Homesteading dreams

I’m really excited today to introduce you to Jenna Woginrich, author of Made From Scratch, Chick Days, and her latest book, Barnheart, which is her memoir as a 20-something, single homesteading woman. If you already know her or her work, then I don’t have to tell you how incredible she is, but if she’s new to you, then you are in for a treat! Some people think I’m brave, but it took my husband and me almost a decade of talking and planning and procrastinating before we found our place in the country. Jenna had the courage to do it by herself a couple of decades younger than I did. Yeah, I’m kind of jealous thinking about what I could do out here in a younger body!


What follows are a few thoughts from a recent post on her blog, Cold Antler Farm. If you want to know more, of course, you can head over there and read as much as you want. But if that isn’t enough for you, Jenna has graciously agreed to give away a copy of Barnheart to some lucky winner. So, if you want a chance to win, post a comment at the end of this post by midnight Sunday, March 11, and tell us about your homesteading dreams! Sorry but anonymous posts are not eligible, so if you’re not a registered user, be sure to put your name in the post, so I’ll know who you are. I’ll use random.org to pick the winner!

On Failing

I have absolutely zero fear of failing at this, at
ANY of this. I have no fear of losing my corporate job, or my house
burning down, or a horse breaking his leg in the field. I am lucky to be
29 as I write this, young enough to accept some serious failure if that
is what life throws at me. If I lose my job I’ll get another. If my
house burns down I’ll rent a trailer and rebuild it (that’s why I pay
for insurance). And if a horse I loved breaks his legs in the field I’ll
put a rifle to his head and shoot him. I’m not scared of loss, risk, or
pain. Life is a sad, messy, and scary place and I accept the dark parts
of it as much as the light parts. I refuse to spend a life setting
myself up to not face these things and then label it “successful”. I
know a lot of miserable people with money in the bank and 401k plans who
admittedly never really lived a day in their lives. They are already
gone.

This is because people make decisions in their everyday
lives as if they are planning on eventually running for Governor. As if
someday down the line at a great, televised debate their poor choices
will be pulled out of the ether and shoved in their faces. As if a
moderator in a blue suit will whip out an index card while you sweat at
the podium and read to millions of viewers: “Remember in 2009 when you
wanted to buy that tractor, so you took out a home equity loan to buy it
and build the tractor shed and the farm was foreclosed on 15 months
later?! Why should we vote for you based on these horrible outcomes to
your decisions?” Most people are terrified of things not working out,
and being called out on them. It doesn’t have to be a televised debate
either. They’re scared of being called out at a PTA meeting or dinner
party, as if their mistakes are fodder for the sick comfort pot for
those too paralyzed to make them themselves.

You can’t go
through life scared to fail. Lord knows I have failed several times with
this farm, on this blog, and in life in general. I failed horribly in
matters of the heart that I will never feel comfortable sharing on this
blog. I failed my best friend Kevin, and I lost him. I miss him every
day. I failed to keep that rental in Vermont because I insisted on this
life. I failed at keeping my first sheepdog, Sarah. I failed at owning
and raising a pack goat named Finn. I expect to fail some more. So be
it.

The very best advice I can give is DO NOT be afraid of this.
Do not let utter failure stop you. If your plans fail you will not be
stabbed, or put in jail, or burned at the stake. Nothing happens but
repairs and remorse, both heal in time. If someone points out a flaw,
mistake, or risk then you raise a pint to that lesson and take a long
drink. The correct answer to that moderator is “Damn right I got that
tractor. Best 15 months of my life on my own land, there on than back of
Ol’ Green. Shame the farm failed, though.” Had that example farm
succeeded that tractor would have been just another risky, but correct,
decision. Since it failed, it gets thrown in our faces by the other
people safely watching from the docks while you set sail for a dream.
Docks are miserable places, get off of them. You’ll drown dry and
standing.

On Money

I
do not have a big savings account or a lot of money. I live paycheck to
paycheck alone in an old farmhouse where the mortgage, utilities,
upkeep, truck payment, insurance, taxes, and animal care all falls on my
shoulders. My office job pays around $440 a week, take home pay. (There
are waiters making more money than that.) I I keep my office job
because I like it. I like the people, the design work, and I like
knowing I have health care coverage in case of an emergency. It is a
twenty minute commute and I can bring my dog with me so I consider it a
blessing. The rest of my income is earned through Cold Antler. I run
classes, workshops, webinars, CSA, yard sales, and go Six Ways to Sunday
to get the bills paid. I have always managed to do it, even if just
barely. I was scraping by just as tight in the cabin in Vermont with
twenty chickens and three sheep on a cheap rental as I am now. Clearly,
my expenses have gone up but so has my income. I am on my fourth book,
holding a record number of events, and making it all work by the skin of
my teeth no matter the time or energy needed to make it happen. I have
always had enough, and I believe I will continue to make my choices work
no matter what life throws at me. If things got tight I’d take on a
roommate, sell antiques, teach music lessons, sell livestock, run more
workshops, start public speaking, plan more book tours, and write,
write, write till my fingers bleed and my computer lets out one last moan
before the screen fades to black.

If supporting a farm that
runs like this makes you uncomfortable, then do not support it. If
supporting a dream that runs on fumes makes you feel as alive as it does
for me, then support the hell out of it. I do the same for others like
mine every chance I get.

On Being Realistic

Merlin, the Fell pony that Jenna is buying

I
am not interested in what’s realistic, never have been. Most people who
say “realistic” are just using it as a synonym for conventionally
manageable and emotionally safe. Let me tell you what realistic is.
Reality is what is happening in your life right now. Not what you
can afford. Not what people tell you is manageable. Not what you
have been advised, lectured, or ordered to do. My reality is a small
farm full of animals in upstate New York. My reality is keeping the
mortgage paid, animals fed, fiddle strung, and inspiration alive and
breathing in a way that is always moving towards my true goal, which is
an independent and creative life as a writer who pays the bills with her
words, workshop and blog, and pays for her groceries in blood, sweat,
and tears on her own land. In my fairly eccentric and unconventional
reality, Merlin is as realistic as it gets. He is simply what may happen
next.

I am a firm believer in jumping into life head first,
naked, and scared. What’s the point of being alive if you aren’t testing
your heart rate and taking chances? After all, nothing is safer than a
person in a coma in a hospital bed. For me, being vulnerable, being
risky, being afraid… this means you are alive. I am this way with my
farm, my relationships, myself. If I love someone I tell him. I have yet
to be told one loved me back, but one of these days it is going to
stick. If I want something I go for it. And if I need something I make
it happen or ask those who can make it happen for me. I do this fully
aware that I may fail miserably and many might shake their heads. But I
wake up every morning excited about my life, which to me is worth all
the risks, all these and more. There is nothing stagnant or comfortable
here, shit I don’t even own a couch to sit on, but that’s how I like
life. I see my life as a moving animal: always hungry, heart pounding,
blood hot and looking ahead. Always, ahead.