Urban Homesteading: Simplicity at its Best

Since we are from and currently reside in the Pacific Northwest, 45 minutes south of "Portlandia," the phrase "urban homestead" is basically synonymous with "backyard." I may be seeing through rose-colored glasses, but it seems that nearly everyone I know incorporates at least one aspect of this broad idea into their daily lives, and many without even knowing they're doing it. Urban homesteading isn't a novelty here, in fact, I would hedge a bet that the majority of my Northwest neighbors are oblivious to the notion that there's even a Wikipedia page dedicated to their normal, everyday way of life. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, urban homesteading is basically the practice of self-sufficiency, which typically enlists environmentally conscious and sustainable methods; a large part of this being urban-area farming and agriculture. Now, Wikipedia does lump squatting in as an alternative definition to this philosophy, so when I say that my husband and I have had a version of an urban homestead for nearly 9 years, I'm speaking of the latter. We are not squatters. 

Aspects of urban homesteading may include planting a backyard garden, growing fruit trees and shrubs, using a clothes line to dry clothes (when it's not raining here in Oregon), cloth diapering, knitting and/or crocheting, sewing, and reducing one's carbon footprint by being a one-car family, riding a bike, or using public transit. Don't stop there though. Collecting rainwater or greywater, making homemade cleaning, beauty and bath products, and even simply cooking real food from scratch deserves a place in my definition of basically adding a little bit of "country" to your rock and roll.

My family is especially fortunate to live in a region where so many people share our values; I think that's relatively rare here in the United States. In our community, for example, recycling bins come standard with garbage service. Many homes have chickens, and lately I've noticed several close to my own, right smack in the heart of the city, that keep bees. Preserving locally grown and harvested food in the form of canning and freezing is commonplace, and even drying and fermenting foods are becoming more popular in the general population. There are people who make their own soda, cheese, butter and yogurt (I will post how I do some of this soon). Homebrew is something you do on a weekend, u-pick means what it says, and even the neighborhood Costco has books on edible plants and foraging, specific to the Northwest. Ironically my husband is currently grinding flour from the seeds of some curly dock (some may refer to this plant as a "monstrous weed") that he noticed was growing abundantly in our backyard.

Some purists would argue that if you're not living completely off the grid, wearing only homemade clothes that you knit from the wool you spun from your own angora goats and rabbits, that you don't have a true urban homestead. Fine. I don't really care for labels anyway. I personally just call my urban homestead "home."And for our home, we do many of the things I've already listed, but not all of them, and not all the time (yes, I still shop at the grocery store) and that's sufficient for me. I'm not in a simple-living competition. I think a strawberry pot on an apartment balcony has just as much importance to the person growing it as a full-fledged farm does to it's seasoned farmer. 

But, I know you're wondering. Why do we bother? It's easier to grab a dozen eggs at the store than it is to keep chickens, and it's certainly more convenient to pick up a package of frozen peas than it is to plant, water, tend, harvest, shuck and freeze peas that came from your garden. Sure, many things that we do at home on our own are a little bit more labor-intensive, but at the same time, they're almost always more rewarding; sometimes in surprising ways. Did you know that just by growing an herb garden in your kitchen window rather than driving to the store for that fresh basil, you're actually helping to preserve our fossil fuels? 

"If every U.S. citizen ate just one meal a week (any meal) composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we would reduce our country's oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week." 

- Steven Hopp, "Oily Food," 

from the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life.  

Multitudes practice self-sufficiency in the name of the environment (see above), others because they want to know exactly where their food comes from, many for the various health benefits that come with the territory, and some because it's trendy or cool, among countless other reasons. The main reason that we pursue a life of semi-self-reliance, aside from the pure enjoyment of doing something on our own, is because it's empowering. Every time we tackle a new project or learn a new skill and we're reminded of how much less dependent we are now on others to get through a normal day, well, it's worth it. I mean, who can say that it isn't even a little satisfying to be able open the freezer in the dead of winter and pull out a package of asparagus that you picked, washed, blanched and froze in May, so that on a cold winter's night, you could have a taste of spring, without going to the store? Easing some of the pressures of the oil industry is really just a happy side-effect for us. 

I'm convinced that we were made to work hard. But I refuse to accept that it was supposed to be in an office building. This is the work that matters. For me, the simple pleasures of harvesting food that we may have planted, but certainly didn't grow is the ultimate form of worship. There are very few things in life that allow us to actively participate in creation. Rather than just seeing the bi-product of man in the form of plastic packaging and processed food, we get to witness the Creator's authenticity in His provision, which gives us a greater respect and appreciation for nature, and deepens our reverence for Him.  

For some this idea is a novelty. For us, it's the norm. There are no rules to living simply. We are all different, but it doesn't mean that we can't all do something to get a little bit closer to this world that we were given. For those of you who don't see yourselves within whichever stereotypical subculture comes to mind when you hear the words, "urban homestead," I want to encourage you that any little thing you choose to do in the name of simplicity is good enough to count toward this so-called movement of intentional living. So go ahead, grow an herb garden. It might be the catalyst that changes the world.