally intelligent, successful people who can easily integrate into society. I’m working internally on myself before I radiate love out to them. All while making sure they pick up their socks and eat their dinner. Will my work be worth it, and will they look back on their childhood fondly?

Building Our Homestead

My husband and I are also working on building our homestead. Last year, I learned how to grow mushrooms (the logs are colonized!), and this year we’re learning how to farrow pigs (first litter due Mother’s Day). Things don’t always go smoothly, but every homestead lesson learned is one that we can apply to the next set of skills. Will we continue to build and expand our homestead?

Growing My Writing Community

I’m also working hard on a writing hobby. Ever since I was a little girl, I loved to write. My first short story was about a herd of cows that escaped and exacted revenge on their owner (I was 8, and I grew up on a farm). And now I’m sharing homestead stories about my family and my hobbies. And people are listening and writing back! It is amazing to find kindred spirits out in the world. I hope we meet in person someday. Will I become a successful writer and continue building this community?

Only you can tell me.

Feature Photo by Saif Taee on Unsplash

Which of these three works feels hardest right now—kids, homestead, or writing community? Be honest below!

Loved this letter to my future self? Like + share if you’re wondering about your own 100-year-old dreams! 💌 Tag your homestead bestie below.

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March 10, 2026

How My Pizza Fail Built Homesteading Confidence

Daily writing prompt

How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?

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A cooking disaster in my freshman dorm set me up for homesteading success I never expected. One apparent failure became the foundation for kitchen confidence.

Freshman Year Pizza Disaster

My first “from-scratch” pizza took three times longer than delivery. The crust was a brick, sauce too acidic, toppings slid everywhere. My future husband politely choked it down. Mortifying.

That flop taught me two things: failure stings less when shared, and every kitchen mistake teaches something concrete. I started measuring flour properly, tasting as I went. Zucchini bread followed (once ruined by tablespoons of salt instead of teaspoons—inedible).

Homesteading Kitchen Payoff

Fast forward to our rural homestead. Now I confidently make:

Pizza dough my kids beg for weekly
Sourdough from wild yeast I captured
Crockpot meals filling our home with irresistible smells
Garden sauces from our own tomatoes

A couple of weeks ago, I pulled winter carrots (candy-sweet from the freeze) for pot roast. No one would guess this calm came from serving weaponized pizza.

Failure’s Gift: Iteration Over Perfection

Cooking disasters built my homesteading confidence through kitchen iteration:

Mushroom logs fruited after many soggy failures
Morning routines work after dozens of meltdowns
Patience grew through dysregulation disasters

Apparent failure = practice reps for real skills. That freshman flop was my first composting lesson: even burnt crust feeds future growth.

What’s a failure that set YOU up for success? Share below!

If this pizza-to-homestead arc resonates, like + share so other makers see failure’s power!

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March 5, 2026

3 Everyday Essentials This Working Mom Can’t Live Without

Daily writing prompt

What are three objects you couldn’t live without?

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Honestly, the three objects I couldn’t live without are surprisingly ordinary: my cell phone, my wallet, and my keys. As a working mother in a rural area, they’re not glamorous. But they quietly hold my daily life together, from parenting to work to community.

My Cell Phone: Brain in My Pocket

My cell phone is how I stay organized and connected as a working mom. It holds my calendar, reminders, notes, and grocery lists—the invisible scaffolding keeping family life and work from falling apart. It’s how I juggle meetings from home, text my husband about pickup times, message teachers, and look up last-minute recipes when dinner planning slips my mind.

Living rural, it’s also my lifeline. If the car breaks down, a kid gets sick, or something unexpected happens, that little rectangle becomes my map, flashlight, and emergency contact list all in one.

My Wallet: Quiet Security for Daily Life

My wallet isn’t exciting, but it represents security and flexibility for a busy mom. It holds my ID, bank card, maybe a little cash, insurance cards, and a few too many crumpled receipts—the boring but essential pieces of adulthood.

I always keep my Kwik Rewards card tucked inside for that 15th visit reward. When someone suddenly needs snacks, school supplies, or a quick pharmacy run, my wallet means I can handle it without hesitation. It’s the difference between feeling stuck and responding smoothly to whatever the day throws at us.

My Keys: Rural Freedom and Independence

Because we live in a rural area, my keys are completely non-negotiable. They’re my way to get everywhere: school drop-offs, work meetings, grocery runs, appointments, visits with family and friends. No corner store walk or public transit here—if I don’t have my keys, I’m not going anywhere.

They also symbolize independence as a working mother. Being able to load everyone in the car and just go—to town, the park, a friend’s house—makes rural life workable, even wonderful.

Everyday Objects That Make Rural Parenting Possible

There are plenty of sentimental objects I love, but these three form the quiet backbone of my days. Without them, the logistics of working motherhood, parenting, and building community in a rural area would get complicated fast.

Feature Photo by Blake Wisz on Unsplash

What’s on your can’t-live-without list? Share in the comments!

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March 3, 2026

Category: Personal Growth

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Everyday Objects That Make Rural Parenting Possible