🌿 Homesteading as Heritage: Building a Life of My Own
This morning after finishing my chores, I sat down and watched a reel a friend had shared. It was of Mexican dancers moving gracefully in front of a beautiful cathedral. While I recognized the beauty of what I was seeing, what I felt inside was sadness.
Those dancers had a strong heritage to hold onto — something alive, communal, passed down and celebrated together. I’ve often wished for that. Being raised in a mixed-race family where little importance was placed on either culture, I’ve felt the absence of inherited traditions. And I know my parents carried that same distance from their own upbringing. I can understand the history, the reasons why, but I still wish the choices had been different.
For a long time, that left me with the question: what do I belong to? Where do I root myself?
The identity I lean into most right now is homesteader. And strangely, it feels like a calling. Being a beginner at it makes the connection feel even more organic, like I’m building something alive from scratch. My training as a chef weaves into this too — not the high-stress, cut-throat version you see on TV, but an intentional, slower rhythm of cooking. Learning the language and skill of the kitchen has given me a foundation I can now translate into tending my land and feeding my family.
For me, homesteading is more than growing food or raising animals — it’s creating a heritage where none was given, and shaping a life where pace and purpose coexist.
Living with AuDHD adds another layer. My thoughts move in tangled threads, an organized chaos. Following one idea often requires me to touch several others along the way. Sometimes it feels like climbing the hardest side of a mountain, only to find an easy footpath on the way back down. The struggle to untangle the knots helps me see the terrain differently, even if it takes longer to get there. That’s how I move through my days: circling, revisiting, trying again — and in the end, finding clarity in the struggle.
In all of this, I see a pattern: heritage, homesteading, and my own neurodivergent way of thinking are not separate threads but parts of the same weave. I may not have inherited traditions in the way I once wished, but I’m learning to create them — through food, through the garden, through the rhythm of tending this life.
Here’s to growing something rooted, something lasting, and something wholly mine. 🌱
— Kim
In our house, celebration tastes like cheesecake. It’s the dessert I bake for birthdays, anniversaries, and milestones. Over the years, it’s become our family tradition—one that feels both grounding and joyful. This week, Chris celebrated five years of sobriety . That’s a milestone worth the richest, most decadent dessert I could dream up. When I asked what he wanted, his request came without hesitation: peanut butter cheesecake with a sourdough discard brownie crust. Cheesecake takes patience. From the slow baking to the long chill, it’s a dessert that insists on being intentional. And maybe that’s why it’s the dessert I return to again and again when we have something big to mark. Each cheesecake carries a story, a memory, a reason to pause. This one, especially, will always remind me of strength, resilience, and the beauty of traditions you build yourself. 🍫 The Brownie Crust This cheesecake starts with my sourdough discard brownies—rich, fudgy, and deeply chocolatey. On...

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