The Homestead
Forty acres, held
against the wind.
The land today
What's already in the ground.
This has been a working project since 2022 — not a hobby farm, and not a rendering of one. The approach is permaculture-minded and unhurried: earthworks before plantings, plantings before buildings, buildings before anything clever.
Growing food at altitude in Zone 5a is a deliberate discipline. Every season the gardens get bigger, the systems get simpler, and the grocery run gets a little less necessary. That's the metric that matters: food sovereignty as a life choice, not a hobby.
Dome greenhouse
A geodesic dome that stretches the short high-plains season — starts in spring, greens deep into the cold.
Swales & young orchard
Water-harvesting swales cut on contour, with fruit trees planted along them — passive irrigation doing the slow work.
Chickens
A working flock — eggs on the counter, manure in the compost, part of the food loop rather than a petting zoo.
Barn & gardens
A barn for the tools and the mess, and annual gardens that earn more ground every year.
On the drawing board
Being designed, honestly labeled.
Homesteads accumulate ideas faster than buildings. These are real projects in the design stage — listed as plans, because that's what they are.
Off-grid power
An independent solar array — being sized not just for household loads, but to run serious compute on-site. Sovereignty over energy and inference: the same electricity that pumps water should be able to run the models.
Natural building
Exploring adobe and rammed earth for future structures — walls made from the ground they stand on, suited to a climate that swings forty degrees in a day.
Mesh & telemetry
Off-grid LoRa mesh networking for the property — communications and sensing that don't depend on anyone's tower, with an eye toward predator watch and weather telemetry.
The long arc
The hundred-year homestead.
Here is the honest ambition, stated plainly: this land should eventually carry more than one household. A place that grows its own food, generates its own power, runs its own tools — and has room for people who want to live and build that way together. An intentional community in the oldest sense: intentional.
It doesn't exist yet. What exists is the direction and the down payment — swales that will be shade in twenty years, a greenhouse that already eats frost for breakfast, a festival that proves the land knows how to hold people. The rest is patient work, done in public, one season at a time.
Build things designed to hold up over decades, not quarters.
If that arc pulls at you — as a future neighbor, collaborator, or fellow traveler — the inbox is open.
Write to the farm