Five and a half years of writing about farming and homesteading. Almost a thousand readers. Full circle. I am peaceful as I write this. The sun is behind the large walnut tree, filtering its light through the dense branches highlighting the herbs and flowers on the medicine gardens. My front porch rocker is comfortable and my coffee is hot.
We started with chickens, a garden, some dreams. Moved towards alpacas, goats, and sheep, and bigger, simpler; somehow tripped and found ourselves in an apartment. Yet, we gardened at a community plot and hung a calendar of farm animals in the kitchen. Now we own a home of our own in a good sized city skirted by farms and friendly people. “This is not a farm,” I said. But I was wrong. Because being a farmgirl and having a homestead heart does not die. It just gets more creative.
So we have started with chickens, a garden, some dreams. Our house is similar to the one we started in. We have a third of an acre of urban space to dream and build. More raised beds, hoop houses, a greenhouse. We have a root cellar, a wood stove, and fruit trees, and a place to settle and be. By god, this is the urban farm we have read about. Every year it will grow, and get better, and right now it is perfect and warm, and as the cars zoom by to get to work, the hummingbirds drink from the geraniums and honeybees buzz in the pumpkin flowers. The Pumpkin Hollow Farm sign sits proudly on the porch. It would be easy to dream of an off grid homestead, but the challenge and dream will be to see how sustainable we can get right here on this humble plot of land.
A dear, young woman is living with us right now with her little, baby farmboy. I inadvertently see through her eyes what we have here and I am grateful. I have been on a little book tour with my newest book (http://authorkatiesanders.com) but we had time to put up ten quarts of corn broth and a dozen jars of corn yesterday. It is really warm here and the climate whispers of year round gardening with a little wisdom. The chickens frolic, the farm dog barks, the kitties mouse, and all is well in our little house.
So, the original carryall is an apron. Y’all know my great love of aprons! This one carried dozens of corn cobs to the porch to be shucked, to the kitchen to be canned, to the chickens as treats. Don your aprons, Friends, our urban homestead adventures continue…