Practical Homesteading

Tag: relationships

  • The Men Who Shaped Me: Love, Marriage, and Life Lessons from Our Homestead

    The Men Who Shaped Me: Love, Marriage, and Life Lessons from Our Homestead

    Describe a man who has positively impacted your life.

    When I’m kneeling in the garden with my hands in the soil, I often think about how deeply the men in my life have shaped the person I’ve become. From the way I plant a seed to how I nurture my family, their lessons live everywhere in our homestead. Each one taught me something about hard work, humor, grace, and love that now guides how I grow both our garden and our life together.


    My dad, for all his imperfections, taught me that steady work and community build both fences and character. His lessons come to mind whenever I face a task that takes time, patience, and persistence. It could be when I’m tending a sick animal or planting a new garden bed.


    My high school choir and creative writing teachers showed me that beauty lives in both sound and language. From them I learned that creativity, like gardening, flourishes slowly, needing room, courage, and care. Later, my university professor proved that intelligence doesn’t have to stand apart from humor. The best minds often laugh easily and love deeply.


    My past and present work mentors each modeled different kinds of strength and leadership. They also remind me that passion means little without purpose. And my father‑in‑law has quietly taught me the power of service. The quiet, steadfast kind that grounds a family and gives meaning to the work of each day.


    Still, if I had to choose just one man who has most profoundly shaped my life, it would be my husband — my companion through every season. We started out as naive teenagers, knowing little about love and even less about life. Over the years, we’ve built something sturdy and honest: a relationship rooted in communication, respect, and shared goals. We’ve learned to disagree without tearing at the foundation, celebrate without comparison, and choose each other even when life feels heavy.


    Together, we also learned how to be parents — fumbling through the sleepless nights and uncertain firsts. Parenthood stretched us, revealing both our flaws and our capacity for grace. It taught us that raising children isn’t just about shaping them. It’s about allowing them to shape us too.


    When I look around at the life we’ve built, I see our home standing steady on its foundation. The garden is growing richer each year. I see traces of every lesson those men passed along. Most of all, I see the love my husband and I have tended through each season, like the soil beneath our feet. It’s worked by hand, fed by patience, and full of promise.

    If this story speaks to your heart, I’d love for you to join our growing homestead community. Like, share, or subscribe to follow along. We share our lessons about family life, personal growth, and the beauty of building something lasting — one season and one story at a time.

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    Harvesting Traditions

    The hum of diesel engines and the scent of dusty corn fill the air every fall, signaling harvest season and long days ahead. For the local farmers, this time of year brings both relief and pressure—hundreds of acres to harvest before rain or early snow set in. My dad is always there to help, his…

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    Between Joy and Heartbreak: Lessons from Life with Animals

    If you care for animals, you soon learn that joy and heartbreak are neighbors—arriving together, sometimes within the span of a single sunrise. I didn’t set out to be a caretaker, but each creature has reshaped me, leaving lessons that linger long after the shed doors close. Learning Detachment My childhood on a dairy farm…

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    A Flicker of Patience

    It started as a flicker, barely noticeable at first. Each time I passed the faulty bedroom light switch, I felt a spark of frustration. It seemed like such a simple fix, the kind of five-minute job you knocked out after dinner. But every time I mentioned it, my husband would say, “I’ll get to it…

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  • Making People Feel Known: Memory, Family, and a Slower Homestead Life

    Tell us one thing you hope people say about you.

    I Hope People Say I Make Them Feel Known.

    I get a little thrill every time someone says I have a great memory. To me, it means they felt remembered—seen in some small but meaningful way. Remembering a friend’s child’s name, a neighbor’s birthday, or a detail from a conversation months ago is my way of saying, “You matter to me.”

    Over the years, through college, grad school, and now in my work and home life, I’ve been lucky to cross paths with so many different people. I’ve learned that connection rarely comes from big, dramatic moments. It usually comes from the quiet things. I listen closely, ask follow-up questions, and circle back to the small details someone trusted me with.

    When I ask about a new baby, check in on a big project, or remember to follow up on a hard week someone mentioned, it doesn’t feel like a task on a to-do list. It feels like a privilege. I love learning about people’s families, work, and hopes and letting them know their stories didn’t just pass through my mind and disappear.

    That same mindset is woven into how I think about family and homesteading. Both require paying attention. You learn the rhythms of your people, your animals, your garden, your land. You notice when something is off, when something is thriving, when something needs a little extra care. It’s a slower pace, but it’s richer because you’re actually present enough to see what’s happening.

    In a world that moves fast and often skims the surface, I hope people say that I slowed down and truly paid attention. That I listened well, cared deeply, and made even ordinary conversations feel like reminders that they mattered. Whether it’s tending relationships or tending a garden, it’s the small, consistent acts of care that make a life feel full.

    If this resonated with you, it would mean a lot if you liked this post. Share it with a friend who values meaningful connection. Subscribe to the blog so you don’t miss future reflections on family, homesteading, and intentional living.

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    Carrying Their Lessons: A Career Woven with Connection

    The first time I heard, “Good morning, men!” echo off the beige cubicle walls, I felt invisible, a ghost in a room full of voices. Fresh out of grad school and just one of two professional women in the office, I was convinced someone would soon discover the imposter I believed myself to be: a…

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    Bread Crumbs of Connection

    They say food is a universal language, but sometimes, it also has a quiet legacy. Eleven years ago, I was on a road trip with my mom, aunt, and sister when we stopped at a small restaurant and ordered Swedish meatballs. I still remember how delicious they were: comforting, perfectly spiced, and unforgettable. That afternoon,…

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    Reclaiming My Voice: The Path from Isolation to Connection

    Throughout my adulthood, I’ve transformed self-expression into a high-stakes gamble, where the cost of judgment feels like a referendum on my very right to exist.  The terror of having my innermost thoughts laid bare is akin to standing emotionally naked before a crowd, every flaw and contradiction exposed to scrutiny.  Alarm bells sound in my…

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  • Learning to Be Seen: Redefining My First Impression

    What’s the first impression you want to give people?

    When I think about the first impression I want to give people now, it connects closely to how much I’ve learned about myself.

    In my 30-something years, I’ve spent a lot of time shrinking into the background—speaking softly, standing at the edges of rooms, and convincing myself that others didn’t really want to notice me. Somewhere along the way, I mistook invisibility for safety. That belief likely began in childhood, when being quiet felt like the right way to belong.

    But with time, I began to see what that silence cost me. By keeping myself small, I limited the depth of my connections. People knew me only in fragments because I wasn’t showing them a complete person. What I thought was self-protection often turned into isolation.

    Now, I want my first impression to reflect who I’m becoming rather than who I used to be. When someone meets me, I hope they sense warmth and calm, a presence that feels both grounded and engaged. I want my voice to carry confidence without volume—a kind of steadiness that says, “I see you, and I’m here.” Maybe it shows in the way I smile when greeting someone or in how I pause to listen before responding.

    More than anything, I hope to make people feel comfortable being themselves, just as I’m learning to be comfortable being myself. If my presence leaves others feeling seen, valued, and at ease, then that’s the impression I want to give. It’s the one I’ve always been reaching for, quietly, without realizing it.

    Have you ever realized that the way you present yourself isn’t who you truly are inside? Share your story in the comments. What first impression do you want to give people now, and how has that changed over time?

    If this reflection resonated with you, take a second to like the video. Share it with someone who might need to hear it. Subscribe for more conversations about self-growth, confidence, and showing up as your authentic self. Your engagement helps build a community where everyone feels seen and heard.

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