A Reintroduction, of Sorts • The Prairie Homestead

Something funny happens when you create online.

You put bits and pieces of yourself out there—things you know are only bits and pieces. But over time, people start to assume those pieces are the whole story. It’s not their fault. It’s not your fault. It’s just the nature of the internet… and these weird little para-social relationships we create here.

For a decade and a half, I’ve shared the homestead part of myself online. Not because I was hiding the rest of me—but because the rest didn’t really fit the homestead narrative. And for a long time, my homestead was indeed the main thing. It was my primary passion and the lens through which I saw everything.

But lately… it’s been shifting. The homestead part of me is still woven into my days, but it’s not the headline anymore. It’s moved to the background (like I talked about in that post), and other parts of me are finally coming up for air.

So this new year feels like the perfect time for a reintroduction.

These are the parts of me that have never fit the tidy “homestead woman” picture. My rough edges, my contradictions… The pieces I used to keep off-camera because they weren’t “on brand,” even though they’ve always been true.

Some are weighty, some are silly. Some of it might surprise you. Some of it won’t. Either way, it’s me. And it’s nice to finally and fully meet you.

• I feel the most like myself when I’m horseback doing a job. Not gardening, or canning, but horseback. Those are the moments I’m fully in my body and fully me. And that’s become my compass for a lot of other decisions. If something gives me that same grounded, locked-in feeling, I know it’s a full-body YES.
• I either care a LOT or I don’t care at all. I have a very all-or-nothing personality. When I care about something, I’m obsessive and Type A. When I don’t… I’m clueless and don’t pay attention to details.
• I get my hair professionally done once a year, if I’m lucky. Otherwise, I cut it myself and dye the grays with this shampoo stuff I found on Instagram. I don’t do manicures, and I’m proud of my scarred, weathered, wrinkly, working hands. The thought of driving to town to spend an hour in a nail salon makes me want to punch a wall.
• I don’t do Botox, obvi. That’s not a judgment on anyone else, but it’s a hard no for me. I love how I’m aging. When I see women mourning their twenties, I can’t relate. I wouldn’t trade what I know now or the confidence I feel in my body for the smoother skin of my younger years. I’m much happier here.
• I walk fast, move fast, talk fast, and think fast. It’s a blessing and a curse.
• I cuss more than you would probably expect. Sorry, not sorry.
• I’ve realized over the past year that a lot of people are intimidated by me because I have RBF. When I’m focused (which is also when I’m the happiest), I tend to look mad…. But I’m not—I’m just locked in. So if you see me speed-walking through the soda fountain with my serious face on, know I’m probably having the time of my life.
• I turned 40 last year. I’ve always heard people talk about your Forties as the time when you finally stop caring what people think, and I couldn’t fathom such a thing. But IT’S HAPPENING. And it is absolutely MAGIC. I will surely be writing more about this as the year progresses….
• I wear jeans almost always. Kimes Ranch (Lolas or Jolenes) are my favorite. I don’t wear dresses because (a) they’re wildly impractical for doing anything outside (especially with rattlesnakes and wind and riding), and (b) they give me the ick thanks to my Baptist childhood (see below). However, I will say… I bought two skirts last year that feel feral and rebellious and very much “me.” So perhaps I’m reclaiming dresses on my own terms a little.
• I’ve always loved button-down western shirts, but for a while I stopped wearing them because I thought I needed to fit into a different box. I bought a bunch of normal “mom clothes” and business-casual outfits, and every time I put them on, I could feel myself dim a little. My body felt muted and cold—like I was dressing for someone else’s life. So I sold and donated a huge chunk of my closet. Now it’s back to button-ups and jeans whenever I feel like it… which is pretty much always. (My all-time favorites are the Cowboy Girl collection by Ely Cattleman.) 
• I’m a homebody. I love my home, and I love making it cozy and welcoming.But the Instagram “homemaker movement” makes me want to crawl out of my skin.Some of that is tied to my childhood, and some of it is just… I can’t do the box. I can’t abide by the messaging that ties a woman’s worth to how joyfully she folds a fitted sheet. I love my home. But there is more to me than these four walls.I’ll make soup and light a candle and create a space that feels safe and warm—but I’m not interested in turning basic domestic tasks into my personality or a moral scorecard. And I certainly don’t believe every woman’s highest calling is folding laundry and doing dishes.
• I’m bored with 99.9% of homesteading content out there these days, and I don’t consume any of it.
• I read nonfiction almost exclusively. I’m forever the oddball when a group of women start talking about what they’re reading. I haven’t the slightest clue about the latest Colleen Hoover novel or Fourth Wing or whatever BookTok is passing around these days…My list usually includes books about evolutionary biology, weird history, and social commentary. I used to feel bad about not reading fiction like “everyone else,” but I don’t anymore. I just can’t make myself care about a pretend character’s love triangle. (Although hand me a good memoir and I’m in.) 
• I consider myself politically homeless. I don’t fit neatly on the Right or Left, and I’m not interested in living on a steady diet of outrage or letting partisan drama become my whole personality. I keep up with current events loosely, but I don’t mainline the news. Call me irresponsible, but I’ve watched too many good people work themselves into an utter panic over headlines… and nothing ever changes except their blood pressure.I’d rather be on the ground in my community doing real, tangible work than doom-scrolling in the name of “research.”
• People online have been trying to figure out my religion for years, so they can either align with me, hate me, or save me. Because of that, I have refused to hand the internet any sort of label. (Basically, just to be obstinate…) But I’m 40 now, and I say the things.So here it is:I don’t go to church anymore. (Cue the pearl-clutching.)I was raised IBLP / Independent Fundamental Baptist. (Yes, Shiny Happy People is very, very real.) I’ve spent the past 20 years untangling from that. I have a relationship with God, but it’s private and sacred and I have zero interest in forcing it into tidy boxes, denominational labels, or Sunday-morning pew-sitting.

So there you have it, my friend.

If any of that surprised you, good. If you feel the need to unfollow, that’s totally fine. And I mean that. No hard feelings. We’re allowed to change, and we’re allowed to opt out when something doesn’t fit anymore.

But I’m done sanding off the edges to make the internet comfortable.

This is me—unapologetically.

And there’s probably more to come, so buckle up. ?

By the way, f you’ve been told you’re a little too much for some rooms too… pull up a chair. You’re in good company.

The coffee might go cold while we talk, but I promise it’ll be real. ??