Our Family


 

These are the littles.

Among them we have one who wears braids, writes poetry to recite for her barn cats, and hopes to move to India to raise orphan babies when she grows up.

Another seems to dance through life to her own song, constantly creating something new and beautiful out of any old scrap she finds lying around… she’s like her Heavenly Father in that way.

Then we’ve got one whose eyes twinkle in such a merry way anytime he catches your attention… or another toad.

And of course there’s that last one who may grow up to be the size of an NFL linebacker, but who’s still got those baby cheeks for just a little while longer.

They are my heart and my joy.  They bring me to my knees in complete exhaustion, worn to a frazzle every. single. day.

There are even days when everything in me wants to pack up my hormone-balancing chocolate, my favorite cup of tea, and my current George MacDonald novel – and move out to the barn with Ivy.  Actually, that’s most days (at approximately 4pm EST).

But the truth is, I trust that if I can endure a little while longer, keep seeking my Savior’s face, keep pouring out into their lives with words of life and encouragement, keep asking their forgiveness when I do exactly the opposite – one day we’ll be the best of friends.

At the moment, all of them want to stay here on the homestead with us forever… well except that one who’s asking if she can start learning Hindi as soon as she’s finished with Latin.

They are such lovely, interesting people already.  I can hardly wait to see what mighty plans the Lord has for them.

 

 

That handsome guy?  That’s my farmer.  I love him so.

Engineer by day – farmer every. other. waking. moment.

For real.

He’s the hardest working man alive and he makes all my homestead dreams come true.  -Which is good, because I’m much more inclined to dreaming up ideas than I am to mucking out stalls or carrying water buckets.

He is faithful and kind, a strong and capable leader.

So obviously, he’s my hero.

And I’m Ashley,

or as the farmer affectionately calls me,

“One who holds hot cup.”

It’s short for –

“One who holds hot cup – and good book – in cozy chair – with soft blanket – by warm fire” … preferably with that handsome farmer nearby.

Because you see, I’m not really what you might call a “go-getter.”

No.  I’m a sitter, a reader, a dreamer, a wonderer, an idea girl, and a comfort addict.

So this whole homestead thing?  Well let’s just say it’s a bit of a stretch for me most days.

 

But I have come a l-o-n-g way, let me tell ya!

Twenty-three-year-old-me, living in Seattle, just married to her high school sweetheart, hoping for a nice little suburban family and a cat.  She would have flat out laughed in your face if you told her that in 10 years she’d not only be butchering chickens in her backyard, but would also be posting pictures of it for the whole world to see!  She didn’t even eat meat!

 

Okay, not really.  She wouldn’t have laughed in your face because that’d be really rude and she wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, but she’d definitely raise her eyebrows – at the very least.

Never the less, here I am in my dirty purple farm boots and pink coveralls, milking goats in NE Indiana.  And I have truly never been happier.

My life is so full the brim with chores, and laundry, and books, and chaos, and bacon, and GLORY!

Welcome to our beautiful, ordinary mess.

Come along with us.  We’d love to share with you everything we’ve learned so far.  Because clearly, we’ve learned a lot!

Read more about our homestead here.