We left the city in 2020.
Traded pavement for pasture.
Moved into a camper on a forgotten Nebraska lot,
just us, some wild dreams, and a post office that barely remembered its own ZIP code.

We thought it’d be six months.
It turned into 617 days of frozen mornings, busted trenches, and something deeper than survival.

We didn’t just build coops and run water lines.
We built a new way of being.

Now we’re headed to seven acres,
renovating a crumbling 1917 farmhouse,
with a creek full of bullfrogs and a fire in our bones
to build something bigger ,
a homestead, a way of life, maybe even a church.

This isn’t just homesteading.
It’s a quiet rebellion.
We’re not chasing likes.
We’re chasing life.

The messy, sacred, hands-in-the-dirt kind.