Why would we do such a thing?

Just over a month ago, my daughters and I moved out of state, out of our comfortable in-town living, and began a new life in the country on a farm. Homesteading, I think, is the official term for what we’re doing. Wow, what a change!

Thankfully, the farm wasn’t foreign to us. It’s been in my husband’s family for multiple generations, and we visited often since the girls were born to see their grandpa. Once my father-in-law passed and my husband inherited the farm, along with his identical twin brother, our visits became more frequent and longer. 

Still, visiting a farm and living on a farm are quite different. Especially a farm that needs a ton of work and rejuvenation.

We’re demolishing out-buildings, tearing out rotted fences, taking down dead trees, saving for and scheduling a barn-roof repair, restoring and fixing up tractors, and remodeling one of the two farmhouses. (And when I say “we,” I mostly mean: my husband, his brother, and a whole slew of people we’ve hired to do this, that, and the other thing.) The girls and I help when we can, but much of the work is either on a grand scale or requires specialized skills. 

In the meantime, we’re living in the older of the two houses, which is where my husband grew up while his grandparents lived next door. The oldest farmhouse, built in 1854 by a local builder, while neat in its own right, is a place to stay but one that offers very few amenities. We’re living without central air — in June, July & August. We’re without a dishwasher and have no oven or stove — which I can tell you makes meal planning way more difficult. We also have 5 people in the house and only 1 teeny-tiny bathroom.  Also, I’ll spare you the dramatic story,  but we had a bat flying around our living space recently at bedtime, which was a definite first for me. 

Pioneers or cabin dwellers

My husband keeps jokingly referring to us as ‘pioneers,’ and that doesn’t feel like too much of a stretch. Other times, he says it’s like living in a cabin, but I’m not much of a camper. Cabin living has never really appealed to me. I just keep reminding myself it’s all part of the adventure and memory-making for our family. 

Some may wonder why we decided to leave the comfort of our old lives for this? We had a great community, home, school, jobs, friends, and church. How could we leave it all behind? 

For us, it wasn’t a question of ‘how could we?’, but rather ‘how couldn’t we?’ What an awesome opportunity to move our girls to the country and let them experience farm life and small-town living. What a great opportunity to get my husband back home to the life of farming that he had grown up with and always known. A life that he’s good at and loves! 

For us, it wasn’t a question of ‘how could we?’,  but rather ‘how couldn’t we?’ 

Part of a bigger story and legacy

We were handed a legacy that dates back to the early 1800s. We are part of a larger story so why not enjoy it, add to it, and see it carried on? Eventually, living states away no longer made sense. The farm is beautiful, spacious, quiet, and peaceful. The acreage consists of rolling farm fields, ponds, and woods. We have a huge gambrel barn, a woodshop, a tool shed, two garages, and other outbuildings. 

At one point, we had beef cattle and sheep, but we sold them. We’re currently waiting to make repairs to the barn and barnyard fences before obtaining animals again. In the meantime, my husband and brother-in-law rent some of the land for harvesting hay, and they harvest some of the hay themselves to sell at market. Nothing huge or extremely profitable, but small-scale farming that is enjoyable and brings a little additional income. 

Walking by faith

As we shared our decision to move, friends said to my husband and I several times on separate occasions: ‘You are really stepping out in faith!’ And it’s true, we were. 

We decided to gut and re-roof the 1911 farmhouse long before we knew we’d be able to sell our home. Then we listed and sold our home before we were confident we’d have jobs once we moved. It was a little scary, but our faith got us through. We prayed a lot, and we knew God had our backs. How? Because we felt like we were being called to the farm. 

What we knew and others didn’t was that though we’d wanted to move to the farm before 2021, God had closed doors on that possibility. He told us through prayers and through others ‘Not now.’ ‘Not yet.’ ‘Wait.’ And when the time was right, all the doors started opening. It is hard to describe, but awesome to experience! 

Though all the details had not yet been ironed out, we kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other,  and God guided our paths. We did what we could when we could, and He continued to open doors.

Short-term pain for long-term gain

We recognize this short-term pain we feel as pioneers or cabin dwellers is for long-term gain. Living in the 1854 farmhouse without amenities is temporary — only for a few months. Then we’ll move into a completely remodeled farmhouse with all the amenities and newness we’ve been craving.

We are so excited to see the finer details coming together as the contractor and crews paint, put up trim and hang doors, lay new flooring and install fixtures, cabinets, and backsplash. We’re getting close and can’t wait to move in! The girls, in particular, are so anxious to get settled in and make their bedrooms their own. They come to me often with the latest they’ve found on Pinterest or Wayfair, suggesting of course that we purchase the [insert beautiful and expensive item] they’ve just discovered.  

The anticipation is building. The waiting is hard. And despite things being less than perfect right now, we know we are right where we’re supposed to be — creating the life we’ve been dreaming of for years. And that is a blessing! 

Your turn

Are you right where you want to be? If so, wonderful! If not, why not? What can you do to make it happen?  Consider how you might begin creating the life you want through purposeful, deliberate actions.

Yours intentionally, Amanda