Endless Adventures

  Sweaty, Sun-Kissed, and Surrounded by Feathers This summer has been hot —the kind of heat that makes your shirt stick to your back, your hair cling to your forehead, and your water bottle your constant companion. But honestly? I’m loving every sweaty, messy, joy-filled moment with our chickens. Our little flock has found their summer groove—scratching, pecking, dust-bathing, and giving us the occasional judgmental side-eye when their treats don’t come fast enough. The boys have become my trusty chicken helpers, eager to hold their favorites and help with feed time. Even Jeremiah, who’s never been much of an animal lover, is the first to run out and scoop up Sunny or Justine. Watching their confidence grow around the chickens (and the chickens’ trust grow in return) has been one of my favorite parts of this whole adventure. They’re not laying eggs yet—though we’re patiently waiting!—but this season has already given us something more. It’s about giving the boys something to look f...

Small Good Things Add Up Too Sometimes the big stuff feels like too much — the to-do lists, the worries, the things we can’t control or even name. On those days, I call my mom. Because sometimes, all we really need is our mom. She’d tell me to stop, get up, and walk around the house touching the things I’m grateful for, one by one. I mostly roll my eyes or feel resistance rise in me, but it helped more than I care to admit. So today, I’m doing just that. I’m pressing pause on the noise and focusing on what’s holding me together — the little joys that matter more than they let on. Because if small bad things can pile up and snowball into a really hard day, then maybe the small good things can too. So this week, I’m holding onto: The sound of my boys laughing — that wild, full-bellied kind of laugh that bounces off the walls and somehow makes the chaos feel like home. Our growing garden! — I just planted pumpkins a few days ago and they’re already sprouting! I have no idea what I’m doi...

What Healing Looks Like This isn’t a picture-perfect story about healing. It’s a real one. One that is still in progress. The kind with messy days, aching bodies, and small wins that feel big. I turned 30 this year. And honestly, I was excited about it. I wasn’t one of those people dreading the number. I had a plan for healing, a new surge of energy, and a roadmap for chasing down my goals and dreams. This was supposed to be the year I focused on my health and finally gave myself permission to move forward with the things that mattered most. I have a beautiful life — a husband I adore, two little boys who keep my days loud and full, and chickens in a backyard coop my husband built just for me. I’m giving my sons a sliver of the farm life I grew up with, and for that, I’m endlessly grateful. But instead of ringing in my 30s with celebration, I spent my birthday at a funeral. A sudden and tragic death in the family, far too familiar and far too soon. It stirred up old wounds from a loss ...

There’s a moment that splits your life into two parts—before and after. For me, that moment was losing my father-in-law, Dwayne. He wasn’t just family by marriage; he felt like a second dad. He made you feel welcome and loved, always ready with a smile or a joke. He was full of joy and laughter, so much like Josh. And now, as time goes on, I see more and more of Dwayne in him. When I met Dwayne, his family had already come close to losing him once. I never knew the version of him before that moment. I only ever knew the man who had been given a second chance and chose not to take it for granted. He understood that God had spared him, and he didn’t waste that gift. He embraced every day with gratitude and lightness. He bought the truck he had always wanted. He spent every spare moment with his family. He laughed loudly, hugged tightly, and lived fully. Looking back, I can say without hesitation that Dwayne lived his best life. But his death still came out of nowhere. He was young. It wa...

We don’t live on a farm. There are no rolling fields or red barns in sight— just a small city lot and a heart full of dreams. But we’ve come to learn something pretty amazing: homesteading doesn’t have to start with land. It starts with what you have, where you are, and a little faith that it’s worth beginning anyway. For us, it started with a garden. Seven tomato plants, a few peppers, one tomatillo, and four cucumber plants took root. We added an herb bed filled with basil, cilantro, oregano, and chives—plus two blueberry bushes and one little strawberry plant. That alone felt like a big win. But then… we decided to try something new. Chickens. I’ve always wanted chickens. For years, I’d asked Josh if we could build a coop. Each time, he gently turned me down with the same line: “We can’t have chickens in the city.” So, I let the idea go. That is—until his friend (who lives just down the road, I might add) did get chickens… and a coop. And surprise, surprise—we could have them a...