My father was a homesteader.  He owned 260 acres of land in western Massachusetts and his ambition was to be a homesteader- The house was over one hundred years old at the time.  There was plenty of wooded land, plenty of field for grazing, and he always grew the greenest vegetable garden of anyone I knew. 

Dad owned his own horse- a beautiful black stallion.  He adored that horse, talked about it with wistful longing in his eyes.  That horse loved to haul logs he said.  "He  worked tirelessly at it because he knew I loved him and would treat him right,"  he said.  I often asked him when we would move back onto a farm.  I think I finally stopped asking by the time I was 14 or so, because I knew it wouldn't happen.  But the dream was alive in me more than I ever realized at the time. 

My father used to brag about the fact that for several years after he and my mother moved to the farm, there was no running water (other than down the hill from a bucket in the well), and no electricity.  I think it was my mother who pushed for both.  She didn't care for lugging water up the hill to do laundry I suppose.  But that was a small negotiation in the grand scheme of things. 

My older brother and sister were born, and my father found that he couldn't keep up the taxes on the land without working off the farm.  So he became a foreman at a papermill, and then hurt his back in the process, disabling him to a great extent from the work of the farm.  The sad irony was that the injury was caused by the very work that was supposed to allow him to stay on the farm to the point that it would be self-sufficient.   Many years later, after several surgeries,  and nearly losing mom to a life threatening sickness, he burned the barn and sold off much of the land.  (The barn was nearly falling down, but mom would have none of it, so he did it while she was recovering in the hospital).  I think his intent was to rebuild.

I was 2 years old, and had had my share of death defying experiences and surgeries to repair a birth defect.  I hate to think of it, but I think that was about the end of my father's dream.  He nearly had lost my mother and was faced with signing my older brother and sister over to be wards of the state, and now there were 3 more mouths to feed and he was still physically too lame to run the farm.  So he sold it. 

My sister talks nostalgically of the farm and how nice it was to be lost in the woods with my brother, but not really lost.  She spent the first 10 years of her life on the farm- I hardly remember it, but I long for it just the same- I think that she feels satisfied in with her experience, but  I long to fulfill my father's dream. 

We travelled the country- 6 times from one end to the other- my father's health and wellbeing were the primary focus.  He was bound to be his own boss, no matter how little it paid, and he detested any kind of government support or medling, but there were times that the greenstamps kept us from going hungry.  I believe those were the most excruciating times for him- not so much the physical pain. 

Then, my mother went to work.  I don't think I  minded being in school until I knew that Mom would not be home to make sure we made it home, or that my brother wouldn't pick on me knowing he could because he was older.  I was not the type of child that made friends easily- or at least kept them easily.  I was a dreamer and an idealist early on, and pretty oblivious to the social nuances.  I wasn't prim and proper- I was barefoot and untameable, at least until I became a teenager and realized what kind of social environment I was really in at school, a place where I knew I would never fit it, and knowing that my parent's were just trying to sketch out a decent life for us. 

We had our share of family dysfunction, much of which was directly associated with the sense of loss and regret over the years of giving up the farm, though it seemed at the time there was no option.  There was still some kind of need to make sense of it, to find some way to deal with the anger and grieving that just didn't want to go away, because of a life and quality of living that was not lost, but stolen.

My father and I had our ups and downs- the downs mainly associated with a strained relationship between him and my mother.  But we had one thing in common that no one else could share as deeply as we did- we both had the same longing to be free and uncumbered, no obligations to anyone but ourselves and our loved ones.  During those times of tension and stress in our relationship, the garden was the buffer zone.  He stopped growing the garden about a year before I graduated.  My parents were really struggling in their marriage and trying to manage my brothers' mishief.  In the end, college was my escape. 

I've been married now for 10 years to a wonderful man, and we have a 5 1/2 year old son.  My father never had the opportunity to meet him- he died 6 months before our son was born.  I remember saying to myself just before he died that perhaps it won't be such a loss to my son- afterall, he never knew him.  And recalling the struggles we had, I wondered what kind of meaningful relationship they would have anyway. 

Now that our son is older, I so earnestly find myself endeavoring to pass along the same values and pioneer/independent spirit that I so implicitely seemed to inherit.  I feel more deliberate in my efforts with my son than my father was with me, but maybe it just came naturally to him because he had experienced it on a deeper level.  He worked and sweated for it.  Had it in the tip of his fingers and watched it slip away.  I was the benefactor.  I had no way of appreciating what he had tried to do for us until my own son was born, and that dream of moving back onto the farm began to stir up inside of me again, for the sake of my own child.  I guess once farming gets into your blood, there's no way to get it out.  My great grandmother raised her family of 10, plus 3 grandchildren on a dairy farm.  I wish I had known her.

My husband is a fisherman and boatbuilder.  He teases me at times about my vision for a farm because he doesn't see that we'll ever leave where we are.  To be a fisherman, you don't need land, you need oceanwater, and there ain't much growing land on the rock coast of Maine.  Even if we could find a slice, it would come at a heavy price.  So I have to scale back my dream a bit to fit our life together- otherwise, I would go crazy in my dreams and our marriage would be like a 2 headed monster. Still, I think we could swing a parcel of 5 acres or so.  That's all you really need to be a "real" homesteader right?  Maybe not even that.

Well, so far, we're alright.  Our land isn't fit to farm, but we can grow our summer vegetables in raised beds.  I've thought about working with a co-op farm in exchange for shared  bounty.  It's a real possibility worth looking into. I have my own seasonal cottage rental business, and I help my husband with lobstering in whatever way I can- repairing traps here and there, painting buoys, odd jobs on the boat here and there, and fostering the father son bond whenever I can.   This year I'll be spending a good amount of time in the bait shed getting his bags ready for the next haul.   Wayne says, we may not have a farm, but we're farming the sea.  He understands my dream.  We just don't have the room to mix the smell of pigs and bait on the same property :)  Especially with summer guests right next door. 

Well, my dream of homesteading doesn't have to be a distant one, just a bit modified.  I know what I am able to do, what my level of self-sufficiency is.  I know where I want to be.  I want my life to be simple and unencumbered by the trappings and materialism of this world.  I gave up a teaching career to spare my son the mundanity and social paria of institututional education.  I am eating less meat and more beans because it's healthier and cheaper, and better for the environment (though I have to admit that I would struggle as a vegetarian).  I buy my clothing at used clothing stores when I can.  We homeschool our son.  We give up some of the "extras" that the world thinks are necessary.  I consolidate my errands to save gas in my gas guzzling car (Yes, we actually need a larger vehicle for our business- sorry).  I bake in bulk and freeze meals.  I patch and repatch my clothing.  I regularly donate and pare down my "stuff".  I want to be able to live more and more at ease with less and less.  I want to live in such a way that a fire, or an ice storm, or a national recession or energy crisis could take place and I wouldn't skip a beat.  I have a way to go, but I know where I am heading.   By the grace of God, I will be able to say as the apostle Paul did, "I have learned that in whatsoever state that I am, therewith to be content".