Blogging is the one chore I almost never mention when I post pasture photos or share another batch of goat-milk caramels on Instagram. You drop by my corner of the internet for chicken-tractor hacks and seed-starting tips, not for tutorials on WordPress plugins. Still, the truth is that writing, photographing, and publishing this blog eats up as many hours as baling hay or mucking stalls. It funds the feed bill, keeps the lights on in the barn, and lets me stay rooted here on 47 windswept acres.
So why am I finally pulling back the curtain? Because questions about the how behind the homestead blog land in my inbox daily. I figured it was high time to answer them all in one place….straight from the owner of the mud-splattered boots and the URL alike. Pour a mug of whatever’s hot on your stove, grab a slice of fresh-churned buttered bread, and let me tell you how this digital side gate to our farm came to be.
My Story…
I opened the blog on a whim. The fall garden was tucked in, calves were weaned, and I was bored—a dangerous condition for someone who likes projects. Our local friends were glazing over whenever I launched into rants about fermented feed ratios, and I needed an outlet. A free Blogger account looked harmless enough.
For the first six months I mostly posted diary-style updates: how the pigs rearranged their paddock, why the tomatoes succumbed to blight, and what I learned from trying to hand-stitch leather gloves. Then one ordinary Tuesday a reader emailed to say she’d tested my three-ingredient fly spray on her mare and it actually worked. That light-bulb moment shifted everything. I realized the blog could be more than a scrapbook; it could serve and teach. Once I anchored my writing in that mission, consistency followed.
There was no master plan, no branding kit, and certainly no monetization strategy. I changed themes like most people change barn towels, snapped photos on an outdated phone, and learned SEO only after an online buddy gently suggested I stop titling posts “Stuff I did Today.” Detours and mistakes taught me more than any course could have. If I started over tomorrow I’d outline clearer goals, but I don’t regret a single pothole—each one helped shape my voice.
So, how do you make money from a blog?
First myth to bust: traffic alone is not a pay check. A recent survey shows only about 5% of bloggers ever turn their sites into full-time income. Another found that 81% never even clear $100 total. It took me fourteen months to see my first deposit—$12.73—and yes, I celebrated like I’d hit the lottery because proof of concept matters.
The only sustainable path I’ve found is multiple streams of income that stack like a food-forest canopy. Here’s what currently fuels our farm budget:
- Essential oils & natural farm care
I never planned to sell oils, but readers kept asking what I used on cracked hands or mastitis-prone udders. Partnering with a transparent brand that third-party tests every batch lets me recommend products with a clear conscience. Education-heavy sales account for half my blog revenue because they deliver solutions, not just stuff. - Digital products
E-books such as Barn-Boot Budgeting and courses like Sheep 101 in Seven Days transform scattered blog posts into organized road maps. People pay for speed and structure. The launch weeks are chaotic—think kidding season on caffeine…but royalties roll in long after the cart closes. - Affiliate programs
If I rave about the broad fork that finally conquered our clay subsoil, I link to it. Should a reader buy, a small commission covers hosting fees. I stick to gear we personally abuse on the farm, plus curated bundles from fellow homesteaders. - Ads
Display networks aren’t glamorous, yet the trickle offsets email software, camera upgrades, and plenty of chicken feed. I run minimal, speed-optimized ads so pages still load faster than a calf can escape an open gate.
Diversifying guards against the algorithm blues. If oil sales dip, course revenue or affiliate clicks pick up the slack. My advice: layer income early, track relentlessly, and lean into channels that match your personality.
How Do You Find the Time?
I won’t romanticize this: managing a blog while home-schooling three kids, calving out cows, and rotating poultry tractors is like juggling eggs while riding a draft horse. During year one I wrote only during naps and after bedtime. That patch-work schedule kept me afloat but burned me out.
When monthly page views crept into six figures, I hired a neighbours’ teenager for child-wrangling two afternoons a week. Focused writing blocks trebled my productivity and—more importantly—let me show up at supper with energy left for stories and card games. If childcare isn’t an option, swap kids with a friend, carve out dawn hours before chores, or time-block with ruthless honesty. Moms managing blogs report that scheduling just 1–2 dedicated hours daily can move the revenue needle significantly.
Batching is my other secret. Mondays: outline posts. Tuesdays: photography. Wednesdays: recipe testing or DIY builds. Thursdays: draft and edit. Fridays: schedule social media and email. The animals never stick to this grid, but the framework prevents analysis paralysis.
My Top 3 Tips for You
- Invest in the right tools
skimping on a solid theme and reliable hosting cost me months of growth. Speed matters—for readers and for Google. Compress images, use a clean design, and learn basic photo editing so every hero shot pops. - Be consistent
Algorithms love routine, and readers crave reliability. Whether it’s weekly fencing tutorials or monthly pantry audits, set a cadence you can actually maintain. Consistency extends to engagement: reply to comments, send newsletters even when open rates slump, and show up in your community groups. - Don’t quit
You will experience ghost-town days when no one comments, pins, or purchases. Revisit your why. Mine is empowering families to produce one more item at home this year than they did last year. When metrics dip, that mission stays rock-solid. Remember: 30% of bloggers start earning within six months, but another 28% don’t reach full-time income until two years in. Tiny, repeated actions compound into large outcomes.
Putting it all together
If my journey proves anything, it’s that humble beginnings can bloom into real impact. I wrote my first post in a draftee farmhouse office, convinced only my mom would read it. Today the blog not only feeds cattle and kids but also supports two part-time contractors and a growing online community of resilient doers.
Maybe you don’t raise bottle calves or can venison, but the blueprint transfers: share what you learn as you learn it, diversify revenue, guard your calendar like you guard the tomato patch, and commit for the marathon, not the sprint. Someday you’ll look back at your analytics— or the hand-lettered thank-you notes from readers—and think, “All this sprouted from one late-night decision to hit ‘publish.’”
Now close the laptop, friend…the sourdough starter needs feeding, and tomorrow’s post will be waiting when you get back.
