So there’s this spot in the yard that just kept nagging at me, you know the one. Weeds, random buckets, a shovel that’s been leaning against the fence since… well, longer than I care to admit. Josh looked at it one day and decided it would be the perfect place to put up a mini hot house. Eight feet by ten feet, nothing fancy, but plenty big enough to make me grin every time I step inside.
Of course, he made it his own way—measuring tape hanging out of his pocket, muttering about 2x4s, and occasionally hollering for Ethan to “hold this real quick.” Ethan didn’t mind though, he got to use the cordless drill for a few screws and now swears he helped build the whole thing. Honestly, I’m not going to argue. Let him have his glory.
The best part? Walking into that little hot house feels like stepping into a secret garden, even though it’s literally just steps away from the chicken coop. The air hits you warm and earthy, with that damp smell of soil that makes me want to start planting way more than I actually have space for. My orange trees outside are still trying to decide if they like me, but inside that plastic bubble, the seedlings practically jump out of the dirt.
Josh, of course, had to brag about how “sturdy” it is. He even gave it a little shake, like some kind of product demo. Meanwhile, I’m just over here thinking about how many tomato plants I can cram in before summer. Spoiler: it’s going to be a lot. And don’t even get me started on the herbs—I could probably supply half of Homestead with basil by July.
Sometimes I sneak out there early in the morning with my coffee, barefoot in the dew, just to peek at the little green shoots like they’re newborns. It’s quiet, except for a goat bleating in the distance or a chicken announcing she laid an egg, which isn’t exactly peaceful but somehow still feels like home. This makes the Homesteading Wife very happy, obviously. I may even do another boudoir photo shoot out there in the hothouse.
Funny thing is, the hot house isn’t just about the plants. It’s about Josh building it with his rough hands and Ethan’s proud “I helped.” It’s about me finding a spot to breathe for five minutes before the day really starts. It’s this little structure in the backyard that somehow makes the whole property feel bigger, like the possibilities stretched right along with those plastic walls.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s proof that sometimes the best gifts are the ones made with wood scraps, sweat, and a whole lot of love.