JW Homestead

Blog

  • The Comfort Crisis… and Finding a Little Discomfort Again

    The Comfort Crisis… and Finding a Little Discomfort Again

    A while back I read a book recommended by my sister called The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter, and it stuck with me. Not because it convinced us to change everything overnight, but because it put words around something we were already starting to notice.

    Before moving out here, life was good. Honestly, it still is. I have the same career today that I had before we started this journey, and I’m thankful for it. We weren’t running away from anything, trying to disappear into the woods, or looking to reject the modern world. We had a good home, a family, and all the conveniences that generations before us worked hard to create.

    But there was a pattern we started to notice.

    After work was done and dinner was made, the evenings became pretty predictable. Sit down on the couch, turn something on, and relax. Maybe it was Netflix. Maybe it was YouTube. Maybe it was scrolling through our phones. Maybe it was walking into the kitchen looking for something to snack on, not because we were actually hungry, but because it was there.

    There was nothing wrong with any of those things. We still watch shows. We still use technology. We still enjoy all the benefits of living in 2026. But somewhere along the way, we realized a lot of our free time was spent consuming things instead of creating, learning, or doing.

    Then we moved onto 15 acres.

    Anyone who owns land or animals probably knows what happened next. The land did not care about our old routine.

    The animals needed fed whether we felt like going outside or not. The Gallagher electric fence netting needed moved whether it was convenient or not. Projects needed finished, problems needed solved, and more than once we found ourselves standing outside saying, “Well, how are we going to figure this one out?”

    The funny thing is, those moments that sounded inconvenient ended up becoming some of the most rewarding parts.

    When we first started, a lot of things were new to us. We didn’t grow up doing all of this. We made mistakes, learned lessons the hard way, watched videos, asked questions, and slowly figured things out one project at a time.

    Some evenings that used to be spent watching someone else build something, became evenings where we were the ones trying to build something. Some weekends that used to disappear became weekends where we could point at a finished project, laugh about everything that went wrong along the way, and say, “Well, somehow that actually worked.”

    Somewhere along the way, we started changing too.

    Not overnight, and not because country living has some magical secret. It doesn’t. There are plenty of frustrating days, muddy days, exhausting days, and days where an animal decides to remind you that you are definitely not in charge.

    But our normal changed.

    Movement wasn’t something we had to schedule anymore. It was just part of life. Walking the property, carrying feed, hauling water, working outside, building, repairing, and taking care of animals became normal.

    Over time, those little changes added up. We became healthier. We became stronger. In our case, we even reached a point where medications we thought might always be part of our lives were no longer needed.

    That doesn’t happen for everyone, and everyone’s story is different. But for us, changing our environment slowly changed the little decisions we made every day.

    The funny part is we still enjoy all the comforts we had before. The TV is still there. The phones still work. Amazon still manages to find our driveway (but via UPS). After a hot August day moving fence or working outside, I promise you the air conditioning feels pretty amazing.

    The difference is what happens before that.

    A quiet evening on the couch feels a little different after you spent the day outside. A meal tastes a little different when you remember carrying feed bags, breaking ice in the winter, or laughing because the animals once again did something you never expected.

    I think about Coconut and Reese, our first pigs, quite a bit with this.

    For almost two years they were part of our daily routine. Rain, snow, busy work schedules, it didn’t matter. There was always something that needed done. At times it was inconvenient. Sometimes very inconvenient.

    But now there is bacon in the freezer that has an entire story attached to it. A story about bringing them home. Learning as we went. Watching them enjoy fresh grass, sunshine, and a good life. Wondering if we were doing things right. Realizing that two little pigs had quietly become part of almost every day for nearly two years.

    And maybe that’s the biggest change since we started. We still consume things. We still watch shows. We still enjoy modern life. The family just spend a lot more time creating the stories we’ll talk about later.

  • Before the Meal, There Was a Life

    This morning I find myself back home in Ohio after a work-sponsored trip to Croatia. My body is still trying to figure out what time zone it belongs in, so the jet lag had me awake a little earlier than normal.

    The trip home was a little more eventful than planned. After travel delays caused by the power outage at the Pittsburgh airport, we finally made it back later than expected, tired and ready to be home.

    But the funny thing about a homestead is that the world here doesn’t pause while you recover. So this morning, before the coffee had fully kicked in and while my body was still convinced it was somewhere across the Atlantic, the chores still needed done. The animals still needed fed, water still needed checked, and life here kept moving just like it always does.

    And honestly, there is something grounding about that. Walking outside, seeing the animals, and stepping right back into the responsibilities we chose gave me time to think about the conversations I had over the past week.
    Croatia was an incredible experience, but one of my favorite parts was getting to spend time with people from different places, backgrounds, and walks of life.

    As conversations tend to do, eventually they drifted back home. Back to our little homestead in Ohio. The chickens, the turkeys, and especially our pigs, Coconut and Reese. Right before we left for our trip, Coconut and Reese completed their journey from our pasture to our freezer. That became one of the conversations that followed us all the way across the ocean.

    “You named them?”
    “You raised them yourselves?”
    “You cared for them every day and still processed them?”

    They were honest questions, and I truly appreciated them. Truthfully, I love when people ask, because those questions create conversations worth having. And yes, we named them. We knew their personalities. We laughed at their antics. We fed them, cared for them, and watched them grow.

    My wife has always been especially passionate about this part of the journey. If an animal is going to provide for our family one day, then we believe it deserves a life filled with care and respect first.
    It deserves room to explore, sunshine on its back, fresh bedding, good food, and the chance to simply be what it was created to be.

    Around here, that even means letting pigs be pigs. And if you know pigs, you know sometimes they have their own opinions about what “clean” means. And before we left for Croatia, we sat down as a family and had bacon from animals we raised ourselves. It was incredible! Not just because of the taste, but because we knew the story behind it.

    That breakfast represented pver 18 months of care. Sunshine, rain, mud, snow, feed buckets, fence checks, and a commitment we made from the first day they came home.

    One thing I heard more than once was, “I could never eat an animal I raised.” And honestly, I understand why. There is a weight that comes with knowing the life behind your food. A weight that comes from feeding an animal every morning, caring for them when they need you, watching them grow, and knowing that one day they will help provide for your family. But maybe that weight is something worth carrying.

    I think many of us simply grew up generations removed from the story behind our food. It’s not something most of us had to think about. We go to the store, buy what we need, and provide for our families the best way we know how. And there is nothing wrong with that. But this journey has changed the way we see things.

    Every meal has a story.

    Before the package, there was a process. Before the meal, there was a life. Before it reached our table, someone somewhere carried that responsibility. For our family, raising our own animals has not made us care less about them.
    It has made us appreciate them more. We see the work involved. The early mornings, the late nights, the muddy boots, the frozen water buckets, and the little moments along the way.

    We know the animals in our care because we were there for the journey. We feed them. We protect them. We give them sunshine, fresh air, and the best life we know how to provide. And when the time comes, we accept the difficult part of that responsibility too.

    There is sadness in that moment, but there is also gratitude. Gratitude for the animal, gratitude for the lessons learned, and gratitude for the ability to provide food we know and trust.

    This life is not for everyone, and that is okay. We all have different stories, different circumstances, and different ways of providing for our families. For us, this journey has brought us closer to the food on our table and given us a deeper appreciation for the life, the work, and the responsibility behind it.

    Because farmers remember. Homesteaders remember. Not because we are better. Not because everyone has to choose the same path. Simply because we chose to be closer to the story. And while this path is not always easy, it is one we are thankful for every day.

    Because for our family, it is intentional.Hats off to the farmers, ranchers, and homesteaders who continue carrying on the tradition of raising food with care and gratitude.

  • 22 Months Later: From Pasture to Freezer, The Journey Comes Full Circle

    The originally planed 18 month which became 22 month journey from pasture to freezer was not easy, but it is intentional.

    When we brought Coconut and Reese home almost two years ago, we knew what the end goal was. That doesn’t mean you don’t get attached or that the final step is easy. Raising your own food creates a connection most people never experience anymore. You see every part of the journey.

    These pigs turned sunshine, rain, grass, leftovers, milk, and a little feed into food for our family. They spent their days outside rooting around, exploring, and doing what pigs naturally do.

    One of the things Nicole and I have always cared about is giving our animals the best life we can while they are here. They have clean spaces, fresh bedding, pasture, and room to just be animals. Sure, sometimes pigs are going to be pigs and choose the muddiest spot they can find, but that should be their choice, not the only option they have.

    After 22 months, the freezers are full.

    Looking at those packages stacked inside hits differently than grabbing something from the grocery store. Each one represents morning chores, late evenings, hauling feed, carrying water, fixing fences, herding them back to their paddock and all the little moments that happened along the way.

    There is something deeply satisfying about knowing exactly where your food came from and the care that went into every step.

    Tonight’s supper will taste a little better, not because it came with a special label or fancy packaging, but because we raised it ourselves.

    Thank you Coconut and Reese. ❤️