🏡 How I Built This Farm

One calf, one dream, and a whole lotta grit.

🌾 Where My Roots Began

I didn’t grow up fancy.
But I did grow up rich—
rich in lessons, in dirt-stained jeans, and in what real work looks like.

Both sides of my family were farm folks.
In the early 1950s, one set of grandparents had dairy cows and farmed acres of corn, beans, hay, and potatoes.
The other set ran a creamery and a feed store, and had dairy cows of their own for many years too.

By the time I was growing up, they no longer lived on the farms—
but they continued to farm the land.

We all lived in a tiny town of about 350 people. My dad was one of seven siblings, and every one of them stayed nearby.
That meant 12 cousins all raised within tractor distance.

We:
worked together

played together

fought, forgave, and learned together

dug potatoes

helped in Grandma’s garden

fed piglets on her sidewalk

and thought we were rich when we each earned a $50 savings bond for raising feeder pigs

On the other side of the family, Grandpa had a garden big enough to see from space.
I spent summers canning beans and tomatoes with him until his basement shelves looked like a rainbow.

They all taught me something priceless:

You don’t waste what the land gives you —
you preserve it, honor it, stretch it, and share it.

From all four grandparents, I learned the same truth:

You don’t buy your way into a good life — you build it.
One chore, one season, and one sunrise at a time.

And that’s the dirt I come from.
Not perfect. Not easy.
But fertile enough to grow a dream.

Those days taught me the most important thing —
you can build anything if you’re willing to work for it.

🚜 Chasing the Country Life Anyway

I did what folks said you’re supposed to do—
grew up, got married, had my son, worked hard, and tried to be practical.
But there was always a pull toward open land.
A whisper that didn’t go away.
The kind that says: “You belong outside.”

Money said no. Life said not yet.
But after two decades and two divorces and a whole lot of growing up, I found myself dreaming again—
not just for me this time…
but for my grandbabies.

I wanted them to know real dirt.
Not just playground mulch. Not just phone screens.
I wanted them to grow up on land that could teach them things.

Then I heard about a little place outside my hometown —
a worn but hopeful homestead with 2.5 acres.
I didn’t have extra money, but I had something just as strong:

👉 hope, a pen, and stubbornness to boot.

So I wrote the owners a letter.
And then? I heard nothing.
For months.

Until one day — they replied.
They said my letter warmed their hearts.
And they were ready to sell.

🎉 Happy 40th birthday to me.
I bought the homestead, and finally — I started packing

I finally lived in the country.

I jumped right in:

64 baby chicks – 40–50 which were meat chickens (all eaten by raccoons in just 3 days)

then two bottle calves

then two potbelly pigs

then three goats

eventually… KuneKune pigs, turkeys, geese, garden beds, makeshift barns, and way more dreams than money.

That’s when I made a decision that stuck:

This farm will only survive if every animal has a purpose, and so I bought my first milk cow, well she was actually a bottle calf, but someday she would be my family milk cow.

👑 When the Princesses Took Over

I didn’t plan a theme, but the day my granddaughter named our first milk calf Ariel, the princess era began.

Ariel was raised for two years before being bred. While I was waiting those long nine months, Iowa started inching toward legalizing raw milk. My heart started pounding louder than common sense. I couldn’t wait another 6 months for Ariel to calve.

So Dad and I hopped in the truck, hitched up the livestock trailer that I bought from an abandoned property for $500, and we drove almost a 500 mile round trip to Kansas.

That’s where I met cow #2 — Elsa.
She was a heifer, due with her first calf in just a few weeks. Perfect timing, I thought. The first animal to be born on the farm.

But life doesn’t often follow perfect timing.

Elsa calved… but the calf was stillborn.
Within hours, I had to start milking her. Neither of us had ever done this before. And it was January in Iowa, burrrr!

So there we were… frozen fingers, a swollen full udder, nerves on high alert — learning together.

Within three days, I found her an orphan calf to raise.
She wanted nothing to do with him.
So now I was milking a fresh heifer twice a day and bottle-feeding a calf she refused to claim.

Awhile later… Elsa finally accepted him.
Because he was a bull calf, we named him — of course — Olaf.

And I learned how to milk a cow from scratch…
in the dark…
in the cold…
in everything but ideal conditions.
Not from a dairy school —
but from YouTube homesteaders who posted their failures and their wisdom.

Then finally… a few months later, Ariel had her calf.
Welcome Belle — born right here on my homestead.

And in July of 2023, Iowa made raw milk sales legal.
I thought maybe a few folks might want some.

Turns out… a few meant a whole lot more than I ever expected.

At first I had just a handful of weekly customers.
Then demand grew.
And outgrew.
And overflowed.

So I found cow #3 about 400 miles away. Luckily I, well Dad and I, were able to meet half way to pick her up. Welcome to the homestead Tinker Bell.

Pretty soon… demand grew again.

So along came cow #4 — Anna. Again, we loaded up and took off on the 400 mile round trip to acquire yet another princess for the homestead.

And just like that —
my “Cream Team” was born. 💛

Today I have:

4 cows in milk

Belle bred for her first calf soon

A real breeding schedule (no more everyone calving at once!)

Over 25 weekly customers

9 milk drop locations

And more friendships with cows than some folks have with people

Each of these girls has a personality, quirks, preferences, and a face I know by heart.
They are more than my herd.

They’re my girls.
My story.
My princesses.
My Cream Team.

And somehow…
they’re helping me build the life I dreamed of —
one sunrise at a time.

🔥 What the Farm Has Taught Me

This farm has taught me more than any classroom, job, or past season of life ever did.

Patience has been the loudest lesson of all.
Cows calve when they want. Animals do what they want, when they want.
There is no such thing as “my schedule.”
There is only their rhythm, and I had to learn how to move with it.

Grief comes fast on a farm.
In 2024, just when I had finally built a setup I was proud of.

A little milking system with DIY sinks and a routine that worked —
my barn caught fire.

I lost everything inside my barn that I had built and saved over the last 4 years, everything except my cows thank goodness.
All that work… all that heart… all that hope…
gone like a match in the wind.

But I kept on.
Because giving up wasn’t an option.

Letting go has meant letting go of animals I raised from babies to fill a freezer.
Letting go has meant selling animals that weren’t contributing to the farm — even if I loved them. Letting go has meant learning that sentiment can’t pay for feed.

And yet — not knowing what I was doing?
That’s been one of the best gifts of this whole journey.

I researched every day. I listened to podcasts and ebooks in the car day after day.
I watched hours of YouTube videos from people braver than me. I read blog after blog.
Took online master classes. I even traveled all the way to Idaho for a big homesteading conference.

I have my Dad to thank for keeping me going.
He helped me think through problems, build things, haul heavy stuff, and — after the barn fire —
he helped me finish the new barn that let this dream become a real milking business.

When disaster hit, a fellow homesteader with dairy cows of her own — 30 miles away —
stepped up like an angel.

She took in Ariel and Elsa for a few weeks while I cleared debris and set up a makeshift milking parlor in my garage. Because of her, I was still able to deliver milk to my customers. Without her, my business would have died right then and there.

And that’s another lesson:
Sometimes the hardest work is letting someone help you.

Family sometimes thinks I’m crazy that my life revolves around my cows.
I can’t leave home for more than 24 hours — because someone has to milk. I don’t have any backup. No helpers. No one trained.
(Probably because I’m far too picky about cleanliness and routine — I’ll admit it.)

My grandkids used to live here and play on the land daily.
Now they just visit. They’re in school, growing up.
I hope someday that one of them might want to carry this farm into the future.

There have been days I felt like throwing in the towel.
Days when nothing went right.
Days when money didn’t look good.
Days when I wondered what in the world I was doing.

But I haven’t quit because one thing keeps me going:
I am feeding over 25 families every week,
on my own, from land I fought for.

This farm has taken my time.
My strength.
My money.
And sometimes my sanity.

But it has also given me something I never expected:
proof that I’m stronger than I thought.

And every day reminds me:
as long as I keep showing up…
this little farm will keep breathing, too.

🌱 What Comes Next

This farm is more than a place that feeds my cows.
It’s a place that feeds hope.

I didn’t get here because I knew what I was doing.
I got here because other homesteaders were brave enough to share what they knew —
through blog posts, videos, podcasts, workshops, and late-night encouragement from strangers who didn’t even know my name.

And now it’s my turn.

From this website, I want to:

share every mistake I made

show every tool that worked

lay it all out plain, step by step — fencing, feeding, milking, money, ugly days and all

so someone else can learn… just like I did

I want blog posts that tell the real parts of this journey —
the fire, the first calf, the raccoons, the bottle babies, the lessons learned one muddy boot at a time.

I want this to be a place of usable wisdom, not perfect pictures.

And someday soon — I don’t just want to teach…
I want to raise heifers right here on this farm
so new homesteaders can start their life the way I did —
with a calf, a dream, and the fire to try.

Because if I could build this from scratch —
a single lady with 2.5 acres and YouTube University —
then someone else can too.

And if this website helps even one person start their dream?
Then every fence post, every early morning, and every loss…
will have meant something.

This farm began with one dream that seemed far fetched.
Maybe one day, it’ll begin dreams for someone else, too.

Want to see what this farm looks like today?
Visit the homepage to see how far it’s come.

I learned so much from other homesteaders online — especially

Living Traditions Homestead, Joel Salatin, The Prairie Homestead, Melissa K Norris, Homesteading Family, Justin Rhodes and many other YouTube farmers who shared their journeys.

Their stories helped me build mine —
and now I hope mine might help someone else build theirs.

This gate’s always open —
so wander the site, stay awhile,
and welcome to Grandma’s Homestead. 🤎