10 Things I Learned in The First Year of Homesteading

A Learning Curve with Great Rewards

Embarking new in homesteading feels a bit like stepping into a new world—no clear map, a few tools you’re not quite sure how to use, and plenty of dirt under your nails.

In the wake of the past few years—economic shake-ups, political unrest, and a growing ache for something steady—more and more people are leaning toward a life that feels rooted. A wildfire of interest has spread: people want to grow their own food, learn the old skills, and live with intention. We want more independence over the details of our lives, the shape of our days.

Some are drawn in by dreams of warm eggs gathered at sunrise, herbs in the windowsill, and the quiet pride of serving a meal grown with their own two hands. And those things are beautiful.
But here’s what I’ve learned: homesteading isn’t just a lifestyle shift. It isn’t about changing your to-do list.

It’s a mindset.
It’s choosing presence over pace.
Resilience over convenience.
Curiosity over comfort.

Most of all, it’s learning to build a life that lasts—slowly, faithfully, and with our own hands creating new things.

1. Homesteading is as Much a Mindset as it is a Lifestyle

Homesteading requires resilience, creativity, and a willingness to learn from mistakes. We become expertly resourceful, trading convenience for the joy of DIY victories and finding happiness in getting our hands delightfully dirty. It’s as much about growing food or raising animals as it is about cultivating a sense of independence and connection to the earth.

2. Ignore the Critics

One of the most freeing lessons I’ve learned is this: my homestead doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. Some say I’m doing too much. Others say I’m not doing enough.
I say let them talk.

Homesteading is deeply personal—shaped by our seasons, our soils, our souls.
There is no single right way. Just the faithful one you’re building, day by day. Start where you are. Begin with what you need. Let it grow from there.

3. Keep Plans Flexible

Plans will change—sometimes gently, sometimes like a storm rolling in at dusk.
You might dream of a lush vegetable patch, only to find a garden full of crunchy brown stems and lessons learned the hard way.

In my first season at the new house, I sketched out garden beds with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t yet gardened through a Southern summer. I hadn’t accounted for the shifting sun—or the generous shade cast by our pecan and peach trees. What I thought would be a thriving harvest ended up as a relocation mission and a measly harvest. Thankfully, many of my plants were still in starter pots so the move wasn’t too painful—just humbling.

Homesteading keeps me humble.
It also teaches me to be adaptable.
My goals change shape as my hands grow wiser, my soil teaches me, and my seasons shift—especially when there are little feet running alongside mine.

So hold loosely to your plans and your heart open to plot twists. They’re not setbacks—they’re stories.

4. Use What I Already Have

Dave Ramsey says, “Live like no one else now, so you can live like no one else later.” And that rings true here, too.
Homesteading invites that same kind of foresight—choosing the slower, simpler path now so that our futures can grow more freely.

Before rushing out to buy something new, I pause. Look around. Can something be repurposed? Repaired? Reimagined? Each season adds experience to our belts and tools to our sheds—both the literal kind and the kind that shape our decisions.

I grew more creative—and more resilient—as I learned to work with what I had. Chosen necessity became my teacher, and the work was done with a bit more imagination and grace than if I had chosen an easier path.
Over time, I find myself making wiser choices with steadier hands—and a set of my favorite tools.

5. Start with Temporary Solutions

I’m so grateful I listened to this advice before planting a single seed: start with what you have—even if it’s temporary.

That simple tip saved me from the pressure to do more than I needed in that season and taught me that small beginnings often bloom into the most beautiful things.

I don’t need anything to be perfect from the start. You don’t either.
Sometimes a makeshift greenhouse made from old windows or a simple compost pile tucked behind the shed is enough for this season.

These early efforts are not failures in waiting—they’re stepping stones.
Let them serve you while you learn, grow, and adjust.
Homesteading is a long story, not a single page. Let it unfold, one mindful step at a time.

6. Ditch the Instagram Perfection

There’s a quiet kind of beauty in what’s real.
I released the burden to make everything look picture-perfect because that pursuit was impossible and painful to me. Pretty has its place. And progress? Progress can be holy, too.
We don’t need perfection.

Our gardens might be a little wild. Our hens might wander into the flower beds.
The path might be uneven, the rows not quite straight—and still, it’s beautiful. These are not imperfections. They’re proof we’re building something that lasts. Messy rows, chipped pots, and half-finished projects can still be holy ground when they’re part of a life well-lived.

Because it works.
Because it feeds our families, slows our souls, and reflects the life we’re cultivating.

Choose what’s functional. Tend what’s true.
Let the beauty be honest. Choose presence over polished perfection. Always.

7. Give Myself Time to Learn

Grace will take me farther than guilt or shame ever could.
Mistakes will happen but they’re not signs of failure. They’re teachers.

Be kind to yourself.
Give yourself time to learn, space to stumble, eyes to see how far you’ve come.
Progress isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just the quiet choice to try again tomorrow.

8. Enjoy the Process as Much as the Results

Homesteading is a lifelong lesson—and the joy is tucked right into the process.
The beauty isn’t just in the harvest, but in the becoming.

Celebrate the small victories.
The first egg.
The first ripe tomato, still warm from the sun.
The way rain sounds when it falls soft on your garden beds.These are the sacred moments. The quiet rewards.
Let them remind you: this simple life is yours to cherish.

9. Friends and Family Might Not Understand Me

Not everyone will understand my choice to homestead—and that’s okay.
I’m not building a life for applause. I’m building a life that aligns with my values, and that takes courage most can’t see from the outside.

This life you’re tending? It’s one of intention, purpose, love, determination. Hold to what you believe—like glue, the strong kind.
That kind of faithfulness is always worth the work.

Find a Community

And lastly— I need my people.
A community that understands the muddy boots and the long days, the failed batches and the small victories. The kind who’ll swap seeds, share wisdom, and show up with soup when I’m too tired to cook.

This was the one I ignored the longest.
I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to look like I was failing.
But isolation doesn’t make me stronger—it just makes the hard days harder.

When you find your people, let them in.
And be that kind of friend in return.
Because one-sided relationships are like a one-hand clap—hollow and short-lived.
The best kind of community is built like a well-loved table: sturdy, shared, and always open to one more.

With Love, From Me

The first year of homesteading is full of both challenges and small victories.
It’s a season of growing—yes, in the garden, but also deep within myself.

There are setbacks and there are days that test my grit.
But there’s also joy—the kind that rises with the morning sun, that tastes like food I grew with my own hands, that feels like peace stitched into the rhythm of my days.

Even with the hurdles, there’s nothing quite like those moments when I feel in harmony with nature—when I look up from planting, admire all that’s around me and something inside me says, this is it.

There’s no checklist for it. No perfect picture. You just know it when it comes.

It’s a stillness. A belonging. For a breath or two, everything feels exactly as it should.

This life—humble, hopeful, rooted—is the most soul-stirring kind of adventure.
And this is just the beginning.I’m still learning, still growing, and still deeply grateful to be on this path.
Come walk it with me—and discover just how beautiful this way of life can be.