I used to think homesteading meant going completely off-grid, churning butter in a bonnet, and never owning a smartphone. Now I laugh at that. Because the truth is, modern homesteaders are showing up in ways no one expected—some with chickens in their Brooklyn backyard, others with spreadsheets tracking egg production and Instagram Reels of compost piles getting lots of views. And I love that for us.
We’re not doing it like our great-grandparents did—and we’re not trying to. We’re hacking sourdough in AirPods, using solar panels to power electric fencing, and editing TikToks between planting garlic cloves. Some of us live on 100 acres, others on tiny patios with container gardens and a dream. There’s no one right way to do this anymore.
For me, homesteading is about intentional living. It’s about reconnecting with land, food, and self-sufficiency in a world that pushes us to consume more and know less. But the way we go about it? That’s evolving every single day.
I know homesteaders who build their own greenhouses and run Etsy shops. Some do bookkeeping by candlelight and batch their emails on solar Wi-Fi. Others post mini-vlogs while milking goats in the morning and editing by lunch. We’re not out here pretending the internet doesn’t exist—we’re using it to share, to connect, and to learn faster than ever.
When I started documenting my homestead life online, I wasn’t sure anyone would care. Like, would people really want to see me repairing a busted chicken coop or hauling compost in the rain? But the response was immediate and surprising. Turns out, people are hungry for realness. They want to know how to grow basil, keep backyard bees, or make bone broth without overcomplicating it. They’re curious about the lifestyle—even if they don’t live on land themselves.
That’s what makes modern homesteading so powerful. It’s no longer about isolation. It’s about community, even if we’re miles apart. Whether you’re DMing someone for a fermented pickles recipe or hosting a seed swap in your city park, the culture of homesteading has shifted from fringe to something a lot more accessible—and honestly, cooler than ever.
And yes, some of us still use tractors. But others are hacking together urban compost bins out of shipping pallets, or growing microgreens under LED lights in their apartments. We’ve got Zoom meetings in the morning and bee suits by afternoon. We’re attending soil health webinars and binge-watching sourdough tips on YouTube like it’s reality TV (because it kind of is).
But here’s what we all have in common:
We want less noise.
We want more connection.
We want to know where our food comes from.
We want to build something real.
Modern homesteading is messy, experimental, deeply rewarding, and honestly, very online. I love that I can plant garlic by hand in the morning and by the afternoon, see how someone in Montana is doing the exact same thing—just with snow boots on and different spacing rows.
If you’re new to all of this, here’s the secret: you don’t need land to start.
You can be a homesteader with three pots of herbs on your fire escape.
You can be a homesteader if you make your own broth, grow green onions in a cup of water, or decide you’d rather mend your jeans than buy new ones.
You can be a homesteader if you’re asking questions like, “What if I just tried making this from scratch?” or “What happens if I plant this instead of throwing it away?”
It’s not a look. It’s not an aesthetic (even if the flannel and linen aprons do go hard on IG).
It’s a mindset.
And the best part?
You don’t have to do it all. You just have to start.
Whether you’re a backyard chicken parent, a sourdough starter casualty (we’ve all been there), or someone curious about compost but overwhelmed by the options—welcome. You’re already in it.
This new wave of homesteaders isn’t about perfection or purity. It’s about reclaiming agency. It’s about caring where things come from, how they’re made, and who we become when we slow down enough to participate in the making of our lives.
And if you’re filming it as you go, posting that imperfect garden update, or asking strangers online how to save your tomato plant—congrats. You’re not just homesteading.
You’re shaping what modern homesteading looks like for everyone else too.
