I need to tell you about the hardest thing Christian and I have ever done, and it’s not what you might expect. It’s not milking cows in subzero temperatures or building a homestead from scratch or raising three kids in the middle of nowhere Wyoming.
It’s running a small-town school.
Two years ago, when Christian first mentioned the possibility of starting a charter school in our tiny community, I thought he’d finally lost his mind. We were already juggling a homestead, a business, three active kids, and the general chaos that comes with living 40 miles from the nearest grocery store.
Adding “education revolutionaries” to our resume seemed like the kind of idea that sounds good after too much coffee and not enough sleep.
But here’s the thing about Christian: when he gets an idea in his head about something that could genuinely help people, he becomes absolutely relentless. And the more we looked at what was happening in our local schools—budget cuts, declining enrollment, kids having to travel an hour each way for high school—the more convinced we became that someone needed to do something.
So we decided to be the someones.
Fast forward two years, and Christian is now the CEO of our local charter school. I’m on the board of directors, which means I get to participate in all the exciting adventures like budget meetings and state compliance requirements and figuring out how to provide quality education on a shoestring budget.
And let me tell you, it’s been the most challenging, frustrating, rewarding, exhausting experience of our lives.
Starting a school from scratch is like homesteading on steroids. Everything takes longer than you think it will, costs more than you budgeted for, and presents problems you never could have anticipated. Except instead of just affecting your own family, every decision impacts dozens of other families who are trusting you with their kids’ futures.
No pressure or anything.
The first year was pure survival mode. We were literally building the plane while flying it, making up procedures as we went along, and learning state regulations through trial and error. There were days when I wondered if we’d completely lost our minds and ruined our peaceful homestead life for a pipe dream.
But then I’d see kids who were thriving in ways they never had before, and suddenly all the chaos felt worth it.
This year has been different. We’ve got systems in place, we understand the regulations better, and we’ve learned from our rookie mistakes. But it’s also been harder in some ways, because the honeymoon period is over and now we’re dealing with the reality of actually running a sustainable educational institution.
Christian has been working 70-hour weeks, driving a school bus when we can’t find drivers, and basically doing whatever needs to be done to keep the doors open.
Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to balance my role on the school board with running our homestead and business, which has meant making some hard choices about priorities. Some weeks, the blog gets less attention because I’m helping with school fundraisers. Some days, the chickens get fed later because I’m in a budget meeting.
It’s required us to completely reimagine what our life looks like.
The hardest part isn’t the long hours or the financial stress or even the constant problem-solving. The hardest part is the weight of responsibility. When you’re just managing your own homestead, the consequences of your decisions are contained. But when you’re responsible for a school, every choice affects families throughout your community.
Every policy decision, every hiring choice, every budget allocation has real impact on real kids’ lives.
There have been moments when the pressure felt overwhelming. Times when we questioned whether we were really the right people for this job, whether we were in over our heads, whether we should just stick to what we know and let someone else worry about education.
But then we remember why we started this in the first place.
We started it because kids in our community deserve access to quality education without having to choose between small-town values and academic excellence. We started it because parents should have options that fit their families’ needs and beliefs. We started it because someone needed to prove that education can be done differently, better, more personally.
And you know what? It’s working.
Our test scores are above state averages. Our kids are engaged and excited about learning. Our families are involved and supportive. We’re proving that small can be excellent, that community-based education can compete with anything the big districts have to offer.
But success doesn’t make it easy.
This experience has taught us things about ourselves that we never would have learned just running our homestead. We’ve discovered reserves of persistence we didn’t know we had. We’ve learned to make decisions with incomplete information and to keep moving forward even when we’re not sure we’re doing everything right.
We’ve learned that sometimes the most important work is also the hardest work.
It’s also taught us about the power of community. When word got out that we needed help with playground equipment, volunteers showed up with tools and muscle. When we needed fundraising help, local businesses stepped up. When we were struggling with transportation issues, families offered to help with carpooling.
People want to be part of something that matters, and education matters to everyone.
The homesteading skills we’ve developed over the years have actually been incredibly valuable in this venture. The problem-solving abilities, the willingness to learn new things constantly, the comfort with doing hard things—all of that translates directly to the challenges of running a school.
Plus, the financial management skills we learned from running our homestead debt-free have been crucial for keeping the school financially sustainable.
I’m sharing this not to complain about how hard it’s been, but to illustrate something important: sometimes the most meaningful work is also the most challenging work.
When we started homesteading, we didn’t know what we were doing either. We made mistakes, learned from them, and gradually figured out how to grow food and raise animals. Starting a school has been the same process, just with higher stakes and more paperwork.
Both endeavors required us to step way outside our comfort zones and commit to learning whatever we needed to learn to succeed.
If you’re facing something that feels impossibly difficult right now, if you’re taking on a challenge that seems way beyond your current capabilities, remember that growth happens at the edge of your comfort zone.
The hardest things are often the most important things.
We still don’t have all the answers about running a school. We’re still learning, still making mistakes, still figuring it out as we go. But we’re committed to seeing this through because the alternative—letting our community’s kids miss out on excellent education—is unacceptable.
Sometimes you have to do hard things not because you’re qualified, but because they need to be done.
So yes, running a school has been the hardest thing we’ve ever done. It’s stretched us beyond what we thought we were capable of, challenged our assumptions about education and community, and required sacrifices we never anticipated.
But it’s also been one of the most meaningful things we’ve ever done.
And that’s probably not a coincidence. The things that matter most are usually the things that cost us the most.
Doing hard things one day at a time,
-Nichole
P.S. If you’re curious about our school or want to support what we’re doing, you can find more information on our website. And if you’re thinking about taking on your own impossible challenge, I’m here to tell you that you’re probably more capable than you think you are. Sometimes you just have to start before you feel ready.
