When Mike first suggested selling our homestead and beginning again somewhere else, I wasn’t convinced. We had poured years of work into the place we were leaving, and I loved our home, our land, and the life we had built there. Starting over somewhere else was not something I had envisioned for this season of our lives.
But after more than fifty years of marriage, I’d learned something about my husband. Every so often, he begins talking about a decision with a certain quiet conviction—a tone in his voice I’ve come to recognize. I can’t fully explain it, but when I hear it, I’ve learned to pay attention. Looking back, those moments have often marked the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. This was one of those moments. I was still sad about leaving the homestead we loved, but I was no longer uncertain about the direction. Once that assurance settled in, I was all in.
Eighteen months ago, we stood together on a piece of bare Tennessee land and tried to imagine what someday might be here. There was no house, no garden, no orchard, no fences—just open land and the opportunity to begin again. Three months later, we moved onto the property in our RV.
Since then, we’ve watched the place change around us. We’ve lived through excavation and concrete, framing and roofing, plumbing and electrical work—and more decisions and delays than I could possibly count. Slowly, what we could only imagine while standing on that bare land began to take shape. And now, fifteen months after moving onto the property, we’re finally getting close. As I write this, we’re about a month away from moving into the house.
For a long time, that has felt like the finish line. But lately I’ve begun to see it differently. A few days ago, we brought home three hens from friends who were moving out of the area. It’s a small thing compared with building a house, but somehow their arrival feels significant. After so many months of contractors, construction materials, inspections, boxes, and waiting, we’re beginning to turn our attention toward the everyday rhythms of homestead life.
The chickens. The bees. The gardens and fruit trees still waiting to be planted. The land we’re still learning. The projects that will work exactly as planned—and, undoubtedly, some that won’t. There is so much still ahead of us.
That’s really why we decided to begin this journal. Some entries will look back at the road that brought us here. Others will simply record life as it unfolds—the projects, the mistakes, the lessons, and the little victories that make this lifestyle so worthwhile.
The house may finally be nearing completion. But the homestead is just beginning.