In early spring, five years ago, I started the seeds for my first garden. While they grew, my husband and I built raised beds for our front yard and a small one nestled in by the back door for herbs. They all grew wild and unyielding and were perfect.
That same spring, I picked up a little chirping box from the post office and started my first flock of chickens: Evie, Bea, Agnes, Maude and Tilly. That summer I put by my first small batch of strawberry jam. In winter I tried baking my first loaf of homemade bread. (I had to keep trying).
This month marks the one year birth day of this little homestead. It is a modest but bigger space than before; we want to put our roots down here. Our little chicken flock of five has grown to ten, and we have added four fiber sheep and a guard dog, a dream come true. We have planted our first fruit trees, and laid out plans for a garden. And our house! The old, four-room farmhouse with creaky floors and big windows. It is home.
We have been so lucky and have worked so hard. We have seen loss and suffered heartache. It is part of the good work of creating home, building a life. We are so grateful and hopeful, and so, so happy to be here.