Homesteading has been around for ages. It was pretty much all my brothers and sisters and I knew growing up, but we didn’t know it had a fancy name. It was how we were raised; it was how we were taught… it just was. We didn’t know that other people didn’t live like us. At least I didn’t until I started school.
We had a garden every year. When we left Michigan and moved to Tennessee, we lived in town just down the road from the school. It was probably about a two-acre spot of land, and Dad planted at least an acre of it in garden vegetables every year. Mother would get home from work, we’d eat supper about 4:30 in the afternoon, and then it was out to the garden. Everyday. At any given time, we might also have chickens, ducks, geese, and once we even had a bull. It wasn’t easy, but all things considered, we didn’t really complain all that much. It may have been because we knew it wouldn’t do any good, but it was probably more due to the fact that that was just the way things were.
When I moved out and had a home of my own, the garden just wasn’t much of a priority anymore. I had one for a while, but with no one there to reiterate why the garden was necessary, it fell by the wayside. I figured out how much easier it was to drive to the store and buy all the vegetables I needed in handy little cans. All I had to do was open the can, heat, and eat. Much more convenient than spending all that time and energy in the garden.
Fast forward 30 years and my thought process has done another complete flip. Here we are planting a garden that seemingly gets bigger every year, and we also raise chickens and goats.
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. Sometimes the lack of rain dries everything up, sometimes the torrential rains wash everything out, and sometimes the bugs and wild critters get to eat more than we do. But still, we try again every year. I have come to realize that this garden doesn’t just produce stuff that my family and I like to eat (as homegrown vegetables are definitely better than those out of those handy little cans.) This garden also produces memories that will one day bring a smile to many faces.
Our children are grown now, but by continuing the tradition and teaching our grandchildren, they will know exactly what goes into their food, they will see how hard work pays off in the end, and they will acquire morals and work ethics that future bosses will appreciate. They will learn everything that my husband and I were taught about self-sufficiency and providing for family, and maybe, if we’re lucky, it will instill in them a love of watching something grow that they planted with their own two hands along with a sprinkling of fond memories of spending time with Nana and Pop.
Isn’t it amazing what one little garden can teach?
