The Neighbors Who Made Me a Better Homesteader

When we bought this place, I had a stack of books and a head full of ideas. I was going to do everything by the book, which in my case meant the books I'd read, which were mostly written by people who had never actually lived on a small rural property. The first winter disabused me of a lot of that, and the people who helped me through it were the ones I least expected.

Ray and Darlene live about a quarter mile down the road. They've been on their forty acres for over fifty years. Ray grew up on a farm two counties over, and Darlene grew up in town, and together they've raised cattle, kept a garden, and buried more dogs than I'd care to count. When we moved in, they showed up with a pie and a handshake, and over the next year they taught me more than any book ever did.

Lessons That Don't Come From Books

Ray taught me how to read the sky. Not in a poetic way, but in a practical one. When the clouds stack up in a certain way in the late afternoon, you've got about an hour before the weather turns. When the wind shifts to the northwest in October, get the tender plants covered. He can tell you whether it's going to frost by the smell of the air, and he's right more often than the weather app on my phone.

Darlene taught me how to put up food without fuss. She cans tomatoes in a water bath, freezes corn on the cob, and makes jam that sets every time because she's been doing it for so long she can tell by the drip off the spoon. She also taught me that a jar of preserves makes a fine gift, and that you should always keep a few extra on hand for funerals and new babies.

They both taught me that the best tool for most jobs is a good neighbor. When our well pump went out in February, Ray had a spare generator in his barn and knew a guy who could fix it. When Darlene needed help getting hay into the loft, my husband and I were there. Nobody keeps score. That's the whole point.

Paying It Forward, Slowly

A younger couple moved in down the road last spring. They're from the city, and they have that same look I had four years ago, the one that says they've read all the books and are about to find out which parts were true. I showed up with a pie and a handshake, and I told them what Ray told me, which is that the first year is mostly about watching and listening, and that the land will tell them what it wants if they pay attention.

They asked me about chickens. I told them what I know, which isn't much, and then I sent them over to Ray, who knows more than I ever will. That's how it works out here. You learn a little, you pass it on, and the whole road gets a little better for it.

If you're new to this life, find the old-timers. They're not always easy to spot, and they don't advertise. But they're there, and they've got more to teach you than any book on your shelf. Bring a pie. Bring two. Sit on the porch. Listen.