Homestead Living

Ripples

MY FATHER IS AN EXPERT ROCK SKIPPER. His eyes are trained to scan the riverbank for the perfect skipping rock—flat, smooth-edged, and preferably round or oval. With a flick of his wrist, that rock will skip across the surface of the water clear to the other shore.

That’s saying something. Our rivers on the west side of the North Cascades in the Pacific Northwest are wide.

As a young girl, he’d pick out a rock for me and walk me through the steps of drawing back my arm level with the river and letting it spin off my pointer finger.

In my hands, the rocks never skipped like they did for him.

Water is something we have an abundance of in the Pacific Northwest. It can be a blessing and a curse. Growing up on the banks of two rivers, the Skagit and Sauk, I learned at an early age that tranquil waters on the surface don’t reflect the true reality beneath the surface.

Undercurrents are swift, and the Skagit River claims at least a few lives every year to those who don’t know her true nature. Both a dangerous undertow and her glacier-fed, bone-chilling depths, even on the hot days of early summer, can be deadly.

And yet, one of my absolute favorite places to be is on her shores and in select swimming holes come the dog days of August.

The Sauk River flows through the homestead, the property my father grew up on in the 1940s.

These rivers can be destructive. Flooding erodes banks, can wipe out a farm overnight, and steals acres of land with one high water. Yet we depend on the water to keep things green and growing during the drought months of summer.

And those floods, destructive as they are, create some of the best fertile farmland in the world here in the Skagit Valley.

There’s a lot of similarities between these rivers and the life of a homesteader.

Just like the turquoise jewel-toned waters of the Skagit, raising your own food and living close to the land are beautiful things. They’re to be admired, appreciated, and protected.

Yet both have their dangers.

Homesteading isn’t for the faint of heart. It is hard physical work. Gardens grow and harvests need to be brought in during the hottest days of the year. Animals need fed during frigid winter temps, when you’re sick, and they don’t take holidays off.

You’re often working when the sun comes up and still tending things as the sun goes down.

If you don’t watch out for the undertows, you can find yourself burnt out and throwing in the towel.

In four decades, I’ve seen countless family farms in our valley die. In some cases, there’s no one to take them over. The farmer’s children (or grandchildren) don’t want to take it over.

Other times, it’s folks enamored with the idea of homesteading and farming, but after the initial romance wears off, they find it’s more work than they want.

In both cases, it’s looking at it with extremes. The first see farming as nothing but drudgery and hard work. They didn’t enjoy the chores as a kid or don’t want that way of life for themselves.

The latter see it as prairie dresses and soft glow sunlight kissing the day goodnight and hello each morning, without the harsh realities of poop, bugs, dirt, and sweat.

The beauty lies in the middle.

Farming is much of the same. Feeding animals, planting seeds, pruning fruit trees and bushes, weeding, watering, harvesting, and prepping for winter. Ritualistic some would say.

Almost daily there is something new that pops up and alters your schedule. The bull breaks out and you get two hours of cardio in chasing him through the woods, back road, and neighbor's fence line (Peloton can’t beat that). The barn cat brings out her newest litter. There’s nothing like babies on the farm to brighten your day.

How do you stay in that spot where you see the good, even when things are hard and you’re tired?

If you homestead long enough (or sometimes not very long) you’ll reach the tough. An animal will die. You’ll be bone weary and wondering why on earth you’re doing this. Nothing will go your way for the entire day, maybe even the whole week or month.

When those things happen, I’m reminded of my purpose.

It can be hard in the moment, but just like that rock, as it skips across the surface of the river to the other side, it sends out ripples.

The rock doesn’t see all the ripples it creates as it moves along.

You and I don’t see all the ripples we create in people’s lives by the work we do. At least, not very often.

Twelve months ago, my husband and I bought a 40-acre farm down the road from us. It hadn’t been a farm for decades. The pastures were leased, and cattle ran on them, but it hadn’t been tended by a farmer in a long time.

Yet, I remembered how the farm looked when I was a girl. When Lawrence and Clara Hornbeck lived in the farmhouse and tended the barns and land.

Part of the reason new homesteaders burn out is because they’ve not had someone to mentor them in a hands-on fashion—to teach them the realities and help them bypass beginner mistakes. Even if they didn’t choose it, a few generations back, farmers would learn beside their parents how to do things. They had guidance.

Many of the older farmers don’t see a way to make it in today’s age. That was one of the reasons the farm we purchased went up for sale. The son told me, “You have a unique way of looking at the farm. You see things I couldn’t.”

We knew when we purchased the farm that it needed a lot of work to bring it back to a place of functionality and to bring in an income. Most farms need to be profitable in one way or another, and we’re not an exception.

The farmhouse is two bedrooms, much too small for our family of four (my teenage son and daughter weren’t keen on the idea of sharing a tiny room). The last major remodel and updating she’d had were from the 1960s.

From the moment we walked the grounds with the realtor, I knew it was to be a place of rest and peace. Many folks today don’t ever experience the peace of the country and farm. The idea of one acre, let alone forty acres, without houses and buildings stacked on top of one another, is foreign.

On June 9, the 1916 farm was given a new name— Norris Farmstead ( NorrisFarmstead.com )—and future.

We set about restoring the 1916 farmhouse with plans to open it up as a farm stay. A short-term vacation rental where people can relax and experience a farm.

One of our goals is to raise a larger amount of grass-fed, grass-finished beef for guests to be able to purchase during their stay. This is a longer-term goal as, currently, we don't have a USDA facility to allow us to sell by the cut. Right now we sell a whole, half, or quarter beef with local pick-up. We also hope to grow an organic garden for guests to pick dinner from or for community members to purchase as a u-pick , and eventually we want to use the farm for teaching.

Some of these goals will take years. The last nine months have been filled with the additional work of the new farm and a new herd of cattle there, and honestly, we’ve had moments when we questioned why we took on all of this.

But I know the power of good food. Food raised regeneratively, without synthetic pesticides, herbicides, or anti-biotics, no mass amounts of grains, where animals roam on pasture as they were intended, working in harmony to improve the soil fertility with their manure.

Since changing my food twelve years ago, I healed completely from stomach ulcers and GERD.

Rather, if someone purchases food from us, experiences a getaway at our farm stay and learns about food raised this way, or comes to learn at one of our in-person workshops, it will change them, and in turn, change someone else’s life through them.

Ripples.

What we thought would take three months for the house renovations turned into six. On December 30th, we opened it up to our first guests.

The word I see most in guest reviews is peace.

It is the word I’m clinging to. Peace that, even though I’m not seeing the full path to making all of this come together, the Lord does. He put this farm into my husband’s and my hands to bless and teach others.

Though not all the workshops are full for this year, and I find myself doubting at times, I know that the God of living water will provide.

When the days are hard, remember that what you’re doing isn’t in vain. The ripples go far beyond what either of us can see.

To learn more about our in-person workshops, visit www.melissaknorris.com/event-workshop //

Blessings and Mason jars, Melissa

Melissa K. Norris is a 5th generation homesteader who married a city boy… but that city boy quickly became a country boy and turned into a bonafide farmer when they moved to Melissa's family property. With their two children, they believe in keeping the old ways alive. She is an author, blogger, and podcaster. Learn more by visiting: www.melissaknorris.com.

WORDS BY: Shawn & Beth Dougherty