Homesteaders-at-Heart: Gathering goodness wherever you're planted

There’s a thread that has been quietly woven through our life together—one that’s been there as long as I can remember. A longing to live simply, intentionally, and close to the rhythms of nature.

To tend the land (however little land that might be), grow what we eat, fill our home with the warmth of handmade things, and always keep room at the table for more.

A life where people are gathered as intentionally as the harvest. Where meals are shared, not just served. Where the kitchen becomes a place of welcome, and hospitality is woven into the everyday.

We’ve dreamed of land. Talked about chickens and goats. Imagined rows of garden beds, a little orchard, maybe even bees. We’ve priced fencing and drawn out plots and read books with titles like Chickens in Your Backyard and The Market Gardener. And while the dream is still very much alive, our reality has looked a little different.

We live in the suburbs. Our neighbors—lovely as they are—are just a few steps away. Our backyard is modest. Livestock of any kind is off the table (no chickens, no goats... not even bees). And yet, I still find myself drawn to this way of life, because I believe homesteading is not only about acreage or livestock or checking off a list of self-sufficiency boxes.

It’s a mindset. A rhythm. A heart posture.

I bake bread from scratch—often with wild yeast I’ve nurtured myself. I preserve the bounty of each season, whether from our small garden or the local farmer’s market. I find joy in making things with my hands, in cooking from scratch, in tending herbs and dreaming of soil beneath my nails. I gather people around our table and feed them with the kind of food that says “home.”

This is what I’ve come to call being a homesteader at heart.

And I know I’m not alone.

There are so many of us quietly living out homesteading values in suburban neighborhoods and apartments, rental homes and small lots. We compost in bins instead of backfields. We grow tomatoes in containers and herbs on windowsills. We sew, ferment, bake, share, and make do. We strive to live close to the earth even when we don’t have land to call our own.

I’ve seen comments before from “real” homesteaders—those with acreage and animals—suggesting that unless you’re fully living off the land, you shouldn’t use the word. And while I respect the dedication it takes to steward land and livestock, I don’t believe homesteading belongs only to those who own property.

Because the heart of homesteading is about more than geography. It’s about intention. And there’s no gatekeeping when it comes to living with intention.

So to the mama raising sourdough and babies in a townhouse… To the family turning a backyard into a food forest, one bed at a time… To the elder canning jams from store-bought fruit… To the apartment dweller drying herbs in the windowsill…

You are homesteaders at heart. And that matters.

May we keep tending this beautiful, quiet revolution.
May we keep building lives full of soil and salt and soul—even in small spaces.
May we encourage one another and celebrate every small win on the journey.
And may we always, always make room at the table.

Because whether your homestead is five acres or five feet wide, if it’s built with love and intention, it is enough.

And so are you.