Why We Left Arizona for Indiana

When people hear that we moved from Arizona to Indiana, their jaws almost always drop.

“Why would you leave the warm weather?”

“How are you handling the winters?”

And we understand the question.

Arizona is beautiful. The mountain ranges we hiked and trail rode through still live in our

memories. The desert sunsets. The golden light. The 75-degree winter afternoons that felt like such a gift in January. And of course, we deeply miss the friends and family we left behind.

But we didn’t make this decision lightly.

We wanted something more. We longed to return to the earth. To slow down. To build a life that felt rooted instead of rushed.

We dreamed of evenings with a cup of coffee on the back porch, watching our animals graze — or wander up and join us. (And yes, I’m talking about the goats.)

But Arizona’s hot, dry desert climate wasn’t kind to the life we were trying to grow.

Our garden struggled to survive. The heat took a toll on our animals. Our chickens worked hard just to regulate their body temperatures, and, sadly, we lost a few during the hottest months. Our horses were well cared for with misting systems running almost nonstop in the summer, but they couldn’t graze the way horses were meant to. Grass in Arizona is a luxury — one that comes with steep irrigation bills and constant upkeep.

The land felt tired. And if we’re honest, so did we.

We wanted something different for our life. For our kids' lives’.

A Different Kind of Rich

While the Midwest may not offer mountain views or 75-degree winters, it offers something deeper — a return.

A return to land that stretches as far as the eye can see.

A return to neighbors who would give you the shirt off their back.

A return to four true seasons and soil that actually grows what you plant.

In Arizona, we were beginning to feel like sardines — suffocated by the rapid growth.

Track-home neighborhoods appeared almost overnight. Beautiful desert landscapes slowly gave way to concrete and asphalt. Warehouses crept in and blocked the mountain views that once made us pause in awe.

We craved space and somewhere quieter. We wanted to go somewhere that would let our roots run deep.

Coming Home

Indiana isn’t entirely new to us. I grew up here, and much of my family still calls it home. So when we started talking seriously about moving to the Midwest, Indiana felt less like a leap and more like a return home.

Here, the land stretches wide and open. The seasons shift and remind you that time is moving. The people carry a quiet kind of strength — hands rough from honest work, hearts steady and dependable.

Midwesterners are different. There’s an unspoken honesty here. A willingness to work hard. Their hands are covered in calluses from lives built with intention. They value the land and respect the responsibility of stewarding what God has entrusted to them.

There’s something spiritual about that.

The Moment It Settled in My Heart

One afternoon, my husband and our neighbor were processing pigs. I stopped by with the kids to see how I could help. A few friends had stopped by too — not because they were obligated and not because they expected anything in return — but simply to lend a hand and spend time together.

As the work wound down, I stood quietly listening to the men talk. They discussed the cattle market, shared stories of how they got their start, laughed at old memories. They laughed deep, unfiltered laughter that comes from years of shared work and shared seasons.

Their voices carried that steady Midwestern tone — honest, unfiltered, unpretentious.

The air was cool and the conversation was easy. It was the kind that doesn’t need impressing.

And in that moment, it settled in my heart: this is what we were looking for and I am deeply grateful. I am grateful for where we live. For the people around us. For the way life feels here.

The people are genuine. The conversations are real. The weather is unfiltered — and so are the hearts of the people who endure it.

When I look back at where we were a few years ago and where we are now, I feel nothing but gratitude.

Sometimes leaving comfort is what leads you to where you are meant to be.

And for us, home looks like open fields, muddy boots, goats on the porch, and a life that finally feels like it can breathe.