People often assume homesteading is about becoming self-sufficient. For me, it’s something different. It’s about learning.
When we moved to Midnight Lane, I wasn’t trying to recreate a picture-perfect homestead. I was looking for a place where I could spend the rest of my life being curious. Every season brings a new lesson.
Some days I’m learning how to grow tomatoes without them splitting after heavy rain. Then other days, I’m figuring out how to build a water garden that attracts frogs, dragonflies, and birds. I watch bluebirds raise their young. I learn which native flowers bloom and when. I discover that a fallen tree in the river has become a haven for fish, and the Belted Kingfishers that hunt them.
Yesterday I watched a huge fish break the surface of the Neuse River. My first thought wasn’t, I want to catch that fish. It was, I want to learn this river. For nine months in 2025, I spent countless hours fishing a tidal creek. It took me a long time to understand that the best fishing wasn’t at high tide, when the water looked perfect. It was on the outgoing tide, when the water drained from the marsh grasses and concentrated the baitfish. That’s where the red drum were waiting.
That lesson had very little to do with fishing. It taught me to stop asking where I thought the fish should be and start paying attention to where nature told me they actually were.
I think that’s why homesteading fits me so well. I’m not chasing perfection. I’m chasing understanding.
My career was built on observing patterns, asking questions, and testing ideas. Those instincts didn’t disappear when I left the research world. They simply found a new home.
Now my research subjects are gardens, birds, river currents, pollinators, chickens, and weather.
Some people see six acres. I see an outdoor classroom that changes every day. And the wonderful thing about nature is that there is always another lesson waiting just around the corner.