Last month I needed more bedding for the calves in the barn so one Sunday evening Tom and I ventured over to an old farm near our own place to load up some bales of straw.  While there we gave ourselves a little tour of the old homestead.

I love old farmhouses. Pictures and scenes of a world before my time were flashing through my head as I admired the double front doors, two sets of staircases and multiple layers of wallpaper.  I could picture living a life where you’d watch the sunrises and sunsets from one of the upstairs bedrooms and swing on the now fallen down porch. The house was added on to multiple times with a barn, shed and what appeared to possibly be a smokehouse circling the property.

Walking around that day and soaking in someone else’s history got me thinking about homesteading from way back when and the modern day homesteader’s of my generation.

I love growing my own food, tending to the animals, hauling wood to feed our woodstove, butchering chickens, chasing cows and breathing in the scent of fresh turned soil. The dirt, blood, sweat, blisters and tears that come with the daily grind of keeping a farm going.

But I also love running water, automatic chicken pluckers, flipping on the furnace and electric fences.

But just as many homesteaders before me, and many to come after I’m gone, there’s just something special about this homesteading gig that speaks to me.

It’s the one thing which tends to always connect my heart and soul to the earth and God.

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