Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’
Bob Dylan’s iconic words have been playing on repeat in my mind lately. More than that, they’ve been weighing on my shoulders and pressing on my heart. His lyrics are as relevant now as they were in 1964—perhaps even more so. The times are always changing, yes—but lately, those changes feel heavier, faster, more consequential.
The world is shifting in ways we haven’t seen since the end of the Second World War—maybe even before that. The global order is realigning. Our society—especially here in the West—is straining under the weight of those changes. There’s a collective sense of unease, and whether we acknowledge it or not, we’re all feeling it in one way or another.
Here in Canada, we’ve just come through a deeply consequential election. I won’t get into the weeds of politics, but suffice it to say: we’re entering a new era, and it will shape a new Canada. One that feels increasingly unfamiliar to me. The polarization that once seemed mostly confined to the online world is starting to show up closer to home—and it’s hard to ignore.
That’s part of why I feel called to pull back. To return to the things I can touch and tend with my own hands: the land, the soil, my family, the food on our table. The real. The tangible. I need a break from the noise. The scrolling. The performance. The pressure. I want to create more margin—for soul-building things. For real-life things.
These days, we live so much of our lives online. But I think we’d all do well to invest more in our local communities—not just with those who think like us, but across the aisle, too. Still, I recognize how fractured we are right now. People are living in fundamentally different realities depending on where they get their information and which narrative they’re following.
So while bridge-building is needed, I also believe it’s more important than ever to find your people—those who share your values, who can offer strength when you feel like you’re standing alone.
For me, that means clearing space in my life. More time to breathe. More energy to nurture the relationships and rhythms that truly matter.
It’s been a long journey—one that began when I left the city years ago, longing for a slower pace, a deeper connection to the land, and a more rooted life. I started sharing our journey through this humble little blog back in 2017. That eventually grew into a digital magazine. I poured myself into it and learned so much. When the time came to let it go, I did. And as one door closed, another one opened, and I was offered the role of Editor-in-Chief at Homestead Living.
This is the work I’ve always dreamed of—publishing, storytelling, collaborating with people who love this life as much as I do. It’s been almost a year and a half now, and it still feels like an honour.
But alongside that, I’ve tried to do everything else—keep the blog going, run a membership, create courses, show up on social media, keep up with the algorithm. All while being a wife, a mom, and a homesteader—amidst the larger political and societal shifts that are happening all around me. And lately…it’s all felt like more than I have the capacity for.
The online landscape keeps shifting. Algorithms change. Attention spans shrink. It’s increasingly hard to sand out. Often I find myself spending more time on a computer or screen trying to keep up with “all the things” than I am actually living the life I set out to build.
And the noise…all the noise, noise, noise, noise. So much arguing back and forth in the comments sections of every post. So much division. So many “existential threats.”
All the while, our homestead has been growing. We’re restructuring parts of our land. We’ve transformed the last of our front lawn into garden beds. We’ve added new chicks to our flock. We’re building a brand new pantry and breaking ground on a greenhouse. All of it takes time. And attention. And presence.
So I’ve made a decision…
I’m stepping back. Not disappearing—but intentionally choosing margin over noise, connection over performance, presence over production. I’m taking a break from blogging for a while. I’m putting my membership on hold. I’m letting go of the pressure to show up on social media in an effort to stay visible. I’m taking a sacred pause.
Instead, I’m turning my energy toward the magazine, our expanding homestead, my family, and my health—which I’ve quietly neglected for far too long.
The truth is, I need to get back to the why. Why I left the city. Why I homestead. Why I ever wrote a single blog post in the first place.
I need to get my hands in the soil. I need to bake bread without photographing it. I need to plant seeds without turning them into content. I need to breathe, reflect, and ask: what’s next?
Like Dylan’s rising waters, I’ve been sensing the pressure building—not just in my own life, but in the world around me. The cultural, political, and spiritual climate is shifting fast. The old ways of doing things aren’t holding up anymore.
This choice to step back isn’t about fear. It’s about discernment. It’s about moving with the current, rather than swimming against it in futility. It’s about choosing peace over panic. Depth over reach. Slow over fast. While I do consider myself to be very much part of the resistance to the “new world order,” I can no longer resist the reality that the world is fundamentally different today than it was back when I started out in the online space, and it’s continuing to evolve and transform at breakneck speed.
The times are a-changin’. And I’m changing too. What that means long-term, I don’t fully know. But I’m learning to be okay with that. Because the only constant, truly, is change.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you’d like to stay connected, I’d love for you to join my email list. You can sign up here, and I’ll send you a free copy of my eBook, Homestead Wherever You Are. I’ll still be sending monthly updates—sharing what we’re learning and doing as we continue turning our little quarter acre into a high-yielding homestead.
And be sure to subscribe to Homestead Living magazine. We release a new print and digital issue every month, and I host live conversations with some incredible homesteaders on our interactive show, The Coop.
Thank you—truly—for being here. Whether you’ve followed our journey for years or just recently found your way here, I’m so grateful for your time, your presence, and your encouragement. I don’t take it lightly. Wherever you are, whatever season you’re in, I hope you find space to slow down, reconnect with what matters most, and root yourself deeply in the things that give you life. Be well, take care of your people, and remember to focus on the things you can control, and let go of the things you can’t.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin’
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’
– Bob Dylan
To growing and thriving together,
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