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When we left the suburbs over 20 years ago, I had no idea where this journey would lead. Yes, we knew we wanted to move to the country and build a sturdy home that focused on providing for our needs, not just looking pretty. We knew we wanted to give our sons the opportunity to grow their own food, build things with their own hands, and learn at their own pace. I didn't know that the food we grew and stored would help us through job loss, or that the medicines we grew in the backyard would become something we regularly used. I didn't know that the wide doors and accessible features we built into the home with aging relatives in mind would come in handy when my brother came to stay with us while recovering from a bad bout of COVID-19 that nearly killed him. I didn't know that the primary heating system would give out during a month-long cold stretch with temperatures well below zero — and that the backup systems and a little extra baking would keep us comfortable while we waited for repairs. I didn't know that when I started sharing our journey online, I would eventually reach millions of people, albeit most only for a short time. I didn't know I'd end up writing a book for a major publishing company or speaking at the Naval War College. And I certainly didn't know when we left the suburbs that I'd be sitting here preparing to host an online summit about resilience — but here we are. This is Part 6 of Letters from the Homestead, a special six-part series leading up to the Resilient Living Summit. Looking back over those years, I can see plenty of places where one small decision led to another, and then another, until we ended up somewhere we never could have predicted. We didn't have a grand plan for all of this. We were simply trying to build a good life for our family, make sensible choices, learn useful skills, and deal with problems as they came. More than 20 years later, I think that's still a pretty good description of resilience. Start where you are. Pay attention. Learn from what happens. Adjust. Keep going. You may be surprised by what grows. That's certainly true for my latest Stories of Resilience guest, Christopher Snow of Autumn Prairie Pumpkins. Stories of Resilience - Christopher SnowChristopher works in cybersecurity. Gardening wasn't part of his career plan. In fact, he'd tried growing pumpkins 10 or 15 years ago, they didn't do well, and he more or less gave up on them. Then his wife decided to start gardening and invited him to join her. This time Christopher noticed something interesting. Some of their pumpkins were being devastated by squash vine borers, while their butternuts, Seminoles, and Long Island Cheese pumpkins were doing remarkably well. So he did what a naturally curious cybersecurity guy does when something doesn't make sense. He started investigating. He discovered that the successful varieties were Cucurbita moschata, with thicker, woodier stems that make it more difficult for squash vine borers to attack them. That discovery led to more research, more growing, and eventually Autumn Prairie Pumpkins, a seed company specializing in moschata varieties. And he's doing all of this on just 0.26 acres. Christopher has devised ways to trellis vines and run them through tunnels around his yard, squeezing an impressive amount of production into a space that many people wouldn't consider big enough for serious food growing. What I particularly enjoyed about our conversation was hearing how Christopher began applying lessons from cybersecurity to gardening. In cybersecurity, you don't wait for someone to break into a system and then hope you can fix the damage. You build layers of protection and try to create conditions that make the system more resistant to problems in the first place. Christopher calls it “security in depth” or the “security onion.” In the garden, that might mean choosing naturally resistant varieties, building healthy soil, using companion plants, and encouraging beneficial insects instead of relying on one solution after trouble arrives. As I told Christopher during our conversation, it sounded a lot like permaculture meets IT security. But the idea applies to much more than gardening or cybersecurity. Resilience isn't about guaranteeing that nothing will go wrong. It's about creating better conditions for success. That's really what we've been doing here on the homestead for more than 20 years. The garden doesn't guarantee we'll never face high food prices or shortages. The wood stove doesn't guarantee the heating system won't fail. Growing medicinal herbs doesn't mean we'll never need a doctor. Having useful skills doesn't prevent job loss, illness, storms, or any of the other unexpected turns life can take. They give us options. That's also the heart of August's Resilient Living Summit presentation, “Resilient Living — Building a Life With Options.” We can't prepare for every possible thing that might go wrong. But we can build lives with more ways to adapt when something does. And I think that's one of the biggest lessons we've learned since we left the suburbs all those years ago. And Now, It's Almost TimeWhen Amber and I first started planning the Resilient Living Summit, September 14th seemed a long way off. Now it's just a few days away. Over the past several months, we've talked with people from many different backgrounds, each bringing their own experiences and lessons to share. Some are homesteaders and gardeners. Some are preparedness experts, herbalists, food preservation teachers, builders, parents, and people who have simply learned a great deal by living through difficult things. No one person has all the answers. But we can learn from each other. That's what I hope you'll take away from the Summit — not a giant list of things you suddenly need to buy or do, but a few ideas that make sense for your life. Maybe you'll learn a new skill. Maybe you'll see a problem differently. Maybe someone will share an idea that gives you an option you hadn't considered before. The Resilient Living Summit runs September 14–19, with more than 20 experienced teachers sharing practical ways to build stronger homes, families, gardens, and communities. It's completely free to attend, and each presentation will be available free for 48 hours. Register FREE for the Resilient Living Summit => https://resilientlivingsummit.com/summit-registration/ If you know you'll want more time with the presentations, the All-Access Pass gives you lifetime access, along with the $900+ Resilient Living Toolkit of additional resources contributed by our presenters. The Early Bird offer ends when the Summit begins Monday, so if you've been considering the All-Access Pass, now is the time to grab it at the lowest price. Get the All-Access Pass + Resilient Living Toolkit => https://resilientlivingsummit.com/all-access/ One Last ThoughtWhen I started writing these letters, I wanted to share some of the story behind Common Sense Home — the things that went right, the things that went sideways, and the people and experiences that shaped us along the way. Twenty-plus years later (thirty-plus years of marriage), we're still learning. We're still planting things to see what grows. We're still trying new things, changing course when we need to, and doing the best we can with whatever life puts in front of us. I suspect that's how it will always be. Thank you for coming along for the story. I hope you'll join us for the next chapter. All our best to you and yours, Laurie |
Nearly 20 years ago, we set out to create a self-reliant homestead. Now we produce our own food and our own power, and can tackle whatever craziness this wild world throws at us. If you’re ready take back control from Big Pharma and Big Food and feel confident facing Everyday Emergencies, join us.
A single scarlet branch reached out of the woods on the nearby roadside, announcing like a banner that fall had officially arrived. On the homestead, the grass under my toes was cool with morning dew as I went to let out the chickens. Heavy fog lingered in the yard as the full moon set and the sun rose, providing a dreamy start to the day. Inside, the aroma of freshly harvested honey mingled with flowers - some purchased by a thoughtful husband, some picked by thoughtful children. Harvest...
The melons were finally ready for harvest. These plants had volunteered in another section of the garden and been moved to a spot in the corn patch where germination was poor (likely due to a certain group of duckies digging up the corn kernels shortly after planting). The combination of the move and dry summer slowed their growth, but they were determined to live and bear fruit. We gathered the fruit before the heavy rains, as too much moisture close to ripening can cause a melon to split....
The faded flower spikes of the mullein plants stood like sentinels, watching over the pumpkin patch. A downy woodpecker flitted in, hopping up and down the spires, looking for seeds. We hadn't planted the mullein, but we'd made room for them when they appeared in the garden bed, as they were useful to man and beast alike. Morning walks included sampling now, checking various fruits for ripeness. The elderberries had started to turn, but early apples were long done. The grapes needed picking...