Isn’t it funny how…

Look, I need to address something that’s been bothering me about modern homesteading stereotypes. Honestly, it’s kind of ridiculous that I even have to say this out loud in 2025.

You know how everyone talks about “growing up” and “maturing.” Becoming these sophisticated adults who have their lives figured out? Yeah, well, apparently we’re all still just high schoolers sitting in the cafeteria, desperately hoping someone will let us sit at their table.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after the absolutely wild comments I’ve been getting on social media. It’s like we never really escaped that whole “jocks versus nerds versus theater kids” mentality. Instead, we just traded our letterman jackets for overalls and started arguing if your chickens make you legitimate enough to call yourself a homesteader.

Here’s the thing: I’ve never fit into any neat little category, and honestly? I’ve made peace with that. In high school, I was too weird for the popular kids, too mainstream for the goths, and too opinionated for pretty much everyone else. Sometimes I chose to be the odd one out. Other times I just was the odd one out, whether I wanted to be or not.

But you know what? That whole “doesn’t fit in anywhere” thing is exactly what led me to homesteading in the first place. Not even a little bit.

Homesteading has been like therapy for my misfit soul.

But here’s what I’ve been preaching for years now: the absolute beauty of this lifestyle is that it’s flexible. When I really break it down, modern homesteading is about three things:

• Becoming a producer instead of just a consumer (because mindless consumption is soul-crushing)
• Actually knowing where your food comes from (revolutionary concept, I know)
• Creating the life you want instead of just accepting whatever society tells you is normal

And here’s the beautiful part: how you apply those principles is going to look completely different for everyone. That’s not a bug, it’s a feature.

On Stereotypes and Homesteading

So why am I ranting about high school cafeterias and fitting in? Because lately, I’ve been getting some interesting feedback about the lifestyle I share here on the blog and social media.

Some of it’s well-intentioned. Some of it… isn’t.

It started with people getting personally offended that I own a dishwasher. Honestly, it’s still the weirdest thing to be mad about. This sentiment has evolved into comments like:

• “Why did you decorate your house like that? It’s way too modern. It’s not old-fashioned enough.”
• “Why are you buying food at the store? I thought you were a homesteader who grows their own food?”
• “If you were a real homesteader, you’d make your own lye for soap.”
• “I can’t believe you’re using a skillet that’s not cast iron.”

Look, most of these comments are just silly, and my feelings aren’t hurt. Getting a variety of opinions comes with the territory when you put your life online. What’s fascinating to me is how we’ve managed to take a movement created by rebels, outcasts, and weirdos. These were people who refused to follow society’s rules. We’ve somehow turned it into its own set of rigid requirements.

Like there’s some secret council of Homesteading Gods sitting around a rustic wooden table somewhere, voting on what counts as “real” homesteading:

“All in favor of requiring exactly 2.75 chickens and 1.5 raised beds to qualify as an urban homesteader, say aye…”

Thank God that’s not actually how this works.

But there definitely is a homesteading stereotype floating around out there, and I’m about to blow your mind: I don’t fit it. Not even close.

Why am I telling you this? Because I’m big on transparency. I want to be the same person online and offline. Sometimes the gap between what people see on social media and reality can get pretty wide. I refuse to be fake for the sake of fitting into some imaginary homesteader box.

So in true rebellious fashion, I’m declaring my independence from any perceived homesteading stereotypes right here, right now. I’m a homesteader, but I’m doing it on my own terms. If that bothers people, they can deal with it.

Here’s what my version of homesteading actually looks like:

• If you swing by my place this summer, you’ll probably see me in flip-flops and a baseball cap. Not work boots and a prairie bonnet, unless it’s Halloween. In which case all bets are off.
• You might hear me on a work call while milking the cow. Multitasking is a survival skill when you’re running a business and a farm.
• I have a dishwasher and a washing machine, and before you come for me, let me tell you: I absolutely love them
• We use artificial insemination on our cattle sometimes because maintaining a bull year-round is logistically complicated and expensive
• Sometimes I buy grain for my animals when they need it to stay healthy, even though I prefer grass-fed everything when possible.
• I’ve had some spectacular homestead failures, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Ask me about the Great Chicken Massacre of 2023 sometime.
• Sometimes I buy chips and bread when I’m drowning in work and can’t handle making everything from scratch
• Other times I make the most amazing homemade bread and then spread store-bought butter on it. This is because the cow is pregnant and not milking.
• I buy organic when it makes sense and fits the budget, but not religiously
• Sometimes I buy fruits and vegetables at the store. Either I can’t grow them here in Wyoming (looking at you, bananas) or I completely failed at growing them this season.
• If you visited my garden, you’d see weeds around the edges and probably in the middle too, because I’m not perfect.
• I believe in smart money management, but I choose abundance over scarcity mindset. I’m not going to stress over every single penny.
• I’ll happily go to restaurants with friends even when I know the food isn’t locally sourced or organic
• On really busy days, I don’t milk at all and just leave the calf on the cow
• I love homesteading with all my heart. I also love entrepreneurship and online business. I get just as excited about marketing strategies as I do about garden planning.
• Sometimes I spend evenings doing authentically old-fashioned activities, and other times I just want to watch Netflix

There. I said it. Do I feel better? Absolutely.

Does this mean I don’t get that rush of excitement when I walk into the barn in the morning? Smelling that sweet hay and animal smell? Or that I don’t savor every bite of a meal made entirely from ingredients I produced myself? Of course not. I live for those moments.

But I’ve learned that I’m not a purist, and I never will be. I’m going to do the best I can with what I have, when I can do it. I refuse to drive myself crazy trying to meet some impossible standard that probably doesn’t even exist.

And if that makes me a weirdo in the world of homesteading, well, I was already a weirdo everywhere else, so at least I’m consistent.

Here’s what I want you to take away from this: If your homesteading journey doesn’t look exactly like what you see in books or on Pinterest, stop stressing about it. If you’re not fitting the Laura Ingalls Wilder mold perfectly, let it go.

Stop comparing yourself to other people’s highlight reels. Start embracing your own messy, imperfect, uniquely yours version of this lifestyle.

Because here’s the thing: being out of the box, refusing to follow the rules, and doing things your own way is what attracted most of us to homesteading in the first place, right?

This isn’t a competition or a purity test. It’s about creating a life that works for you and your family. Get a little bit better every day, but do it your way. And when you finally let go of trying to be perfect? It feels incredible.

So go ahead and put away that prairie bonnet (unless you genuinely love it and it makes you happy). Give yourself permission to break some stereotypes, use modern conveniences, and homestead in whatever way makes sense for your life.

I’ll be right here doing the same thing, probably wearing flip-flops. Talking on my phone while the chickens judge me silently. You know what? I’m completely okay with that.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go load another batch of canning jars into my dishwasher. Proper sterilization matters, and my dishwasher does it better than I ever could by hand.

This is modern homesteading, people. Deal with it.