The burnout was. So. Real.
After the summer of the never ending green tomatoes, I was so over it. All of it—failing at keeping a garden weed and pest-free enough to feed us, the bees that would never stay where I put them, the chickens that just would not lay eggs, being grateful for the produce that was given to us but overwhelmed at trying to preserve ALL THE THINGS before they went bad, the constant upkeep on our money-pit forever fixer-upper (because let’s face it, it was never going to be the little house on the prairie house that we wanted it to be), and continuing to raise my boys to love and appreciate the outdoors as much as I was pretending to. I felt like I should have gotten into a groove by that point. All this pushing uphill—why hadn’t I reached the top yet? Where was my breezy, fun ride downhill that I had obviously earned? It was a lot. I was faking my happiness for the sake of my husband and my boys. I knew from the start that homesteading wouldn’t be all sunshine and roses, but come on. This wasn‘t nearly worth the stress.
Once Christmas had come and gone, however, and I still couldn’t muster up any inspiration to continue this blog that I had been so passionate about earlier in the year, I decided to have a conversation with my husband. “Have you ever thought about selling this place and starting over, but with less?” “Yes,” was all he said to me, confirming that he was feeling the same.
I said less. Less house to clean, less STUFF, less bills, less upkeep, less stress—but it would open us up to so much MORE. More space, more money, more options of all kinds, more freedom, more happiness. I had been holding on—no—white-knuckle gripping—to the thought that the little brick house on three acres right outside of town was the best for our family.
But in reality, we were playing it safe—which was costing us more to enjoy it less. Not stepping out of our comfort zone limited us in so many ways. Owning our own home and land was great from the outside looking in. Everything we’d worked so hard to provide for our family was right there on display for our neighbors and the rest of the world to see. But if you peeled back the layers, you’d see that we were house poor. You know, the sad kind of poor where you earn enough money to afford a really comfortable life, but it all gets dumped back into home expenses, making you too broke to enjoy the fruits of your hard work. We always had money tied up in this project or that—and it was never the fun homesteading projects. Could I have gone back to work full-time, dumped my kids in daycare and brought a slight upgrade to our mediocre life? Sure. Was that an option we were willing to consider? Absolutely not.
I was mindlessly scrolling the internet one day and saw a quote that gave me peace about our decision to sell what was ours and move onto my husband’s family’s land. I don’t remember it word for word but the gist of it said “Don’t sell the family farm. Your grandparents worked hard for it so you wouldn’t have to.” And that hit me right in the gut. Tripp and I were working so hard to create a legacy to leave to our boys, when we were completely overlooking the legacy that had been created for us. If we were to jump in and contribute, we could be apart of something great that has already been generations in the making. Planting food and natural resources, raising livestock, hunting, fishing… All in our backyard. We can sustain ourselves on that land. We didn’t buy it with our hard earned money, but we will put in the work to feel like we deserve to have it passed to us when the time comes.
So from January to March of this year, we sold our house, bought an 1100 square foot mobile home, moved it onto Tripp’s family’s farm, severely downsized our possessions, and started over. And I have never been this happy or felt this free.
So I’m back and excited for everything that is to come. We’re gearing up for spring and summer on the new Tank Family Farm, with larger vegetable and herb gardens, happier chickens, more space to roam, smaller living, bigger smiles, and even bigger dreams.
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