Hannah’s Story

The Matriarchs 

“St. Francis of Assisi explains the creative process this way: the woman who works with her hands only is a laborer; the woman who works with her hands and her head is a craftswoman; the woman who works with her hands, her head, and her heart is an artist.” 

― Sarah Ban Breathnach, Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort of Joy

Ever since I can remember, my mother planted extravagant gardens. She grew tomatoes, strawberries, lettuce, carrots, basil–whatever edible gardening she could manage. No matter where we lived, she planted flowers. Our outdoor space was always beautiful. It never had the look that so many manicured lawns do. There were usually tools lying around and imperfect lines. It was wild and homemade. One year in particular, when I was five or six, she built a trellis like a teepee, and planted sweet peas to grow up around it for me to play inside. She always seemed happiest and freest when she was working outside. 

She would spend all of her free time tilling and sowing. I don’t know who taught her or where she learned it… but domestic arts run deep in her side of the family tree. My great-grandmother was the matriarch who embodied the ideal: a self-taught oil painter, a talented baker, and a loving mother to many. I, my mother, and my grandmother all strive to keep up with the simple but extraordinary life she led–the home she built and the way she loved the world. 

I have early memories of baking in the kitchen with my mother and grandmother–cakes, muffins, cookies, pies, homemade pasta. My grandmother taught me that making beautiful spaces and meals and hosting others was an art, and my mother showed me how to be a homesteader, regardless of my land or space. She sewed her own curtains, bedding, and pillows. She cross-stitched, foraged beautiful home goods, and cooked nourishing food. We never had disposable income, but she made the most of what she had, and there was always more than enough–simple abundance. 

The Cowboys

My dad grew up on a farm in Cashion, Oklahoma. My grandmother was a horse trainer and my grandfather a builder. He built the barn (featured above) by hand. For several generations, the Pughs raised and trained Arabian horses. They raised sheep, Simmental Cattle, and chickens. My father’s duties were simple: watering animals, feeding animals, brush hogging, and carrying hay. 

The farmhouse he grew up in (featured above) is the only house I’ve known my whole life. We moved throughout my childhood in and out of state, but the one home that I’ve known my whole life is this one. We launched fireworks on the fourth of July, played board games, played outside, watched movies, and shared simple country dinners. 

Although my dad’s career is impressive, he always dreamed of returning to a farm. Having a farm and caring for it was always the singular goal and mission in our family. It was symbolic of freedom and symbolic of simplicity. It was the way God intended us to live.

A Family Hobby Farm 

We began raising livestock when I was in upper elementary school. We started with chickens, rabbits, and a flock of goats. In the years to come we added cows and horses. Working from my grandparent’s land, we renovated gardens and sheds and brought new life to the space. We later bought land in Guthrie, Oklahoma and moved many elements of our hobby farm to our small acreage. 

When I was in my early-teens, we planted an orchard–full of every sort of fruit tree imaginable. Cherries, peaches, plums, apples, pears, figs, nectarines. . . It was magical. Each year, my mother’s gardens expanded, growing more and more as an edible gardener. The dream was actualized, and now awaits a new season as my family begins to build a homestead in Norman, Oklahoma. 

A New Place and Time 

I married into a family with a legacy in agriculture–the Masons. In fact, the diamond on my engagement ring is a family heirloom, passed down from my husband’s great-grandmother, who wore it as her wedding ring. The Masons were farmers in Streator, Illinois. I still have a lot to learn about this family tree. What I do know about the Masons is that they are good stewards, and that they built a legacy through agriculture. 

My husband, Grant, and I are building our home in Denver, Colorado. We were married on land in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. We live in a rented townhome with a 25 by 4 foot garden and a hydroponic tower. I am a classical teacher and my husband works in environmental safety. We are doing our best to love God, others, and the world. 

Like many others, we are disenchanted by some of the modern pressures, industries, and values of our generation.We are working toward a goal, and this blog is a part of that goal: to build a home that our children know their whole life, preferably a homestead that makes enough money for us to work part time and be present parents. I would like horses again. I would like an orchard again. I would like enough land that people without means could come and build simple homes on it. 

Like my father, the farm will always be the dream. The simplest thing will always feel the least attainable, but my hope is that this digital space pushes me and others in the direction of our dreams. What I also have learned from my family’s legacy, is that the real legacy is not the land itself, but the relationships with each other and with nature. The freedom of being handy, the joy of growing, preserving, and preparing food. The value in living simply and naturally– the focus on the living rather than the earning and the creating rather than the consuming– that is the real goal. 

Discovering Modern Homesteading 

The question that has to be addressed is this: Is the homesteading model that worked in the past invalidated by the economic and environmental restraints of the present? 

My hope is to test these limits and resolve these tensions through becoming a distinctively modern homesteader–to find a sweet synthesis–between ancient local practices and future global needs. My first task is to build my home and to help others do the same. 

As I reflect on the matriarchs in my family and the way in which they lived and loved, it is apparent to me that homesteading and homemaking, as disciplines and art forms, are accessible to normal people–people without means and people without land. 

I invite you to join me as I learn to make sense of this lineage and how to move forward in light of it. 

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