Nature's Edge Homestead

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Nature's Edge Homestead Follow our wild adventures as we start our homestead.

After life handed us a series of unfortunate events, we decided to slow our life down, focus on our children and their nuero-diversities, and create our dream homestead.

Who have I become?! 🀣🌿Apparently I'm now a woman who collects FENNEL POLLEN.Not fennel seeds.Not fennel fronds.FENNEL. P...
10/12/2026

Who have I become?! 🀣🌿

Apparently I'm now a woman who collects FENNEL POLLEN.

Not fennel seeds.

Not fennel fronds.

FENNEL. POLLEN.

Like some kind of fancy culinary garden Crone.

And listen...

If you've never tasted culinary fennel pollen, we need to talk.

Because this stuff is DELICIOUS.

It's sweet, delicate, floral, with that beautiful fennel flavor that reminds you a little of licorice or anise... but softer and somehow more magical.

It's like fennel decided to put on its fancy clothes and go to a dinner party.

🀣🀣🀣

And apparently, it IS fancy!

Fennel pollen is considered a gourmet ingredient, particularly in Italian cooking, where it's used to flavor things like roasted meats, vegetables, breads, and other savory dishes.

It's sometimes called culinary gold dust because a tiny sprinkle can add an incredible amount of aroma and flavor.

And when you think about it...

That makes sense.

Fennel has been valued around the Mediterranean for thousands of years.

People have used its leaves, seeds, and stalks for food and in traditional herbal preparations for generations.

And somewhere along the way, somebody figured out that even the tiny flowers could provide something wonderful.

I LOVE THAT.

The idea that people have spent generations learning how to use so many different parts of the plants growing around them.

And here I am, thousands of years later, wandering around my garden collecting the same kinds of flavors.

Very ancestral.

Very connected to the earth.

Very sophisticated.

Except...

I'm still just picking it out of the palm of my hand and eating it.

🀣🀣🀣

Somewhere there's probably a Michelin-starred chef delicately sprinkling hand-harvested fennel pollen over a beautifully plated dinner that's part of a $300 tasting menu.

Meanwhile, I'm standing barefoot in my garden, picking it out of the palm of my hand like a woodland raccoon who accidentally developed expensive taste.

🀣🀣🀣

Same ingredient.

Wildly different presentation.

Listen. I contain multitudes. πŸ˜‚πŸŒΏ

BUT CAN WE ALSO TALK ABOUT HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS?!

LOOK AT THOSE TINY LITTLE CURLS!

I had absolutely no idea that the little dried flower parts mixed in with fennel pollen could be so intricate.

They're like miniature golden flowers, ribbons, and tiny sculptures.

And this is just a picture from my CELL PHONE!

I can only imagine what this would look like through a really good macro lens.

Actual pollen grains are microscopic, so much of what we're seeing here is the tiny flower structures mixed in with the pollen.

Which somehow makes it even cooler.

There's an entire little world of detail in something I could have walked right past without ever noticing.

And I think that's one of my favorite things about gardening and getting older.

The more I learn, the more I realize how much I've spent my life overlooking.

Not because these things weren't there.

But because I hadn't learned to see them yet.

Now I'm out here appreciating tiny flower parts, collecting pollen, saving seeds, drying herbs, and getting genuinely excited about things that younger me probably would have called yard debris.

🀣🌿

And the best part?

I grew it.

I harvested it.

I learned something new.

And I got to taste something absolutely wonderful.

No fancy restaurant required.

Although apparently I could use a slightly more sophisticated serving dish than my own hand.

Maybe.

No promises. πŸ˜‚πŸ’š

Has anyone else harvested or cooked with fennel pollen?

What do you use it on?

Because now that I've discovered this little garden delicacy, I have a feeling I'm going to be sprinkling it on EVERYTHING.

The other day my bestie came to visit...And because she knows me so well, she brought me TWO FEED BAGS full of raspberry...
10/09/2026

The other day my bestie came to visit...

And because she knows me so well, she brought me TWO FEED BAGS full of raspberry and Japanese w**eberry cuttings from her yard and garden. 🌱🀣

Some women bring flowers.

Mine brings me bags full of thorny sticks.

THIS IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE. πŸ˜‚πŸ’š

So naturally, I spent some time cleaning them up, trimming them down to size, and shoving them deep into pots of soil with all the confidence of a middle-aged garden Crone who has decided that roots are probably going to happen.

No fancy equipment.

No guarantees.

Just a ridiculous number of sticks, some potting soil, and an unreasonable amount of optimism.

🀣🀣🀣

And now?

We wait.

Through fall.

Through winter.

Until spring, when we find out whether I've successfully propagated a small berry farm...

Or spent an afternoon lovingly planting dead sticks.

Both are entirely possible. πŸ˜‚

But here's the thing...

I don't even need them all to survive!

If just 20% of these babies develop healthy roots, I'll consider that a HUGE success.

That's homestead math.

Start with a ridiculous number of free cuttings, hope for the best, and celebrate whatever Mother Nature decides to cooperate with.

πŸŒΏπŸ’š

And can we talk about JAPANESE WINEBERRIES for a minute?!

Because if you've never had one, you're missing out!

I already have some growing here, and I absolutely LOVE them.

They're these gorgeous little ruby-red berries, sweet with a little tartness, and SO delicious.

They're relatives of raspberries, originally from East Asia, and their canes have these distinctive reddish, fuzzy-looking bristles.

They're also vigorous spreaders, and they've become invasive in parts of the United States.

Which means they're definitely something to research and manage responsibly, especially when you live surrounded by forest like we do.

I love my berries, but I also love our forest. I'm not trying to personally re-landscape the Tillamook National Forest. 🀣🌲

And since birds can spread their seeds beyond wherever they're planted, keeping them contained takes more than just choosing a spot away from the woods.

The raspberry cuttings, meanwhile, have me dreaming about future harvests...

Fresh berries.

Homemade jam.

Desserts.

Maybe a little berry w**e.

Assuming, of course, these sticks have received the memo that they're supposed to become plants.

πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

But you know what I love most about all of this?

The sharing.

There's something wonderfully old-fashioned about visiting a friend and leaving with pieces of her garden.

A handful of seeds.

A few cuttings.

A divided perennial.

Something that grew in her yard that might now grow in yours.

And then someday, you get to pass a little piece of your own garden along to someone else.

I love thinking about how many plants have traveled between friends, neighbors, mothers, daughters, and generations this way.

Not because somebody ordered them from a catalog.

But because somebody said...

"Hey, I've got extra. Want some?"

And somebody else said...

"ABSOLUTELY."

Even if neither of them has the slightest idea where they're going to put everything.

🀣🀣🀣

There's something really special about growing a plant that came from someone you love.

Every time you harvest from it, there's a little reminder of the person who shared it with you.

And that, to me, is one of the sweetest parts of gardening.

Well...

That and the possibility of turning two feed bags of sticks into a whole bunch of free raspberry bushes.

Listen. I contain multitudes. πŸ˜‚πŸŒ±

So now I'm curious...

Does anyone else propagate plants this way?

Are you a rooting-hormone-and-perfect-technique kind of gardener?

Or are you more like me...

Trim it.

Stick it in dirt.

Water it.

Whisper a few encouraging words.

And let future me find out whether it worked.

πŸ€£πŸ’š

I'd LOVE to hear your tips for getting raspberry cuttings to root successfully!

10/07/2026

When you procrastinate going to the dump long enough that the forest sends someone to handle it for you... 🐻🀣

Nature's Edge had a visit from our neighborhood black bear last night.

And apparently he had OPINIONS about the state of our dump trailer.

Yes. This is 100% our fault. πŸ˜‚

We were more than overdue for a dump run.

But listen...

Nobody WANTS to go to the dump.

So the trailer gets full.

Then fuller.

Then somebody balances another bag on top and says,

"We can probably fit one more."

Narrator: They could not.

🀣🀣🀣

Our local bear discovered our procrastination and apparently thought:

Fine. I'LL DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

This bear grabbed FULL garbage bags and dragged them roughly 100 FEET...

UPHILL...

UP OUR DRIVEWAY.

The strength.
The determination.
The cardio.
The complete disregard for our property-maintenance schedule.

🐻πŸ’ͺ

And judging by the aftermath, he had himself a WONDERFUL evening.

We, however, woke up to what I can only describe as...

✨ THE WORST HOMESTEAD EASTER EGG HUNT EVER ✨

Garbage.

Everywhere.

So this morning we got to wander around collecting all of our belongings that Mr. Bear had thoughtfully redistributed across the property.

Very ancestral.

Very living in harmony with nature.

Very "GET IN THE TRUCK, WE'RE GOING TO THE DUMP."

🀣🀣🀣

Message received, sir.

Message received.

🐻 ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
"Excellent buffet. Generous portions. Fun uphill takeout option. Will absolutely return."

Us: ⭐
"Guest was extremely strong but left the place trashed."

Nature's Edge Dump Transportation Department will be resuming operations immediately. πŸ˜‚

Wellllll... I think I've finally solved one of this year's great garden mysteries. 🀣🌿🦌I've spent all summer looking at c...
09/28/2026

Wellllll... I think I've finally solved one of this year's great garden mysteries. 🀣🌿🦌

I've spent all summer looking at certain plants thinking...

What is EATING you?!

Why are you struggling?!

Who keeps nibbling things?!

Slugs?
Caterpillars?
Some mystery beetle?

Do I need to start wandering around the garden at midnight with a flashlight like the increasingly feral garden Crone I am becoming?

And then these two little dudes started showing up.

Mystery solved. πŸ˜‚

We've actually seen these two young bucks hanging around the neighborhood together a few times, and it is ridiculously cute.

They're buddies. πŸ₯ΉπŸ¦ŒπŸ¦Œ

And apparently one of their favorite places to hang out is...

my yard.

And my garden.

You know.

The place where I've conveniently spent months growing them fresh organic produce. 🀣

Suddenly, several of this year's gardening struggles make a LOT more sense.

And I know I'm probably supposed to be annoyed.

I've grown things from seed.

I've watered them.

Weeded them.

Babied them.

Talked encouragingly to them because apparently I've reached the stage of life where I have emotional relationships with vegetables.

And these two little woodland hooligans have been wandering through like...

"Oh good. The lady restocked the salad bar."

πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

But LOOK AT THEM.

I don't even care.

Sir, please stop being adorable while committing agricultural crimes.

We live tucked into the forest, and one of my favorite things about this life is how blurry the line is between "our yard" and "their forest."

The deer come through.

The elk come through.

The birds eat things I planted.

The bugs eat things I planted.

Hank and Myrtle stomp on things I planted.

The goats spend their lives plotting ways to eat things I planted.

And occasionally, despite everyone's best efforts...

WE get to eat something I planted. 🀣🌿

I've basically accepted the economics of forest gardening:

Plant enough for us.

Plant some for the wildlife.

Plant some for the bugs.

Plant some for mysterious circumstances beyond my control.

Then carry the remaining three tomatoes into the house like I have personally achieved food independence.

✨ ABUNDANCE ✨

🀣🀣🀣

But really, I love having them here.

There's something pretty special about looking up from whatever ordinary thing you're doing and seeing these two young bucks quietly wandering around together.

This little patch of earth is part of their home too.

They don't know where our property ends and the forest begins.

They don't know that I paid money for those seeds.

They certainly don't respect garden fencing as a concept. πŸ˜‚

They're just living here alongside us.

And apparently my reaction to discovering the culprits behind some of my garden damage isn't...

"How do I get rid of the deer?"

It's...

"OH MY GOD. WE HAVE YARD DEER."

🀣🦌🦌

Because naturally my brain has already moved on to imagining these two hanging out in the grass with Hank and Myrtle.

Two yard turkeys.

Two yard deer.

A handful of cats lounging nearby.

Me wandering around barefoot carrying a basket of herbs...

Basically I would like to slowly become the slightly unhinged forest Crone in a Disney movie whose yard is full of woodland creatures.

Except the realistic version.

Where everybody is eating my garden and p**ping on the lawn.

πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

And you know what?

I'm completely okay with that.

Welcome to Nature's Edge, boys. πŸ’š

The salad bar is apparently open.

Just...

maybe leave me a zucchini.

🌿🦌🦌🌿

Meet Hank and Myrtle. πŸ¦ƒπŸ¦ƒπŸ’šOur completely accidental pet turkeys.These two weren't actually part of some grand homestead p...
09/21/2026

Meet Hank and Myrtle. πŸ¦ƒπŸ¦ƒπŸ’š

Our completely accidental pet turkeys.

These two weren't actually part of some grand homestead plan.

My best friend over Pearls & Jade and I decided to do a joint homeschool project raising meat birds with our kids.

She went to pick up the birds...

and came home with two baby turkeys too.

Because they were cute.

That was apparently all the justification required. 🀣

They came out with the meat birds and, for whatever reason, never ended up joining our regular poultry flock.

And then the meat birds grew up and eventually became exactly what we'd raised them to become...

Dinner.

(And they have been DELICIOUS, by the way. That whole project was absolutely worth doing.)

But Hank and Myrtle?

They just...

stayed.

πŸ˜‚

Somewhere along the way, without any official family meeting or vote, they became pets.

Technically they're kind of mine and my best friend's shared turkeys.

They just happen to live here...

which means I handle the feeding, housing and truly astonishing amount of turkey p**p, while she receives a steady stream of pictures like a proud auntie. 🀣

Especially now that Myrtle is laying eggs.

Good lord, the eggs.

Apparently I need 57 pictures of every beautiful speckled turkey egg from slightly different angles.

I don't know what has happened to me.

Anyway...

Hank and Myrtle have their own little pen off to the side of the yard, but we're outside so much that most days they're just out here living life with the rest of us.

They wander around eating bugs and weeds.

They follow us around.

They settle down near wherever we're sitting.

The cats will stretch out in the grass beside them.

And they have their own little patio umbrella that they lie underneath when it's sunny or sprinkling.

Because obviously our turkeys needed patio furniture. 🀣

They do occasionally wander into my garden.

They don't actually cause that much damage by EATING things.

They cause damage because they're enormous.

Turkey feet are basically prehistoric snowshoes.

Hank can destroy three weeks of careful gardening simply by deciding he would like to stand somewhere. πŸ˜‚πŸŒ±

And then there's the p**p.

Twice a day or so, I wander around with the hose watering turkey p**p down into the grass so all that lovely fertilizer can return to the soil.

Very ancestral.

Very connected to the land.

Very sacred cycle of life.

Also...

I am literally hosing p**p into my lawn.

Both things can be true. 🀣🌿

But lately I've been thinking about how OLD this relationship between humans and birds really is.

People have lived with domesticated birds for thousands of years.

And they weren't always simply dinner.

Turkeys were being kept by people in the Americas thousands of years ago, and some were valued for their feathers and cultural purposes long before turkey became synonymous with food.

In other parts of the ancient world, people even kept some domestic birds as cherished pets.

And there's something I love about that.

Because sometimes I think we imagine our ancestors interacting with animals in purely practical terms:

This one gives milk.
This one gives eggs.
This one pulls something.
This one becomes dinner.

But humans have apparently been humans for a very long time.

Sometimes an animal is useful.

Sometimes an animal feeds you.

And sometimes somebody looks at a ridiculous little baby bird and says...

"LOOK HOW CUTE IT IS."
..and now everybody has a pet. πŸ˜‚

Thousands of years change a lot of things.

Apparently not that.

And I really love having these two wandering around our little patch of earth with us.

They're useful, sure.

They eat bugs.
They fertilize the ground.
Myrtle gives us beautiful eggs.

But they don't have to earn their place here.

They're Hank and Myrtle.

They belong here because somewhere along the way, they became part of the family.

And there's something wonderfully old and human about that. πŸ’š

So this is Hank and Myrtle...

bug hunters,
garden stompers,
egg producers,
professional lawn fertilizers,
patio-umbrella enthusiasts...

and two very loved turkeys who were absolutely never part of the plan.

Which, now that I think about it, describes quite a lot of the best things in our life. πŸ˜‚πŸ¦ƒπŸŒΏ

It's that time of year again... πŸ‚For a lot of people, September means:Pumpkin spice.Cozy sweaters.Fall candles.Decorativ...
09/15/2026

It's that time of year again... πŸ‚

For a lot of people, September means:

Pumpkin spice.
Cozy sweaters.
Fall candles.
Decorative gourds carefully arranged on the porch.

For me?

SQUASH LEAVES AND SQUASH BLOSSOMS ARE BACK ON THE MENU, PEOPLE. 🀣🌿🌼

Apparently this is who I am now.

Give me a colander and turn me loose in the garden.

The other night I picked somewhere around 6–8 cups of tender squash leaves and a giant pile of blossoms and brought them inside for dinner.

And I swear, every year I get a little more Crone about food.

Twenty-year-old me would have looked at a squash plant and thought:

"Cool. Eventually there will be squash."

Forty-something me is standing in the garden like:

"YOU MEAN I CAN EAT THE LEAVES TOO?!"

🀣🀣🀣

At this rate, by 60 nobody is going to be able to walk through my yard without me pointing at something and saying,

"You know you can eat that, right?"

And frankly... I look forward to becoming completely insufferable. πŸ˜‚πŸŒΏ

Anyway...

I browned up some sausage with garlic, rosemary and oregano, then added a truly unreasonable amount of chopped young squash leaves.

Which immediately cooked down to a perfectly reasonable amount because greens are liars. πŸ˜‚

Once those softened, I added some butter, milk and gravy mix and turned the whole thing into this creamy, savory sausage-and-greens situation.

Then I folded in the squash blossoms and cheese and spooned the whole beautiful mess over jalapeΓ±o cornbread.

Listen.

DEAR. GOODNESS.

It was one of those meals where you take the first bite and immediately start mentally reviewing everything you put in it because you KNOW you didn't measure a damn thing and you're probably never going to recreate it exactly again. 🀣

SO. GOOD.

And this is one of my favorite things about learning to eat more of what we grow.

For so long, I thought the squash was the food.

Turns out I've been standing in the middle of dinner waiting for dinner to grow. πŸ˜‚

The young leaves are food.

The blossoms are food.

Eventually the squash itself is food.

And there's something wonderfully old and Crone-ish about slowly learning to look at the whole plant again instead of only recognizing the part wrapped in plastic at the grocery store.

Not because I'm trying to cosplay Little House on the Prairie.

I like electricity.

I like grocery stores.

I am deeply committed to indoor plumbing. 🀣

But I LOVE learning the old knowledge.

I love walking into the garden with a colander and coming back with dinner.

I love learning that abundance doesn't always look the way we've been taught to recognize it.

And I really love feeding my family something delicious that was growing outside an hour earlier.

So y'all can keep the pumpkin spice for another couple of weeks.

I'm not ready yet.

It's still...

✨ EAT THE SQUASH PLANT SEASON ✨
..and this increasingly feral garden Crone intends to take full advantage of it. 🀣🌿🌼

It's a drizzly day here on the homestead. 🌧️🌿A couple of the kids have the fall ick, and today my daughter came to me an...
09/13/2026

It's a drizzly day here on the homestead. 🌧️🌿

A couple of the kids have the fall ick, and today my daughter came to me and said she wasn't feeling well.

So naturally, I grabbed a little bowl and wandered out into the rain to collect plants.

Because apparently I have reached the stage of womanhood where a child says, "Mom, I don't feel good," and I disappear silently into the garden.

🀣🀣🀣

A little orange mint.
A little Moroccan mint.
Lemon thyme.
Lemon verbena.
Oregano.
Rosemary.
A young mullein leaf.
A fennel frond.
A sprig of lavender.
A clary sage blossom.
And one beautiful blue borage blossom.

A literal cup of nature. πŸŒΏβ˜•

And standing out there in the drizzle, picking one leaf from here and another from there, I couldn't help thinking about how OLD this kind of mothering is.

Long before pharmacies and brightly colored bottles lined bathroom cabinets, people learned the plants around them.

Which ones smelled good.

Which ones tasted good.

Which ones soothed.

Which ones warmed.

Which ones settled a belly.

Which ones were traditionally reached for when somebody was coughing or uncomfortable.

And then there was the other kind of medicine...

The folklore.

The symbolism.

The plants people believed strengthened the heart and spirit as much as the body.

Mint has been used medicinally since the ancient Greeks, Romans and Egyptians.

Rosemary became intertw**ed with remembrance.

Lavender with cleansing, peace and calm.

Fennel with strength and protection.

Borage earned an especially lovely old reputation as an herb of courage β€” the kind of plant you gave someone who needed a little bravery.

And whether every old belief would survive a modern laboratory is almost beside the point for me.

I'm not brewing pharmaceuticals in my kitchen. πŸ˜‚

If my kid needs medicine, she gets medicine.

If she needs a doctor, she gets a doctor.

But there is another kind of healing that we've gotten very far away from.

The healing of being cared for.

Of someone hearing, "I don't feel good," and stopping what they're doing.

Of warm hands wrapped around a warm mug.

Of smelling mint and rosemary and lavender.

Of knowing that somebody walked out into the rain and chose each little leaf specifically for you.

There is medicine in relationship.

There is medicine in ritual.

There is medicine in slowing down.

There is medicine in a literal cup full of the earth you live on. 🌿

And maybe that's the part of the ancient ways that speaks to me the most.

Some woman hundreds or thousands of years ago probably heard her daughter say she didn't feel good...

sighed...

grabbed a basket...

and walked outside to see what was growing.

And here I am doing the same thing.

Except she probably possessed generations of carefully passed-down plant knowledge...

and I possess Google, several plant identification books, and the confidence of a middle-aged woman who has officially entered her Suspicious Forest Crone Era. 🀣🀣🀣

Honestly, I'm here for it.

Because I really love getting to nurture the relationship between my daughter and me this way.

Not just:

"Here, drink this."

But:

I heard you.
I thought about you.
I walked through our garden for you.
I made this for you.
Now come sit down and let me take care of you for a little while.

Maybe that's the oldest medicine of all. πŸ’šπŸŒΏβ˜•

Well... apparently my bathroom has become a rainforest. 🌿🀣Okay, hear me out.I was doing some plant care today.And by "pl...
07/21/2026

Well... apparently my bathroom has become a rainforest. 🌿🀣

Okay, hear me out.

I was doing some plant care today.

And by "plant care," I mean I was doing what any reasonable plant person does when they have too many plants and not enough time...

I put them all in the bathtub.

Turned on the hose.

Gave them a good soaking.

Let them sit and enjoy their little rainforest vacation before returning them to their regularly scheduled lives. πŸ˜‚πŸŒ±

Now...

I have seen those videos where people create a whole rainforest experience for their houseplants.

You know the ones.

The plants are getting watered and suddenly there's mist...

Rain sounds...

Bird calls...

Someone is basically recreating the Amazon rainforest in their living room.

So I guess the question is...

Did I stand in my bathroom making rainforest bird noises while watering my plants?

I'll let you decide. 🀣

(For legal reasons, I will neither confirm nor deny the presence of tropical bird sounds coming from my bathtub.)

ANYWAYS...

While I was giving my plants their luxury spa treatment, I discovered I had a guest.

A POLYPHEMUS MOTH. πŸ¦‹βœ¨

Just hanging out.

Apparently my bathroom rainforest was authentic enough to attract wildlife.

Honestly, I'm taking that as a compliment. πŸ˜‚

This giant beauty is one of the most amazing moths around, and the timing feels pretty perfect.

Polyphemus moths are often associated with transformation, patience, and trusting the process.

Which feels pretty fitting for homestead life.

So much of what we do is planting seeds, waiting, nurturing, and hoping.

You don't always see what's happening beneath the surface.

And then one day...

Something beautiful appears.

Sometimes in the garden.

Sometimes in the woods.

Sometimes...

Apparently...

In your bathtub rainforest. 🀣🌿

The good news: adult Polyphemus moths don't eat plants (they don't even eat at all!). So my houseplants are safe.

The moth, however, has been encouraged to continue its journey outside where it can do moth things.

Now I'm curious...

Have you ever had a wild visitor show up somewhere completely unexpected?

Or am I the only one accidentally creating rainforest habitats in questionable locations? πŸ˜‚

πŸ¦‹πŸŒΏπŸ€£

Catching up on life... Fourth of July Edition. πŸ‡ΊπŸ‡ΈπŸ€£This picture absolutely cracks me up.Out of all the fireworks...The fo...
07/11/2026

Catching up on life... Fourth of July Edition. πŸ‡ΊπŸ‡ΈπŸ€£

This picture absolutely cracks me up.

Out of all the fireworks...

The fountains.

The sparklers.

The booms.

The flashes.

My daughter decided that the Black Snake deserved its own documentary. 🀣

There she is...

Phone out.

Recording it like she's witnessing one of the greatest scientific discoveries of our time.

Meanwhile, my son is practically lying on the ground because apparently the only acceptable viewing distance is three inches away. πŸ˜‚

And honestly...

I get it.

Because this picture instantly took me back to being a kid.

Back when the simplest things felt absolutely fascinating.

A Black Snake growing out of a tiny little pellet?

Magic.

A cool rock?

Treasure.

A stick shaped like a sword?

You'd carry that thing home like you'd just found Excalibur. 🀣

Somewhere along the way, we adults get so busy chasing the next big thing that we forget how much wonder can be packed into the little things.

Kids haven't forgotten.

They're still amazed by bugs.

Still excited about puddles.

Still willing to stop everything to watch a tiny black snake of ash slowly curl across the driveway.

And maybe they're onto something.

I've spent a lot of time lately watching chicks hatch, picking berries, finding wildflowers, watching sunsets, and apparently... supervising a very serious Black Snake investigation.

Turns out, joy doesn't have to be expensive.

Sometimes it costs about 50 cents and leaves a weird little pile of ash on the ground. 🀣

Never lose your sense of wonder, friends.

Life is a whole lot more fun when you're willing to get down on the ground and admire the little things. πŸ’š

Now be honest...

How many of you immediately smelled this picture? πŸ˜‚

:::

Breaking News: We are, in fact, still alive. 🀣I looked at my homestead page today and realized..."Huh... it's been over ...
07/09/2026

Breaking News: We are, in fact, still alive. 🀣

I looked at my homestead page today and realized...

"Huh... it's been over a week since I posted."

Which, in homestead time, is approximately 17 years.

So where have we been?

Well...

We've been busy enough that I think I accidentally skipped a week. πŸ˜‚

We've got intensive in-home services going for our 12-year-old now, which means we have professionals at our house FOUR DAYS A WEEK.

You know what that means?

I now clean my house...
..and then clean it again because someone is coming over.

And then I spend the next hour wondering:

"Do normal people have this much dog hair?"

"Has that spider always lived there?"

"Should I wipe down the refrigerator... again?" 🀣

Meanwhile...

🌱 The garden keeps growing whether I'm ready or not.

πŸ“ Carmel has been overachieving in the motherhood department.

πŸ‘Ά We've been loving on grandbabies.

❀️ Andrew and I celebrated 9 years of marriage!

πŸŽ† We celebrated the 4th, a neighbor's birthday, and our anniversary all at one giant BBQ.

🧩 Somehow... and I truly cannot explain this... we also completed FIVE puzzles.

Honestly, I have no idea where that fit into the schedule.

Apparently Puzzle Me has a completely different calendar than Regular Me. πŸ˜‚

The funniest part about summer on a homestead is waking up with a beautifully organized to-do list.

Then reality says:

"Cute."

By noon you've:

βœ”οΈ Watered plants.

βœ”οΈ Chased an escaped animal.

βœ”οΈ Pulled weeds.

βœ”οΈ Answered seventeen questions.

βœ”οΈ Gone to the creek.

βœ”οΈ Started three new projects.

❌ Finished the one you originally intended.

Every.

Single.

Time. 🀣

I'm beginning to think "getting caught up" is just a myth...

Like folding the fitted sheet.

Or socks that all have matching partners.

Or a wheelbarrow that magically returns itself where it belongs. πŸ˜‚

So yes...

We're still here.

Still covered in dirt.

Still wondering why we own 4,000 flower pots.

Still making questionable fermentation decisions.

Still laughing our way through this beautifully chaotic life.

And don't worry...

I've got enough photos and stories from the past week to keep this page busy for a while.

Turns out we've been making memories faster than I've been posting them. πŸ’šπŸŒΏπŸ€£

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Tillamook, OR
97141

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