Homesteading: An Anchor in Unsteady Times

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I think, like most folks, we chose this “back to nature” homestead life to create some semblance of simplicity and peace in our chaotic lives. When Sean and I first started our family, we had never really paid attention to food outside of calories, protein, carbs, and fats. We were both heavily into fitness, and (I thought) nutrition—but only in terms of calories and athletic performance.

It really wasn’t until our oldest son was born that we began to question the quality of our food, not just its nutritional breakdown. By the time our second and third babies arrived, we had fully dived into farmers’ markets, surplus produce auctions, and illegal backyard chickens. We discovered authors like Joel Salatin and Kristin Kimball, and YouTubers such as Justin Rhodes, Jess and Jeremiah Sowards, and Greg Judy. Our suburban house turned into a homestead playground as we learned to use seed blocks and raised garden beds, and experimented with pole beans climbing teepee trellises.

We didn’t know it yet, but what we were really discovering was a way to gain some control over an essential part of life—inside a lifestyle (military) where you have very little control over anything at all.

We did know we were in it for the long haul, and that our post-Navy life would be agrarian in nature. Here we are, four years post-retirement, and the world hasn’t gotten any easier. Food recalls due to Listeria and E. coli. Synthetic meats and cricket protein. Global warming. Imported everything. Tariffs, taxes, and inflation. An entire world that seems to have lost its collective mind.

So I ask myself: what can I keep steady while everything else feels so wobbly?

For me, the answer is relatively simple and very clear—food.

Coming in as the third-highest budget item for most Americans, rising grocery prices are an enormous issue for families. Sean and I are now raising three teenagers and a preteen, so I can only imagine how frustrating this would be if we were still eating the standard American diet. A related side note: healthcare ranks fifth on that same list, and in many cases is directly related to the quality and quantity of our food.

Simplifying our grocery list, raising our own meat and dairy, and taking a real stab at gardening all contribute to lowering those costs. What we can’t grow ourselves, we barter for or buy from neighbors and nearby farmers. It keeps our local economy alive, and nine times out of ten it’s fresher than anything down at Walmart or Food City. Learning how to cook, how to adapt and alter recipes, and how to plan meals based on what’s locally available has also helped reduce our overall spending. Granted, we look like we’re supplying a local restaurant when we do shop—but it’s far less frequent (and far less expensive) than it used to be.

By stepping away—mostly—from the mainstream food system, we’ve also had the added benefit of avoiding the wave of foodborne illnesses that has made local news over the last year. Listeria and E. coli are two of the most common culprits, causing everything from gastrointestinal distress to hospitalizations and death. That’s not to say these can’t occur in homegrown or locally raised foods, but when you’re producing enough to feed a few families instead of “feeding the world,” quality control becomes a much simpler, more transparent process.

And speaking of processes. Processed foods. Artificial flavors. Synthetic additives. All things that tickle our taste buds and entice our noses, but offer little to no nutritional value and primarily exist to extend shelf life (and dramatically lengthen the ingredient list on your favorite box of Pop-Tarts).

To be fair, none of this is new. Synthetic flavorings became common in the United States by the late 19th century and have been controversial in some circles ever since. As American food production became more centralized and industrialized, food safety emerged as a political issue. Over half a century after the infamous Swill Milk Scandal of the 1850s, spoiled canned foods were causing widespread illness, with some blame placed on synthetic colors and flavorings that concealed spoilage.

In 1906, the first major food safety legislation—the Pure Food and Drug Act—was passed, requiring inspection and accurate labeling of food products and ingredients. And yet, since then, there have been countless outbreaks of foodborne illness. The CDC estimates that each year, 48 million Americans become ill, 128,000 are hospitalized, and 3,000 die from foodborne disease. Today, it’s estimated that over 70% of America’s food supply comes from these same industrialized systems.

Knowing these statistics exist. Knowing there’s growing concern over what these additives may—or may not—be doing to children and adults alike. Knowing the system is overwhelming and nearly impossible to fight in its entirety. I’ve come to realize that I don’t actually have to fight it.

I can opt out.

Here’s the thing: fresh, locally grown produce (preferably grown without synthetic fertilizers and pesticides—but that’s a whole other article) doesn’t require plastic packaging, bleaching, blanching, or radiation. Locally raised and slaughtered meats are less likely to contain artificial hormones, are handled with less stress (and lower cortisol levels), and are fresher than their imported counterparts.

Making your own bread and pasta is far simpler than it sounds, and the ingredient lists shrink from 20–30 items down to three to six. Special dietary needs and food allergies are also much easier to manage when you’re cooking from scratch instead of hoping a factory line didn’t have a cross-contamination issue. When one of our daughters developed a soy allergy, adjusting our food system was inconvenient—but manageable—because we already knew exactly what was going into our meals.

Adapting to a from-scratch lifestyle can feel daunting at first. It requires time, intention, and a willingness to be uncomfortable while you learn. But on the other side of that learning curve is something incredibly freeing.

In a world that feels loud, fragile, and out of control, feeding my family real food—grown by our hands or by people we know—has become an anchor. It’s not about perfection, purity, or nostalgia. It’s about steadiness. About choosing one small, essential thing and caring for it well.

For us, that thing is food. And for now, that’s enough.