Many of us in the homesteading world are living in a foreign land. It is not the land we grew up in. For the hundreds and thousands who have moved out of the cities to rural areas searching for a new life it has taken a massive culture shift. They are living in an environment that is the antithesis of all they knew.
To go from living in the city, with a mainstream mentality, eating modern prepackaged food and accepting modern assumptions of normal – to suddenly staring at a flock of curious chickens as they stare back at you, heads cocked looking for food – or maybe a garden full of weeds or a stubborn cow that doesn’t want to go through that gate… and wondering to yourself how in the world to do this!
For many many people who have made this transition, the struggle is real. They are learning to live in a whole new world.
On the other hand, when my husband and I decided to move out of town so we could have animals and grow our own food, it was not a big deal to me. It was not hard or scary. When we began homesteading, it just felt like coming home. It was the most natural thing in the world.
I grew up on a beef and sheep property where quiet days without seeing other people for sometimes weeks on end, was very normal. Walking silently through the paddocks, hearing the buzz of the insects and the swish of the leaves in the wind, possibly a cow bellowing down the valley – and nothing else, was an everyday thing.
Butchering animals, growing gardens, fixing fences, pulling weeds, getting dirty, working long hot days in the sun… these were the days of my childhood. Familiar and comfortable like a pair of old boots. Whether we were stacking hay, mustering cattle or pulling weeds, we spent everyday together as a family working hard and expecting nothing less. We loved our farm, loved our animals, loved each other and honestly I just accepted this as a normal way of life.
But not so for my dear husband. He grew up a missionary kid in an Australian city. He was used to the shops being 5 minutes away at all times with anything he might wish to eat or buy. Entertainment was always available. Food wasn’t questioned. Take Away was a normal part of daily life. He rode bikes and played basketball and watched telly (Aussie for TV).
To my knowledge he had never grown a plant or built anything or raised an animal or dug a hole (except that post hole my dad made him dig the first day I bought him home to meet my parents… ahem, but that’s another story). He was a city boy through and through.
So for him, homesteading has been like a foreign land. He has had to overcome the unknown, fear, confusion and self doubt many times over.
“Can I do this?”
“Am I cut out for this?”
But I have witnessed him time and time again, refuse to quit, refuse to listen to the voices of dissent and push through to learn new skills and become competent. It is crazy wonderful to me when I look back and see the change. He hasn’t arrived, but he is thriving. With each new project he gains confidence. He loves it and wants nothing more than to be farming full time. I love it so much and I am so proud of him.
A Different Foreign Land
Although our experiences are vastly different, I have been pondering lately an unexpected similarity. A connection that links our contrasting backgrounds and sheds light for me on just how challenging it is for people who didn’t grow up on the land.
My foreign land was very different. It was an actual land. America. I honestly did not realize how hard the transition would be. Just like Mike, I have had to learn, to adapt, accept, persist and push through the many challenges that come with moving to a new country. You can read the full story of our move here in this article.
From the moment I stepped off that plane I was bamboozled by the myriad of foreign things. Foods, roads and traffic, cultural sayings and norms, fauna and flora, seasons and traditions. For a solid 6 months and still every now and again in an ongoing sense, I felt very overwhelmed by all that was completely different from everything I had ever known. Really and truly I didn’t expect this.
I had been married into an American family for twenty years. Surely I was accustomed to the different turns of phrase and the food they ate. Not so. I guess after living on and off in Australia his whole life, my hubby was more Australian than he was American – in culture at least.
Four way stops terrified me. We don’t have those in Australia. The spaghetti roads of Houston gave me shivers. Sometimes people would look at me blankly when I said something, unable to understand my accent.
I longed for the little things from home, like fish and chips on the beach, roast lamb cooked in a camp oven and the smell of eucalyptus leaves crunching under my feet. The sound of kookaburras in the morning and cockatoos in the evening. The feeling of understanding and being understood.
So I have had to stop, listen, step back and observe. It has taken persisting through misunderstandings to learn and adapt to this new culture. I have felt the discomfort. Sat in the confusion. Wept for the familiar and the safe. It has taken courage I didn’t know I was going to need.
As I look back on the last 12 months and ponder these things, I have a new appreciation for all that my husband has embraced in this new world of homesteading.
Hard Does Not Mean Bad
Just as he has found joy in the new experiences and skills he has developed in this new land, I too have gained much from my journey here to America. Yes it has been hard. But along with the hard has been the beautiful. The beauty of new friendships. The world is full of wonderful humans. The wonder of seeing deer in the wild and squirrels scrambling and playing everywhere… raccoons, armadillos and even skunks are new and interesting to us.
Driving awestruck through the Smokey Mountains as the trees just began turning golden. And the birds! The delightful flitting, gliding red carnivals, the bright blue jays, shy blue birds and plentiful mockingbirds that fill our back yard here in Texas with their song and dance.
What a joy and privilege it is to see what it’s like to live on the other side of the world! This is not lost on me. I am truly grateful.
So whether moving countries or just shifting cultures from the urban to the agrarian, hard does not mean bad. Hard can also mean deeply rewarding, joy-filled and blessed. If you are in a foreign land of any kind, do not despise the different – observe and embrace the parts that align with your values, push through the hard and discover the beauty that is waiting for you.
Sunshine and Raindrops,
Chrissy
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