Sometimes the Lord chooses to answer our desperate cries quickly! Man, oh man, did this happen fast! In the context of The Elliott Homestead, this is huge news! And great news. Ya’ll. We bought a farm. Do you like how before I drop a bomb I always say ‘y’all’? I blame it on my Southern husband.
Today is a day that I have been waiting for for a very, very long time. The day when The Elliott Homestead Family Table comes forth to you, my readers! I’ve been tucked away in my closet hiding from my children, I mean working hard, for the last year and a half to bring this cookbook
I often receive emails from readers wondering where to begin their homesteading journey. And much to their disapproval, I’m sure, I always respond with the same, vague answer (which I’m sure offers them no help but I say it anyway): DREAM. I can’t overemphasis the importance of dreaming for the homesteader. Because, after all, who
Remember that time you were pregnant, for your fourth time, and you felt pretty tuckered? And remember when it only took 14? 15? 16? (how many weeks am I again? does anyone even count the 4th time?) to grow out of your brand new wardrobe that you finally splurged on after weaning the last baby?
I’m not quite sure how it happened. And yet, here I am. Staring at small stacks of beautiful and fresh curriculum books. It makes me want to sharpen pencils. And, I don’t know, recite the Pledge of Allegiance or something. I’ve hinted very briefly at the fact, but today, I’m finally coming out. Y’all. We’re
Ya’ll. Thank you for allowing me time to rest… to remember… to reflect after Sal’s passing. I’m most certainly not ‘over it’. Nor am I ‘healed’. But I am very much thankful for the time I had with my girl and that her passing was peaceful. These last few days have been fairly peaceful on
It’s funny, being a blogger. I get to share pieces of my life with an almost anonymous audience, set somewhere out in the world wide web. And yet here you are… praying for me… encouraging me… challenging me. You know that Stuart hates beans. And you know that I have two uteri. I mean, come
My friend Angela has always been a classy woman. The girl was reading about Princess Diana’s fashion when she was 12. I mean – come on. I was still wearing platform shoes, flared jeans, and rhinestone belly tanks. “Classy” has never really been a word that I would use to describe my style. Wait, Shaye,
I swear, y’all. You cannot even make this stuff up. Farm life… home life… they continue to just leave me speechless. Ya, speechless. Or screaming. Either one. So take a walk with me down the lane, while we sip on some (potentially spiked) iced chai teas and I’ll tell you a story… While making our
Summer has a bit of magic that swirls around the fringes of complete insanity. Just when I think I’ll surely hole up and die of exhaustion, there are teeny moments of pure, well, magic that revive my soul enough to complete another task… another chore… another harvest. While I was snuggled up to Sally’s flank,