.jpeg)
Our Story
A couple of years ago, my husband and I began asking questions about what was really in the food we were eating and the products we were putting on our bodies. We found ourselves standing in the kitchen, reading ingredient labels out loud and looking at one another, doing our best to pronounce words we had never even heard before. It was unsettling.
The deeper we went down the ingredients-and-additives rabbit hole, the more concerned we became. We discovered the potential short- and long-term health effects linked to many of the additives found in everyday food and household products. What started as simple curiosity quickly became conviction. We knew something needed to change.
Animals and farming were always part of our lives—but producing our own food was something entirely new.
We started small in Arizona with a few raised garden beds and big dreams of growing our own food. We watered several times a day and built shade structures to protect our plants from the relentless desert sun, but nothing seemed to thrive. It didn’t take long to realize that homesteading in the Arizona climate would be far more challenging than we expected.
We were comfortable in Arizona. We had stable jobs, a strong community of friends, and family nearby. Life looked good on paper. But as the population grew, we began to feel crowded—like sardines in a place that once felt wide open. We longed for more space, a slower pace, and an environment where nature worked with us instead of constantly against us.
More than anything, we wanted to put our family’s health—both physical and mental—first. We didn’t want to merely exist. We wanted to truly live.
So we made a life-changing decision.
We left behind our comfortable jobs, packed up ten chickens, two dogs, one cat, two horses, and our six-month-old daughter, and moved halfway across the country to rural Indiana in search of the life we couldn’t stop dreaming about.
The change was scary. Starting over always is. And it hasn’t been easy. We certainly miss parts of Arizona—especially those sunny, 75-degree winter days. Who wouldn’t?
But what we’ve gained is worth every cold Indiana winter.
Today, we are a family of four living on a small piece of land we’re proud to call home. Our homestead has grown and includes three dairy goats, thirty plus chickens, two horses, two dogs, one duck, pigs over the winter, and our two cats. What began as a small garden experiment has become a full embrace of intentional living.
Homesteading has grounded us and connected us with God and nature in ways we never could have imagined. We feel immense gratitude for the land that produces the food that nourishes our bodies and for the animals that give their lives so that we may live.
Moving to Indiana wasn’t just about homesteading—it was about choosing a slower way of life. Believe it or not, we longed to be disconnected. The modern world is full of distractions. Social media is often considered “community.” Screen time has become an ever-present babysitter. Convenience is everywhere, and in many ways, we’ve forgotten what truly grounds us and makes us whole.
We find ourselves drawn to an older way of living.
We are building a home where time slows down. Where boredom is cured by stepping outside and using imagination. Where we begin and end our days around the kitchen table. Where food is gathered in a basket from the garden and brought inside with dirty hands. Where callouses are earned honestly, feet run barefoot through the yard, and hearts are full.
There is something sacred about burying your hands in the soil. About feeling connected to the earth beneath you. It’s a connection you won’t find on a screen or in a perfectly curated post.
There is nothing quite like harvesting vegetables from our own garden or processing an animal that will nourish our family for months. Knowing exactly where our food comes from. Knowing the products we use in our home are natural and thoughtfully chosen. Watching our children grow up with space to roam, lessons rooted in hard work and gratitude, responsibility to carry, and an understanding of where their food truly comes from.
This life takes hard work. It takes faith. It takes resilience.
But it also brings a deep sense of gratitude and purpose that we wouldn’t trade for anything.
We chose this life on purpose—and we would choose it again.
