For years, Joe and I dreamed about stepping away and living off the grid. We enjoyed the idea being away from the noise.
A life where the rhythm of our days came from the sun, the seasons, and the land—not screens, traffic, and power bills.
Dreaming of mornings that smelled like dew and woodsmoke, not burnt coffee and deadlines.
Besides looking at where we have been, we started to look at our future.
There's a growing uneasiness that sits in the pit of our stomach when we think about how unpredictable things have become.
It almost feels like the systems so many people depend on are becoming more fragile by the day.
We’re concerned about the direction things seem to be headed—not just in terms of infrastructure, but the overall feeling that our lives are increasingly in the hands of forces far outside our control.
That is not a place we want to live from.
Instead of letting that concern turn into fear, Joe and I decided to turn it into action.
Building an off-grid life is our way of stepping forward with intention—creating stability, self-reliance, and a sense of peace that doesn’t depend on what happens in the headlines.
So, in a nutshell, we have decided to go off the grid.
Not in a dramatic “drop everything overnight” kind of way, but slowly, deliberately, and with open eyes.
It started by asking questions:
This page is the heart of our journey—where I share exactly how we’re piecing this puzzle together.
From solar power to elderberries, this is our evolving story of simplicity, resilience, and wild hope.
One of the first big pieces of the off-grid puzzle for us is solar power. Our current house is all electric and the idea of harnessing the sun’s energy to run our home, greenhouse, and everyday essentials just makes sense. It’s clean, quiet, and—most importantly—it gives us a sense of control over our own future.
We’ve been spending a lot of time researching different solar setups, from small portable panels to full off-grid systems.
Right now, we’re looking into starter power stations like Jackery and similar brands as a way to begin building our backup. They’re reliable, expandable, and a smart first step while we learn the ropes.
Our plan isn’t to rush in and throw everything on credit. Instead, we’re saving up intentionally, piece by piece, so that when we make the investment, it’s fully ours.
There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing the system we’ll eventually install is paid for in full—no strings attached, no monthly payments hanging over our heads.
We’ll start small, maybe with a setup that powers key appliances and essentials during outages.
The beauty of solar is that it doesn’t have to happen all at once. Like everything on our homestead, it will grow as we do.
Living in West Virginia, we know that winter doesn’t play around. When the temperatures drop, staying warm isn’t just about comfort—it’s essential.
That’s why heating has been one of our biggest areas of planning as we move toward living off the grid.
Joe has been putting a lot of thought into our heating system, and one of the first practical steps we’re taking is installing a propane gas stove inside our home.
Propane is a dependable backup heat source, and having a dedicated stove means that if the power goes out, we’re not left in the cold.
We love the idea of knowing that even during a heavy snowstorm or a grid outage, we can still keep the house warm and cozy.
It’s a smart middle ground: we’re not fully reliant on propane long-term, but it gives us peace of mind while we continue to build out other systems.
Eventually, we want to incorporate wood heat—both for the sustainable rhythm of gathering and storing wood, and for the kind of radiant warmth only a wood stove can bring.
Between propane for emergencies and wood for everyday heating, we’re creating layers of security that make us feel prepared instead of vulnerable.
No off-grid journey would be complete without animals, and for us, chickens were a natural place to start. They bring energy, abundance, and a bit of chaos—in the best way.
Right now, we have quite the lively flock: around 60 laying hens, a few lovable Silkies and Frizzles, and even two ducks who have fully claimed their place in the mix.
Every morning, as soon as I step outside, I’m greeted with a chorus of clucks, quacks, and the flapping of wings. It’s like having our own little barnyard symphony.
The Silkies and Frizzles are my soft spot. Their quirky personalities and fluffy feathers add so much charm to the homestead. The laying hens, on the other hand, are the backbone of our flock—hardy, dependable layers that keep our egg baskets full.
With nearly 60 hens, we get a steady flow of fresh eggs, which means we can feed ourselves, share with neighbors, and plan ahead for preserving.
And then there are the ducks.
They’re the comedians of the bunch—always splashing, waddling, and getting into something. They’ve integrated surprisingly well with the chickens, and they bring their own kind of joy to the yard.
Our flock isn’t just about production; it’s about connection. They’re part of the rhythm of our days.
Feeding, collecting eggs, cleaning coops, and just watching them scratch through the grass reminds us why we chose this path.
It’s simple, grounding work that fills our days with purpose.
Alongside our chickens, we’ve also chosen to raise rabbits as part of our self-sufficiency plan.
They might not make as much noise as the flock, but they’ve quietly become one of the most valuable parts of our homestead.
Rabbits are efficient, low-maintenance, and incredibly useful. They provide a sustainable source of meat, and their manure is a gardener’s gold mine.
Unlike many other manures, rabbit manure can go straight into the garden without composting—it’s rich in nutrients but gentle on plants. That means every hutch cleaning day becomes a soil-building day too.
We love the rhythm of caring for them. Feeding, checking water, and making sure their hutches are comfortable has become part of our daily routine.
They don’t require a lot of space, and their quiet presence adds a sense of calm to the homestead.
The best part?
Rabbits fit perfectly into the off-grid lifestyle. They’re efficient converters of feed to meat, reproduce quickly, and give back to the garden in the process.
It’s a beautiful little cycle that aligns perfectly with our goal of making the most out of every resource we have.
Next year, we’re taking a big and exciting step—we’re bringing honey bees to the homestead.
Bees have been on our hearts for a while now.
They’re not just honey producers; they’re powerful little pollinators that can transform a homestead from productive to abundant.
With our growing garden, huckleberries, elderberries, and flowering trees, having bees will help create a healthy ecosystem where everything supports everything else.
We’ve spent this past season researching hive setups, placement, and what it really takes to keep bees thriving. We want to make sure we get it right from the start.
Our plan is to set up a couple of hives in a quiet, sunny corner of the property where they’ll have plenty of foraging opportunities without being in the middle of daily traffic.
I’m honestly so excited about the thought of walking out on a summer morning and hearing that soft hum of bees at work—the sound of a thriving homestead.
And of course, the honey will be an incredible bonus.
Being able to harvest our own jars of golden sweetness while knowing the bees are pollinating our gardens and berries feels like such a full-circle moment.
Adding bees is one more step toward a diverse, sustainable, and resilient off-grid life, and we can’t wait to welcome them next year.
This past year, I decided to try something new: huckleberries. I’d heard they could be a bit finicky at first, but I wanted to give them a shot.
When those little bushes finally produced their first handful of berries, I was surprised by just how sweet and flavorful they were.
There’s a wild, almost old-fashioned sweetness to huckleberries that makes them taste like summer itself.
And then came the jam. Oh my goodness—one batch and I was hooked.
There’s something magical about stirring those deep purple berries into a bubbling pot, filling the kitchen with their scent, and then spooning the finished jam into jars. It was love at first taste.
That experience planted more than just berries; it planted inspiration.
This coming year, I’m going to be adding elderberries to the homestead. Elderberries are hardy, fast-growing, and generous once they’re established.
They’re wonderful for syrups, teas, and natural remedies, and they’ll complement the huckleberries perfectly.
I can already picture rows of berry bushes buzzing with bees in the summer, jars of jam and syrup lined up in the pantry, and a garden that feels just a little more like home every season.
For me, our garden isn’t just about food—it’s about life.
After being diagnosed with stage 2 triple negative breast cancer 12 years ago, surviving two strokes, a heart attack, this past fall, my perspective has shifted in a way that’s hard to put into words.
Health stopped being something I could take for granted. I realized that if I wanted to give myself the best shot at living a vibrant, grounded life, I needed to get serious about what I was putting into my body.
That’s where the garden comes in. There’s something incredibly empowering about planting a seed, nurturing it, and then harvesting food you know is fresh, clean, and grown with love. It’s food I can trust because I grew it.
Over the past couple of seasons, we’ve expanded far beyond a few raised beds. We’re growing more vegetables than ever—root crops, greens, herbs, and seasonal favorites. Each new row we plant feels like a small investment in my health and our future.
We’re improving our soil with compost and rabbit manure, experimenting with companion planting, and planning to extend our growing season with simple methods like cold frames and row covers.
The garden has become a daily sanctuary for me—a place where healing meets hope, and where hard work turns into nourishment.
A big part of living off the grid is making the most of the resources you have.
For us, that starts with water.
Right now, we’ve set up rain barrels to collect water for our chickens, rabbits, and garden.
It’s a simple system, but it makes a real difference—especially in the summer when every drop counts.
Eventually, we plan to expand our catchment system and install proper filtration so we have reliable water even if the tap runs dry.
On the food side, I’ve fallen in love with the old-fashioned arts of canning, dehydrating, and freezing. We are also planning on buying a freeze dryer.
There’s something magical about lining shelves with jars of homegrown food, knowing that if storms roll in or supply chains falter, we’re still fed. It’s both practical and deeply satisfying.
When I think about everything Joe and I are building—the solar plans, the animals, the garden, the berries—it all circles back to one word: simplicity.
For us, going off the grid isn’t about running away from the world. It’s about returning to what feels real. It’s about the quiet satisfaction of knowing the eggs in the basket came from your own hens.
That the power running your lights came from the sun. That the food on your plate grew from your soil, not a warehouse shelf.
Simplicity doesn’t mean easy.
There are early mornings, muddy boots, and projects that don’t always go as planned. But there’s also a sense of purpose woven into every single day. A rhythm that doesn’t rely on someone else’s schedule.
Every step we take toward self-sufficiency brings us closer to a life that’s slower, steadier, and deeply meaningful. And that’s exactly the kind of life we want to live.
As we continue this journey, I know we’re only at the beginning.
Our plans include fully installing solar, adding more perennial crops, expanding our greenhouse, and bringing bees into the rhythm of the land.
We want to keep learning, keep experimenting, and keep building a life that reflects our values of resilience and simplicity.
This isn’t about perfection. It’s about progress—one fence post, one seed, one sunrise at a time.
In the years to come, I picture our homestead buzzing with bees, overflowing with produce, and powered by the sun.
I can imagine shelves full of preserved food, animals thriving, and a lifestyle that no longer depends on systems we can’t control.
Most of all, I imagine peace. A kind of grounded, quiet strength that comes from knowing we built something real with our own two hands.