I’m ready.

I apologize for my absence this past week. All my creative juices were used to write the six English papers for my AP class that starts Friday. I moved in to school last Friday as an orientation team member and have been helping people move in all week, showing them around campus, and logging hours of welcome activities each night. It’s exhausting, especially so because every minute I would have free I have been spent writing my said essays (yay procrastination). When I finally finished my last one this afternoon I breathed a sigh of relief and actually let myself get excited about school starting. Because I am. Excited that is. It’s my senior year for goodness sakes, and if I’m going to enjoy any year in high, this is the one. This year I’ve made a promise to myself to not get stressed unnecessarily, to put my health before anything by sleeping a lot, eating well, and exercising often. I am going to be a confident and proud young woman who won’t give rudeness any attention. I won’t overanalyze situations or let my insecurity take over. I am strong.

 I met my new roommate Sunday. Her name is Maria, she’s from Spain, and she’s a doll. She’s so, so nice and friendly and gorgeous and just seems so happy and excited to be here. I also have made new friends with some not so new girls, the juniors. I’ve never gotten to know this group of juniors partly because they’ve never lived in my dorm, and also because I’ve never given any effort to get to know them. They too are lovely and extremely funny and it’s so refreshing to realize that there are such good people who are right in front of you but you’ve only just discovered because you had overlooked them this whole time. They stayed in our room until midnight telling us story after story, genuinely happy to be with us, to be with each other. This whole time in boarding I have only looked it as a convenience factor, that I didn’t have to wake up as early and drive to school every morning. I held the bad parts closest and let them overrun my boarding experience. I went home every weekend and any other chance I could and so I’ve never really developed a close bond with any boarders, but looking at this group, how close they are, the stories they have, it makes me sad that I missed out on this. To be fair, my grade was an exception, and all the boarders seemed to gravitate towards the day students, and we never had a overwhelming grade-wide bond. Still, they’re closer than I’ll ever be to them. I can’t say that living in a separate dorm from the majority of seniors will make it easy to improve my relationship with them, but I’m willing to make an effort. Besides, I’m also excited to get to know the juniors in my dorm. I’m ready to make up for the lost time and make the most of my last year of (high school) boarding. The last year of high school. Tomorrow is my last first day!

This is going to be a good year. I’m ready. 

The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore. The Last Real Day of Summer
The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore.

The Last Real Day of Summer

The sun was setting on a day shorter than its predecessor, longer than its heir, and I went out in bare feet to soak it the last few rays of sunlight. My last real day of Summer. I saw leaves changing and flowers dying and I knew Fall was on its way. Just that morning I had taken noticed how the Emerald Grass of June now had glimmers of September’s Gold and how the leaves were mature and held much wisdom from months perched up at their Great Height. And as I trekked through the overgrown brush of the Hilltop I tried to accept the fact that from here all freedom would cease and homework would ensue and all the things I didn’t get done would never happen. So I took a deep breath and plunged into the icy waters of Senior Year, telling myself that the only way to ever graduate was to start swimming towards shore.

Zucchini Pizza

With a good quality cheese, homemade tomato sauce, flavorful spices and fresh herbs, all on a bed of zucchini straight from the garden, you won’t even notice the absence of pizza dough- promise!

How to:

Per 1 serving

Half of one zucchini, cut in half again, seeds scooped out to create a tunnel

Spread layer of coconut oil on the tops of both pieces and pop into oven on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper for 20 minutes or so at 350 F- until zucchini is soft and cooked, but not yet browned

Fill with tomato sauce, top with cheese and add any or all as toppings: meats, basil, crushed red pepper flakes, pepper, oregano, roasted veggies

Pop it back into the oven for another 10-15 minutes (still at 350 F) until the cheese is melted and slightly toasted

ENJOY!

Things I want to remember…

That time the super nice egg-seller at the farmers’ market who I get my weekly dozen eggs from, said the eggs were on him. He said that he appreciates me coming out every week, and likes to see young people support businesses like his.

It pays to support good hearted, reputable people. People you can just lay eyes on and just know they are good people. I couldn’t stop gushing to my sister on the way home how in awe I was at this simple, yet so, so meaningful act of kindness. There truly are good people out there.  

Happy Sunday all!

-Kendall

You Did A Good Job Today

The words poured from my brother’s lips as seamlessly as water pours from a faucet: “you did a good job today.” I’m not sure exactly what he meant; I’m not even sure he knew either. I think in that moment he served as a messenger from what ever gods are up there, whatever spirit might be watching over me. And it was one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me. You see, I’ve had a terrible day. It started at 11 when I woke up. Already my day was compromised because I had two hours less of daylight than I usually do. I hate waking up that late, but I stayed up late the night before with too many ideas flooding my brain to sleep. I went downstairs to make breakfast-pancakes, because I had a bit of sour milk that I needed to use up. Before I could even grab the pan, my mom stormed into the kitchen and started reproaching me for this and that. She yelled at me for not cleaning up the kitchen last night properly, for cooking too late at night, for cooking pickles which made the house stink of vinegar, for spending too much money at the grocery store. She brought my dad into it and told me how he’s “about ready to kick me out of the house”- Woh, woh, woh, good morning to you too! She said that the way I treat him, the way I only talk to him if I’m asking for money, all of it is unacceptable, blah, blah, blah. Yes. I do fully see why my dad thinks that about me. Lately, yes, I have really only been nice to him if I’m asking for money. I know. And I take full blame. It’s not the only time I’m nice to him, but it’s enough of the time. I just don’t see why she had to get mad at me that early in the morning. I like to think of every day as separate, sacred in that arguments (unless really brutal) should never carry on to the next day. And anyways, my dad and I never argued last night. I asked him to pay for half of something (we would both use) before he went to bed. He must have mulled over my request all night and together he and my mom must have discussed it in the morning before I woke up. They must have discussed how I asked him for money for the 128234th time. Before I was even conscious my parents were plotting my demise. Somehow that just didn’t settle with me- it’s a wonder, really.

My day continued with reminding myself the news I just heard the day before- I am going to have a roommate this year. “The dorms are booked this year- completely booked, and so of course, you’ll have a roommate. I know you specifically asked for a single room, so I thought you’d like to know before you arrived on campus.” Yes, thank you Ms. O, I would like to know this vital piece of information. This vital piece of my Senior Year. Yes Ms. O, this vital piece of information is vital. I though about how I’m going to have to tiptoe around someone who is on a different schedule with me. Make sure that any food I eat doesn’t smell. Make sure my room is clean All. The. Time. Feel the need to talk and entertain this new student when all I want to do is watch Netflix or do Homework. But no, really Ms. O, I’m so excited to meet her, this Spanish girl named Maria.

I went outside, tears streaming down my face and sat in front of the plot of Earth that we “own”, tears streaming down its face- it pored this morning, starting before I woke up. I thought it symbolic. Despite this, I breathed in the air from the cleansed Earth, swallowed my pride and my sadness, realizing that it was all in my head and that I didn’t have to be put down by my stupid mom, and I went and apologized to her. I went up to her, gave her a hug, and simply said “I don’t want to fight” and meant it. I never asked for a fight this morning. She gave it to me and I tried to deny it until I was tormented enough. At first she tried to fight my apology. She tried to counteract my statement with something hurtful, but probably realized how she too didn’t want to fight, and so she simply nodded her head and walked away. You did a good job today.

I got a text from my friend Ariyel saying that her hockey tournament would end at 1:25 and that she would be over after she showered. Ok, so now I need to have my room cleaned 2-3 hours earlier than I expected… Great. I love seeing my friends, but sometimes I need to convince myself of this. “Ok Kendall, you can just back out now, say that you actually have a lunch with your grandmother, last minute- you know how those things are, family first!” “Kendall, don’t isolate yourself so much, you need to see people. You need to be with your friends. Besides, oh yes! I’ve had a terrible start to my day and so having a friend over would be good medicine. Not the wallowing in your room that you were planning on doing.” “You’re right, Kendall. Okay I’ll tell her to come on over.” And so it was set. I was going to be social today. I was going to see one of my favorite persons today. You did a good job today. Then, I went upstairs to clean my room. I cleared out all the dishes, the second-time’s-not-the-charm attempt at a Kombucha scoby that went moldy but I’ve been to lazy to get rid of. I put dirty clothes in hampers, I made organized piles of books, and papers, and shoes, and pillows. My room will rarely be truly clean and perfect, but I can at least have it be organized and appear to be clean. I stepped back at a mostly clean room- a livable, breathable space that didn’t suck all the inspiration out of me every time I walked into it. You did a good job today.

Ariyel finally came and we talked and talked, my soul was healing the more we talked about insignificant things, gossip, the dread of summer reading, the fear for Senior Year. All of it medicine for the brokenness I felt in my heart. I finally made those pancakes and we shared them and they were damn delicious; the sour milk didn’t in fact turn them sour as Ariyel was afraid of. Despite their slight burnt-ness they were fluffy and warm and sweet from the maple syrup. She left after the four hours which seemed like four minutes and exhaled a sigh of content-ness. You did a good job today. I went up to my room and finished the 4th out of 6 summer reading books due in less than two weeks. You did good today. I read some more out and felt inspired and drank the coffee that I never got that morning. You did good today.

I had salad and fish for dinner even though all I really wanted was another cup of coffee and maybe some popcorn. You did a good job today.

I made a loaf of sourdough- a recipe I’ve been longing to try all summer. You did a good job today.

And as I was cleaning up, my mom stormed into the kitchen again after an afternoon at work. This time she came in without words, without rapprochement. And so I instead said the words; I asked where she was all afternoon,  in order to create conversation and lessen tension. “At school” said in the driest, plainest, most passive aggressive tone and she walked back to her room. As my brother left the room, I asked my sister to come here, “did mom talk about me at all today? Did she seem really angry at me?” I can only imagine how often my mom complains to Chloe about me. “No, she didn’t say anything!” Chloe said. I didn’t believe her. “Really,” I asked, “I don’t believe you.” “Really!” Chloe said and she went in the other room. She didn’t want anything to do with me either. That’s when Mac came in. As usual I was surly to him. I can’t remember what I said, if anything. Likely it was just my body language and my expressions. I don’t like when people are in the kitchen when I am. The kitchen is my Sanctuary, my Haven, where I like to create without interruption. The kitchen, however, and I’ve been told repeatedly, is a Common Space, and I cannot get angry if other people are in there. On his way out, my brother who evidently can read my mind told me, “you did a good job today, KenKen.” And in typical fashion for me I took it as an insult, as a mockery and my immediate reaction, as usual was to defend myself. “What do you mean?” I shot back at him. But it was only until after he left that I realized the meaning that little statement carried. I then broke down in tears. “I did do a good job today.”

This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall This week in the garden:
There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 
On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader. 
Well, I think that’s it for now!
Take care,
Kendall

This week in the garden:

There’s a tree heavy with tiny peaches, bushels of beans, and weeds galore. The tomatoes and melons are slowing down, the former gearing up for a late summer revival of a few volunteers. The summer squash and cucumbers are pacing along at a moderate speed, and the brussel sprouts are growing, growing, growing. The second round of potatoes were harvested early this week, and peas, after an unsuccessful first go round are getting a second chance. And those darn weeds- everywhere. In the last few days, we’ve rounded about 7 weeding hours. Pulling, prodding, coaxing, ruthlessly ripping one after the other, piling, and then removing to the giant stockpile of this year’s and last’s who will one day get a second life. The garden is so alive, and yet it is dying at the same time. Like all of us, I suppose. We’re all more alive now than we may ever be; we’re only given today, and yet, we’re closer to Death than we’ve ever been. 

On that vain, sort of, I’d like to inform everyone that I’ve created a new blog: homelesssteader.blogspot.com. The point of the blog is for me to focus on the little ways that I can be a Homesteader without having a homestead. If you didn’t know (not that I’ve explicitly said), more than anything I want to live on a Homestead- my Homestead. However, I’m only 18 with no more than 100 dollars to my name at the moment, no job, no help, not much Homesteading experience, and so for now my dream is on hold. However, in this vein of seize the day, I need to focus on the ways in which I am making steps  and strides towards my future Homestead. I must never go backwards. My Homestead will happen. And so each week I will pick a topic centered around my longing for a homestead. I will do a local farmer’s market haul, a post about working in my grandfather’s garden, a healthy recipe, a gripe about mainstream life, about relying on the Supermarket, about ignorant people, or alternatively I’ll post about strides I’ve made that week, such as finding a Raw Milk supplier, or buying a local, pasture raised chicken to make bone broth, or other such goals on my to-do list. I’ll be sharing links of articles, blogs that inspire me, photos, and current thoughts. This blog is not meant to replace HerView, but rather it is to give this very large part of my life and of my heart the space it deserves. Likewise, there is so much I want to talk about on the Homesteading subject, but I wouldn’t want it to override the other aspects of my life. Homesteading means A LOT, but it is not EVERYTHING. But Homesteading means a lot, which is why I’m fairly confident that I can keep up weekly posts, at least for a while. Unlike my 365 project. That was a fail. So anyways, if you’re interested in my journey to building my Homestead from the inside- out (or some sappy shit like that), please head on over to The Hom(less) Steader

Well, I think that’s it for now!

Take care,

Kendall

Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes.  Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes.  Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes.  Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes.  Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes.  Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes.  Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 
Love, 
KenKen
On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes. 

Happy birthday, Chloe! You are the most beautiful, crazy, confident, and sweet girl I know. I’m so happy to call you my sister. I hope 12 and (6th grade!) is good to you. 

Love, 

KenKen

On a side note, completely unrelated and totally inappropriate for this post, but because I don’t want to forget it: every time my dog, Nipsey comes in the house he goes straight to my mom’s room and pees on her carpet. Each time this happens my mom yells at me- because apparently I make him do it?? Or, more like she needs someone to blame (she at least has enough sense not to blame our clueless dog). Yes, I technically let him in, but that’s only because he stands right next to the door and bolts into the house like lightning, leaving me with no time to stop him. Anyways, I just find it so funny that he enjoys peeing on her carpet so much. Bad daughter, maybe. Hilarious, yes. 

Super Easy, Healthy Zucchini Muffins

These are so good that my super-picky 11 (ahem, twelve tomorrow) sister ate 3 last night… Even after I told her what was in them. They are sugar-free (and yes, that includes aspartame), moist, loaded with zucchini, and also super easy to make. 

Here’s what you’ll need:

2 cups grated zucchini

2 cups flour (white, wheat, or a combination; gluten free would probably work as well)

1 super ripe peach

1/4 cup honey or maple syrup

1.5 tsp baking soda

1 egg

First, start by cutting up your peach into small bits. Add it to a container with a lid. Then, add the 1/4 cup honey and stir the two together vigorously so the honey is well incorporated and the peach is a little bit mashed up. Put it in the fridge until it’s time to use it.

Next, chop your zucchini into small bits and add it to a blender. Turn on the lowest setting, stopping every few seconds or so at first to help it along. Take a wooden spoon and mash the zucchini down deeper in the blender.This will take some time, unless of course you have a Vitamix or Blendtec, or other fancy blender. Then I’m jealous… It’s done once you have a thick, liquidy green paste and all the big pieces are gone. Just think, this is all going to be baked into a muffin, and you wouldn’t necessarily want to find a big hunk of zucchini in your sweet treat. The goal is to sneak these veggies in.

Once it’s all grated, add it to a big bowl. Then take your peach/ honey mixture and put it into the blender and pulse it a few times so the big chunks are gone and it’s a pureed mash. Then add this mixture to the bowl of zucchini. Next, add your egg, beaten or not to the bowl. Break the yolk if not beaten and incorporate it into the zucchini/ peach mixture. Then add the flour and baking soda and mix until incorporated. Don’t overmix. Stop when the all the flour is moistened. 

Next you’ll want to spray one muffin pan. The last time I made these I made eighteen muffins, but they were on the small size and I could have easily made 12 bigger muffins. Besides, this means you’ll have one less dish to wash :) Pour the batter in evenly and bake at 350 F for 25-30 minutes, until the tops are deep brown and a toothpick comes out clean when stuck in the center. Mine only took 25, but again they were smaller. 

That’s it! Just wait for them to cool a bit (or burn your tongue like I did…) and ENJOY! 

Other fun additions:

walnuts or other soft nut

cocoa powder

chocolate chips

cocoa powder and chocolate chips

small dried fruit like raisins or dried cranberries

more honey/ maple syrup or other sweetener for a sweeter muffin

Note: You can also make a zucchini loaf. Just spray a loaf pan and bake for 1 hour or so. 

Selective omnivore

I forwent the dairy and meat industries because I was hurt. I felt personally victimized and I vowed never to trust anyone even slightly involved with livestock again. what I overlooked in the process was the good farmers out there. The ones who despite being part of that same industry have the exact opposite impact that corporations have; they make the world a better place. I just had to learn to find these.

However I do consider my year of being vegan a huge blessing. It taught me more than I could have ever known going in to it and there’s no way I would be where I am today without having made and stuck to that decision. I would be ever increasingly overweight, confused, and in the dark about food. I would have seen an abundance of meat as a right and not a privilege that is intended to be eaten without blindfolds.

When eating out and at school I’ll still even call myself vegan to simplify my order. Never for a second will I forget the animal in the business of bringing a burger to the table. Never will I get so full of myself and think that I matter more than its wellbeing.

I don’t need meat and dairy to live or even to be healthy. I lived off it for over a year and would still be doing so if I lived in a food desert and was very poor. But I don’t. And (despite being on a relatively small budget) I’m not. And so I can enjoy high quality meat from hardworking, honest, proud local farmers raising animals in wide open pastures who eat bugs and grass and who can roll around in mud for their whole life no matter how long it happens to be. And so I can sit down at the table and enjoy a meal that I know didn’t come from abuse, constant fear, and neglect. I can enjoy a glass of creamy full fat milk that came from a cow who had order occupations beside standing up all day in one spot having milk squeezed from it.

I am now cleansed, clear headed, and out of the dark, ready to bring these yummy and rich foods back into my life. My body was craving them. It told me so at that first bite of pork sausage and the later bites of tuna and wild caught salmon (the only meats I’ve had so far).

I will buy them sparingly and very, very selectively so I can afford the other important components of a well balanced diet, but also so that I may appreciate each bite, each sip, and most importantly each animal it came from.