People always ask how we “do it all” on the homestead, which makes me laugh because if you peeked through my kitchen window at 7 a.m., you’d see me still in pajamas, hair half up, trying to pour coffee while Ethan is asking if chickens can eat pancakes and Josh is muttering about the mower. There’s no perfect system. What we have are tiny routines, stitched together like a quilt that barely keeps the cold out—but somehow, it works.
Mornings are our anchor. Before breakfast, Ethan grabs the egg basket and heads to the coop. It keeps him busy, gives him responsibility, and yes, I’ve had to clean yolk off his shoes more than once. Josh waters the bananas and the garden beds before the sun hits full blast, while I start a load of laundry because if I don’t, the pile threatens to stage a rebellion. Coffee happens in between, usually lukewarm by the time I get to it.
Afternoons are more flexible, but there’s rhythm to it. Schoolwork, then chores. Ethan feeds the rabbits and pulls a few weeds (with dramatic sighs, of course). I tackle the kitchen or check jars in the pantry. Josh fixes whatever broke that week—which is usually something with wheels or hinges. We try to keep tasks bite-sized so nothing feels impossible. A big job gets split over a couple days, like painting the coop or turning compost.
Evenings are the best part. Dinner is loud, messy, and full of vegetables someone just picked that morning. After dishes, Josh and I walk the garden, checking what needs pruning or harvesting. Ethan tags along, flashlight in hand, hunting for toads like it’s a treasure hunt. It’s not glamorous. It’s sweaty, buggy, and sometimes dinner is late because we lose track of time outside. But those walks keep us connected—to the land and to each other.
The truth is, our “routine” is more like a dance with the homestead, sometimes clumsy, sometimes graceful. It’s not about doing it all; it’s about doing the small things often enough that the bigger picture holds together. And on the days it all falls apart, well, there’s always cereal for dinner and weeds waiting tomorrow.
