My least favorite animal on our outfit is our indoor cat, Wendell. (If he is my least favorite, then why do I mention him in my column so frequently?) Wendell was a stray kitten we rescued from the pound. Half of his tail was missing, and he was found on the mean streets of Wendell, Idaho, thus the name.
Wendell has a good life, by cat standards. He has unlimited cat food, fresh water, warmth in the winter and cool in the summer. If you could open a portal into Wendell’s world right now, he would be sleeping on a cushion. It’s a good gig if you can get it.
However, this ungrateful feline sits in the window and stares longingly at the foreboding out-of-doors. Every time a door opens, be aware because Wendell tries to sneak out. Last time he left the confines of a house, he became a stray and lost a body part, but he yearns for the freedom of scarcity. Wendell is the perfect analogy for the new homestead movement.
“What is the new homestead movement?” is a question you probably never asked. An understanding of the old homestead movement may be helpful. In 1803, the United States purchased the Louisiana Territory from France. With the addition of Texas in 1845 and California in 1850, the U.S. owned nearly 2 million square miles of largely unpatented land.
In 1862, Abraham Lincoln signed the Homestead Act into law. The act allowed any citizen over the age of 21 to patent 160 acres of land. The homesteader proved his patent by cultivating the land, building a house, and working and living on the land for five years. Nearly 4 million patents were extended, and 1.6 million people proved their patents. The homestead movement settled the Great Plains and filled in the blank spaces on the map. This is the original homestead movement – millions of families yearning to build something.
The new homestead movement is more inglorious. Individuals, plump from too much food and with thoroughly uncalloused hands, harken to the call of a “simpler life.” Tired of the hamster wheel that is modern life, they buy 10 acres and seek to sustain their life with food grown on their own homestead. Distinct from hobby farms, homesteaders only grow food for themselves, completely eschewing the principles of specialization and trade which define a free market as set forth by economist Adam Smith.
Surprisingly, most homesteaders aren’t like the Unabomber, decrying the opulence of modern technology. The most important piece of equipment on the modern homestead is the Wi-Fi. The Wi-Fi brings provisions and work from a faraway city to finance their project. There is also a steady stream of blogs, vlogs and other social media to document the joys and discomforts of homestead life.
I have too much Adam Smith in me to enjoy even a garden. My brain always goes to the cost/benefit. It cost me $5 for a tomato plant. Another $20 for a small bag of Miracle-Gro. I always overvalue my spare time, but there is a cost to my time. When I apply the cost to the three tomatoes I get, the cost is about $8 per tomato. I can buy a ripe tomato at the grocery store for about $1. I’m not the only one that does these calculations. Making your own clothes, building your own furniture or growing your own food is never cost-effective, but people still do.
Our society is increasingly composed of paper shufflers. I know we’re 20 years past shuffling actual paper, and that term sounds more derogatory than intended. In fact, the plurality of my job is paying bills, managing inputs and filling out forms for compliance … shuffling paper. Humans have an innate desire to create. That explains the creation of art, music or silly essays for others to enjoy. Woodworking, knitting and gardening fulfill this desire to create. Watching episodes on Netflix and scrolling on X does not. As our society becomes not just sedentary but passive, our creative desire remains unfulfilled. The homestead movement fills this need.
I can’t make a spreadsheet showing that homesteading is profitable, but it is fulfilling. There is a tendency for a full-blown, make-or-lose-millions farmer to look down on a homesteader. But a homesteader may find more fulfillment in his or her creation than said farmer, especially if that farmer doesn’t get his hands dirty anymore. Many today will stare out the window of their comfortable office, longing to put their hands in the soil. Some of these office-bound workers may even include big-scale farmers.
My cat Wendell has it pretty good. However, Wendell would tell you there is a difference between being economically comfortable and being fulfilled in life. I can scoff at his yearning to hunt his own food and wage his own way, but I understand the instinct. If he could speak, Wendell may express his desire for a homestead of his own. Our very own homestead cat.
