Dirt Under the Nails, Peace in the Heart
Today was one of those “in-between” kinds of days on the homestead—not full of drama, not completely restful, but exactly the kind that builds a life like this. The kind that earns its keep in quiet ways.
Garden Check-In: Mulching Like My Life Depends on It
I spent the morning spreading mulch in the main rows. After the storm the other day, the soil was soft, and the weeds were already making plans for a takeover. Southeast Oklahoma soil doesn’t stay still for long once you give it a drink. I laid down more straw between the rows of tomatoes, peppers, and beans, hoping to keep both moisture and weeds in check during the next heat wave.
There’s a rhythm to it: rake, pull, tuck, pat. The kind of repetition that gives your mind room to breathe. I thought a lot about my dad while I worked—how he used to mulch with whatever he could get his hands on, even old newspapers and pine needles when straw wasn’t handy. He was never afraid to experiment, as long as it kept things alive and well-fed.
Critters and Chores
The goats have been especially vocal lately. Whether it's the heat, the humidity, or the fact that Clover is getting bossier by the day, the little herd has been stirring things up. I caught Clover standing on top of the feed bin this morning like she was queen of the county. She’s got a way of testing every boundary you set for her—and finding the ones you didn’t know were there.
The chickens, on the other hand, seem content today. They’re finally settling into the new routine after I adjusted the shade sails and added extra ventilation to the coop. No more losses, thank God. I think I’ve found a system that works for this sticky Oklahoma heat, at least for now. A mister system might be the next thing I rig up, but that’s a project for another day.
Evening Wind-Down and Forward Thinking
As the sun started slipping behind the trees, I sat on the porch steps with a slice of leftover cornbread and a glass of cold tea. The whippoorwills were already tuning up, and the wind carried just the barest scent of honeysuckle and creek mud. It’s the kind of evening that makes you forget how hard the work was earlier in the day.
I pulled out my tattered garden notebook and started planning the succession planting for summer crops. Okra’s going in soon, along with more squash and another wave of pole beans. I’ve also started prepping a small shaded patch where I want to try growing some heat-tolerant lettuces. I know it’s ambitious, but I like seeing green on the plate in July.
Also made a note to start taking stock of the pantry. With the outdoor kitchen project moving along, I’ll be preserving most of our harvests out there—pickles, relishes, and hopefully a few dozen jars of tomato sauce if the blight holds off. I’ll need to plan those days carefully to avoid the worst heat of the day, but I’m excited to get back to canning without roasting the cabin in the process.
Gratitude in the Grind
It wasn’t a flashy day. No big victories, no major disasters. Just the quiet, persistent push forward—the kind of day that homesteading is made of. I didn’t get everything done, but I got enough done. And in this life, “enough” is a good day’s work.
I’m grateful for the tired ache in my shoulders, the smell of dirt under my nails, and the way the garden looks at dusk, heavy with promise.
From Wister Creek, with dust on my boots and peace in my soul,
Amanda