I didn’t grow up dreaming of living on a ranch. In fact, if you had told high school me—who was busy stomping through puddles in Washington state—that I’d one day be chasing chickens through the red dirt of East Texas, I would’ve laughed and gone back to journaling about the rain.
But life, as it turns out, had other plans.
When my in-laws bought a ranch in East Texas, I’ll admit—I had no idea what to expect. I pictured dry fields, flat land, maybe a few cows chewing the same piece of grass in silence. But then we visited. And... I fell in love.
Tall pine trees? Check. Rain? Surprisingly, yes. Cooler weather? Let’s not get crazy—this is still Texas. But the land had a peacefulness I didn’t expect. The rolling hills, the hush of the woods, the way time just seemed to slow down—I was hooked. Every time we visited, I found myself breathing deeper, walking slower, and mentally browsing real estate listings.
In 2020, we decided to get serious about finding our own slice of East Texas paradise. We put in offer after offer. Nothing worked. One property had promise, but suddenly sold. Another fell through at the last second. I started to wonder if the land just didn’t want us.
But then—cue the Hallmark movie moment—on Christmas Eve, my father-in-law got a call from his neighbor. “Hey, y’all want to buy my land?”
It was 300 acres... right next to my in-laws. If my kids drove their four-wheelers fast enough, they could be at Grandma’s in five minutes flat. (Spoiler: they do. Daily.)
We were over the moon. In 2021, we built our barndominium (which is country for “barn meets house and it’s better than both”), with no real intention of living here full-time. We thought, maybe when the kids are older... maybe when we retire... maybe someday.
But “someday” got pushed up. Fast.
The city started feeling tighter. The world started spinning faster. And I wanted my kids to grow up how I did—outside, dirty, and full of stories that start with, “So there was this goat…”
So we took the leap. My husband still works in the city during the week, but we’re slowly building our dream—a full-time meat business, raised right here on our land, by our hands.
And me? I’m living my childhood dream, one I didn’t even know I had: surrounded by animals, sunshine, mud, and the occasional escape-artist pig. I’ve always loved animals, and now I get to rescue them, raise them, and let them live their best lives—whether that’s in the pasture or the chicken coop.
There's something profoundly grounding about knowing what your animals eat—and in turn, what your family eats. There’s peace in simplicity, in feeding your soul as much as your body. Out here, I feel like I’m finally doing what I was meant to do: stewarding this land, caring for these animals, and raising a family that understands both.
So no, this isn’t what I expected. It’s better.
And no, I haven’t given up my rain boots. I just wear them with a cowboy hat now.
