Tag: homestead

  • Our First Gilt Farrowed: 10 Piglets on a Monday Afternoon

    This is a shorter post this week, but it feels like a big one.

    We have piglets.

    On Monday afternoon, our first gilt farrowed 10 piglets (and one stillborn), and it was our first time experiencing pig farrowing firsthand. One minute we were checking on her like we had so many times before, and the next we were in the middle of something real and messy and alive. There’s no easing into it when it starts—you go from waiting to catching babies in what feels like a breath.

    At one point, the farrowing process stalled, which raised our anxiety pretty quickly. From what we’ve learned, pauses can happen during farrowing, but in the moment it’s hard to know when to wait and when to step in. We hovered, second-guessed ourselves, and tried to stay calm. In the end, she worked through it on her own, which was both a relief and a reminder that animals often know exactly what to do if we give them space.

    Once the piglets were here, things shifted into action mode. We cleaned them off, making sure each one was breathing well and able to stay warm. My brother-in-law walked us through administering oxytocin so she could relax and start nursing. Watching those piglets root and latch felt like a turning point—less “are we going to be okay?” and more “okay, this is working.”

    Momma and babies as they attached for the first time.

    We stayed with her for the first couple of hours, keeping a close eye out so no piglets were accidentally crushed. One thing we learned quickly is how important it is to watch the sow’s movements closely, especially when she shifts or lays down. It’s a strange balance of awe and vigilance. Every small movement feels important. Every squeal makes you look twice—and resist the urge to intervene to prevent piglet crushing.

    This is the part of raising animals, and growing food, that doesn’t always make it into the highlight reel. It’s messy, a little nerve-wracking, and very real. But it’s also where the learning happens: in the doing, in the watching, and in showing up before you feel fully ready.

    And maybe that’s the overlap I keep noticing lately—between raising animals and raising kids. You prepare as much as you can, gather advice, set things up the “right” way… and then you step back and let life unfold, staying close enough to help but far enough away to let growth happen.

    Right now, the piglets are tucked in close to momma, and we’re checking on them more often than we probably need to. It feels a little like bringing home a newborn again—equal parts wonder, worry, and watching something new take its first steps in the world.

    Growing food, raising kids, building community… sometimes all three show up at once, in a farrowing pen on a Monday afternoon.


    Have you ever been present for an animal birth on your farm? What surprised you most?


    If this little farrowing story made you smile (or taught you something), please like and share with fellow homesteaders!

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    Read Next: First-Time Pig Farrowing Prep: What We’re Doing Before Our Mother’s Day Litter

  • A Gentle Return to the Blog

    Thank you so much for your patience while I took a short break to focus on my family. Stepping back was exactly what I needed—it helped me rest, reconnect with my reasons for blogging, and remember why I started writing in the first place.

    Over the past year I’ve been writing this blog, something unexpected has happened: we’ve built a small but mighty community. I’m so grateful for the readers who share their own stories, ask questions, and cheer one another on in the comments and messages. This isn’t just a blog—it’s a space where families, homesteaders, and food lovers lean into the same rhythms of growing food, raising kids, and caring for the land.

    Coming back now, I want to keep that focus front and center. I’ll still share my two cornerstone posts each week, released on Thursdays and Sundays, and I’ll respond to some of the daily prompts—but I’m letting go of my perfectionistic tendencies and letting the writing breathe more. I’d love to post more about real, messy family days, the little triumphs of the garden, and the ways we’re learning to live more simply and sustainably.

    I think I was a little burned out from writing, but I’m coming back to it from a more grounded, renewed place. I’d love to have you join me again as I dive back into the stories that matter most to our family, our homestead, and this community.


    If you’re still here reading this, what would you most like to see more of on the blog—family adventures, homesteading how‑tos, or seasonal recipes? Leave a comment and let me know. I’m so grateful for this small but mighty community and for the way we’re learning and growing together.

    And if you like this content, please consider subscribing, to join our growing community of like-minded people who value family, the “village”, and slow food.

    Read Next: Why I Hate “What Do You Do?” – Homesteader’s Answer

  • Growing Where We’re Planted: Moving Closer to Family and Letting Go of Fate

    Growing Where We’re Planted: Moving Closer to Family and Letting Go of Fate

    Do you believe in fate/destiny?

    No, I really don’t believe in fate or destiny. I don’t think anyone’s life is completely prewritten. Our paths are shaped by the choices we make, the help we accept, and the way we respond when things get messy. Still, some circumstances are stronger than our willpower alone, and none of us can do it without support — from faith, family, or good friends who remind us we’re not alone.

    ## A Family Move That Tested Our Strength

    A few years ago, my husband and I decided we wanted to live closer to our families, who were about two hours away. We were rooted on an 18-acre homestead — beautiful but not easy to leave behind. I was pregnant at the time and caring for our three-year-old, running on fumes while my husband carried most of the physical load.

    He managed the heavy lifting and trips back and forth, while I coordinated with the real estate agent, cleaned, packed, transferred doctors, and researched schools. It was exhausting work, physically and mentally. Change doesn’t always feel like courage — sometimes, it’s just stubbornness and persistence one long day after another.

    ## Lessons in Change and Support

    Through countless trips, family help, and many take‑out dinners, we finally made the move. Looking back, that season taught me how much support truly matters when facing big life changes. We can often change more than we think — and when we can’t, we can still find ways to live fully in the situation we’re in.

    That perspective has shaped how I understand personal growth and mindset. The biggest shifts often happen quietly — in how we think, what we choose to let go of, and how we lean on the people who love us. Growth doesn’t always look graceful; sometimes it’s just persistence disguised as survival.

    ## Finding Peace Through the Serenity Prayer

    When I reach the limits of what I can control, I take comfort in the serenity prayer. It reminds me to seek the courage to change what I can, the grace to accept what I can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference.

    Maybe that’s not destiny at all — maybe it’s the steady, imperfect work of growing where we’re planted and finding grace along the way.

    Feature Photo by Alicia Christin Gerald on Unsplash


    How do you think about fate versus choice in your own life? Have you ever made a big move or change like this?

    I’d love to hear your story in the comments—what helped you get through a season of big transition?

    If this story resonated with you, please tap the like button, leave a comment, or share it with a friend who’s facing a big life change. Your support helps this little corner of the internet grow.

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    Read More: Learning to Let Go: Saying Goodbye to Our Homestead and Pond

  • Feathers, Frogs, and Family: Lessons from Our Chickens

    Feathers, Frogs, and Family: Lessons from Our Chickens

    What are your favorite animals?

    I remember he day our delivery person lingered just to pet a chicken. It marked a quiet but unforgettable connection between humans and animals in our lives. That black hen with golden feathers wasn’t just beautiful. She was a symbol of the surprising personalities and stories hidden in every farm animal. These stories have shaped my family and me in ways I never expected.

    Farm animals have always felt special to me. More than simple creatures in a barnyard, they each hold distinct characters and life lessons. Chickens, in particular, embody a fascinating mix of contradictions: small yet bold, practical yet full of surprises. Take the first time I saw one catch and eat a frog, for example. I was both fascinated and startled. There she was, darting through the grass with sharp precision, capturing a hopping frog with a triumphant snap. This wild side of chickens revealed itself suddenly but clearly—showing me they are more than gentle garden pets. They are resourceful, lively members of the natural world.

    Equally meaningful to me has been watching my son grow alongside these animals. From tentative first touches to bursts of laughter as he ran alongside the flock, his connection with the chickens deepened steadily over time. This growing bond reached a milestone when we gathered our first pullet egg together. It was a small, warm marvel that tasted like patience and hope. Sharing that fresh egg was a celebration of both life and the quiet rituals that come from care and attentiveness.

    Beyond their intriguing personalities and practical benefits like eating food scraps and producing fertilizer, these animals have woven themselves into our daily rhythms and affections. It’s no wonder our delivery person was so drawn to that golden-feathered hen. Her presence brought him brief moments of comfort and joy. When she passed away, it marked a quiet loss that reminded me how deeply animals can touch human lives and how these bonds leave lasting marks on our hearts.

    Farm animals are, in truth, companions who teach us to slow down, observe, and connect with the cycle of life. Chickens, with their surprising mix of wildness and gentleness, stand out as providers with vibrant personalities and teachers. In their company, I have found moments of laughter, reflection, and an enduring appreciation for the simple, rich realities of living closely with nature.

    What’s your favorite farm animal or memorable moment with animals that has touched your heart? Share your stories in the comments below—I’d love to hear about the special connections you’ve had with animals!


    If you enjoyed this essay and found these stories meaningful, please like this post. Share it with fellow animal lovers. Subscribe for more heartfelt reflections and stories about life with animals. Your support means the world!

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