Practical Homesteading

Tag: children

  • Walking Through Life — From Farm Chores to Family Joy

    Walking Through Life — From Farm Chores to Family Joy

    What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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    Golden Days at Pike Lake: A Perfect Fall Family Escape

    Pike Lake State Park in southeastern Wisconsin turned out to be one of the most beautiful and memorable places I’ve ever explored with my kids. Nestled in the heart of the Kettle Moraine, this hidden gem is shaped by ancient glaciers that sculpted the land into rolling mounds, kettle lakes, and forested ridges. Pike Lake…

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    Traveling Light, Remembering More

    I didn’t pack bathing suits, beach toys, or even chairs. Just me, two kids—almost six and almost two—and enough curiosity to see what might happen. Some might call it unwise to bring children to the beach without all the usual gear. I half expected chaos myself. But what unfolded that day at Lake Michigan wasn’t…

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  • Rooted in September, November, and October

    Who are your current most favorite people?

    Have you ever noticed how some people quietly root themselves into your life’s story, shaping you in ways you only recognize years later?

    I have three such people. Each arrived in my life in a different month, under different skies. Yet all have become my most favorite—and every morning, her kisses remind me how deeply entwined we are.

    The first person came into my life when I was twelve. It was on a crisp September morning on a creaky school bus. I remember deliberately slipping into his favorite seat, hoping for a moment of attention. He was the boy with the quick grin and sly humor, so different from my preppy, studious self. At first, he barely noticed, but gradually, our laughter bridged our worlds. We briefly drifted apart in high school. By college, weekends bloomed with him driving an hour to visit me, our shared adventures stitching us closer. Eight years later, we married—two lives grown together in love and understanding.

    Two Novembers later—two years after marrying him—I awaited another arrival with nervous wonder. Six months earlier, I had learned I would become a mother. As he grew, I spoke often to him, calling him “little one.” I dreamt of the gardens we’d tend and the trips we’d take. He arrived on a blustery Saturday night, bearing a name passed down through generations. Our first year together was a storm, marked by sleepless nights, fears, and growth. But with each challenge, I found a deeper love while planting seeds both in soil and in his heart.

    Four Octobers after that, our family welcomed a second burst of joy. She came into the world on a rainy October evening, her laughter a bright pulse in our new home. We had just moved closer to family, seeking the roots we needed. Now my mornings start with her tender toddler kisses—small reminders of the light and love she brings to every day. Watching her discover the world has taught me to find wonder in the small moments, and open my arms wide to life’s beautiful unpredictability.

    These three—the boy from the school bus seat in September, the “little one” I awaited in November, and the joyful October child with kisses at dawn—are my heart’s home. My husband and two children, each planting roots, helping me grow, and teaching me what it truly means to love.

    If this story touched your heart, please like, share, and subscribe to stay connected. Your support helps me continue to share meaningful moments and stories that inspire growth and love.

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  • Seasons of Adventure: Reflections as My Son Turns Six

    Seasons of Adventure: Reflections as My Son Turns Six

    The Early Adventure

    Six years. A lifetime and a blink all at once. It’s hard to imagine my tall, curious six‑year‑old as the little baby who once fit perfectly in my arms. Yet some days, it feels like only yesterday. As his birthday approaches, I find myself reflecting—not just on how much he’s grown, but on how much I’ve changed too.

    Before motherhood, I was an adventurer. I loved travel, new experiences, and the freedom of not knowing what came next. My job and life took me across the country, and I chased opportunity with excitement. But as thirty approached, another kind of calling began to whisper. Parenthood. I knew that if I waited too long, it might be harder to step into that new identity. With my husband’s encouragement, we leapt into the unknown together.

    The Lessons of Change

    Pregnancy came easily. A touch of morning sickness, a few sleepless nights, but otherwise, it was smooth. I exercised right up until my water broke. I don’t share that to boast—only to show how everything shifted the moment he arrived. Nothing prepared me for the intensity of that change.

    When labor began, I shook uncontrollably—terrified of the pain, the sleepless nights ahead, the loss of freedom I’d always cherished. That fear slowed everything down. Twenty‑one long hours passed before he was born. Later, I learned that anxiety floods the body with adrenaline, making labor harder. But in hindsight, that physical slowing mirrored something deeper: my fear of what it meant to become someone’s mother.

    I was afraid of failing him, of not knowing enough, of being unequal to the task. That fear didn’t just tighten my muscles—it tightened my sense of self. It made every decision feel heavier, every moment charged with doubt. I thought “harder” meant only the literal—long labor, sleepless nights, feeding struggles—but parenting revealed its metaphorical weight too. Fear made everything take longer: the acceptance, the confidence, even the joy.

    In time, I learned that fear wasn’t an enemy. It was a mirror. It showed me what mattered most, where I still needed to grow, and what I was willing to face for love. The same fear that once froze me taught me grace, patience, and surrender.

    Finding Strength

    Returning to work after parental leave was another reckoning. I cried every day that first week, missing him in a way that words can’t fully capture. The ache didn’t disappear—it only softened with time.

    And then, just as I was finding my footing, the world changed again. Six weeks after returning to work, COVID arrived. Suddenly, I was balancing deadlines with diaper changes, spreadsheets with nap schedules. The days felt endless, looping between exhaustion and small, quiet triumphs. Yet amid the chaos, we found a rhythm—working during naps, finishing tasks after my husband got home, creating pockets of peace wherever we could.

    Through it all, I discovered something unexpected: strength in letting go. Parenting isn’t meant to be done alone. It takes a village—not just helping hands, but willing hearts. When family, friends, and neighbors dropped off meals, shared advice, or simply listened, I experienced the power of community. That kind of support transforms everything. But living far from family meant we only had so much of it, and that ache for connection stayed with us.

    Building Community

    Perhaps that season of isolation made our next decision clear—it was time to move closer to family. We wanted the support we’d missed, not only for ourselves but for our children. It wasn’t an easy decision, and it took a couple of years, but it was the right one. By the time his little sister arrived, we were settled, and our son was starting preschool. Watching him become a big brother—gentle, silly, protective—has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

    What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply our sense of belonging would bloom. For the first time, people weren’t just offering help—they were eager to be part of our world. Family members plan afternoons filled with backyard discoveries, storytelling, and unhurried laughter. Cousins race through the house, inventing games, sharing snacks, and building the kind of bonds that belong entirely to childhood. Our son now has the freedom to spend time with people who love him independently of us. He’s learned that family extends far beyond the walls of home.

    For my husband and me, that has been a blessing beyond measure. We now have people we can count on—family who arrives without being asked, friends who show up simply to share time, a network that steadies us. Parenting no longer feels like a fragile balancing act. It feels shared, supported, deeply rooted. There is peace in knowing our children are surrounded by people who delight in them and find joy in being part of their story.

    A New Kind of Adventure

    Adventure still has a place in my life, but it looks different now. It’s not plane tickets and new cities—it’s beach trips, museum visits, and long walks through the park. It’s watching my children encounter the world: splashing in waves, chasing balls, collecting shells. The wonder on their faces brings more joy than I ever could have anticipated.

    My adventures have changed, but I’ve learned this, too, is a season. The world will still be waiting, and when the time comes, new journeys will find their way to me. For now, I’m grateful to be here—growing, learning, loving, and finding beauty in this quieter kind of voyage.

    My son shares my love of history and stories. He’s a curious little traveler at heart, always ready to laugh and explore. As he steps into middle childhood, I can’t wait to see where his curiosity leads him next. And maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll still want me along for part of the ride.

    Perhaps that’s what motherhood truly is—learning that the greatest adventures begin not in faraway places, but in the heartbeat of home.

    Closing Note

    Writing this reminded me that every stage of life carries its own kind of adventure. The early years of motherhood can feel all‑consuming, but they’re also fleeting and filled with meaning. This season—messy, joyful, exhausting, extraordinary—is one I can’t hold onto forever, and one I’ll always treasure. To any parent reading this: wherever you are in your story, remember that adventure doesn’t disappear—it simply changes shape.

    Your Turn

    What season of life are you in right now, and how has your idea of adventure changed along the way? I’d love to hear your thoughts and stories in the comments.

    Keep the Story Going

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