The Beginning of the Bauernhaus
Bauernhaus, German for “farmhouse”, is a word that brings me such joy.
I’m not really sure when in my life it became clear that I belonged in a country setting. Somehow, I just knew.
Of course, in my early teens, I rebelled against my inner yearnings and fought the thought of ever living in a small town.
I feared that somehow I’d become a toothless redneck, days spent on a porch, dripping of camo from head-to-toe, sporting a shotgun as a fashion accessory, my best friend - a domesticated squirrel, where I’d die alone in a village where everybody knows your business. No offense to my New Hampshire readers… I’m kidding. Kind of. Erhhmm, GO PATS!…?
Anyway.
Since then, after denying myself the chance to see the simple pleasures, I can’t imagine anything I desire more than to live in an active community surrounded by fields, forests and furry friends.
There’s something about a quintessential country home that makes people feel safe and warm; the crackling of a wood burning stove, the grazing of chickens in the front yard, the smell of our favorite comfort foods being set on the table.
I think that’s how it all began for me. My best memories as a child living in southern California, ironically all took place overseas in Germany during winter and summer vacation. If only I could bottle up the feeling of pulling into my grandparent’s driveway, surrounded by wild flowers and hilly backdrops, and the sight of newborn lambs springing to action as the car made its way around the bend.
It was never just the scenery, it was always a feeling.
I could spend hours in the kitchen with my Oma, hovering over the counter next to her, tip-toed on a step stool, in awe of her every move. Watching her in her element like a well oiled machine. I’d stand there, wooden spoon in hand, as she would (and still does) swiftly glide across the room, stirring and frying, peeling and mixing, rolling and scrubbing — sometimes all at once. It was like she had eight arms. Every mechanism had a place, and she could access every one of them with her eyes closed. In 15 minutes, you’d witness an empty pantry magically turn into a hearty meal for twelve.
This, of course, is a woman who also had to wake up as the sun was rising, milk the cows, hang the laundry, tend the garden, and still leave time to brew the morning coffee for my grandfather. As for my grandfather? Tilling land on the tractor and harvesting the upcoming winter’s fire wood was just the beginning of his farmhouse tasks. Now in their 80’s, I’m proud (and impressed) that not much has changed.
They are forces of nature, and I’ve always felt a deep connection with them and their lifestyle.
Sadly though, most of us are exhausted at the mere thought of waking up to shower and sit in a car on our morning commute to work, let alone milk 27 cows at 5am. Life for us has been made easier in many ways, effortless even, but sometimes at a cost.
We live in a fast paced society these days, and there’s often a disconnect with how we live, the clothes we wear, the food we eat, the time we put aside for ourselves.
But it doesn’t have to stay that way.
“I felt defined by the answer I’d give to the most dreaded question, “What do you do for a living?””
You see, before my ah-ha moment of realizing I wanted to live a homesteader life, I was brainwashed (like many Americans) — that money, the hustle of a bustling career, and the attention you get from said career are what make you a successful, important and valuable person in society.
It’s shit.
I felt defined by the answer I’d give to the most dreaded question, “What do you do for a living?”.
No answer was the right one. Especially being the unconventional, passionate and creative person that I am. My job is my job, not who I am.
I’m still grateful that I’ve had the working experiences that I’ve had. As an Event Planner, I’ve given people the happiest day of their lives. As an Interior Designer, I’ve given people spaces to call home. As a Baker, I’ve fed many. Was I successful? Did I make money? Yeah. Did I have a personal life or free time? Hell no.
I’d resent my day, feeling pressure and anxiety, going to bed worrying about the same problems I woke up with.
My relaxation only came in the moments of day dreaming about baby goats at my future home, walking my hypothetical dog in the woods, baking croissants on a Sunday morning for my non-existent children. It all began to seem so unattainable. I’m sure it does for many of you too.
In America, our culture suffers from a chronic struggle of having no time. Single working mothers, fathers working double shifts, and all the 9-5 people in between, doesn’t lend itself to very much time or energy to actually sit back and enjoy the life or the people you’re working so hard to provide for.
Due to our jobs, Ben and I found ourselves constantly on the move, never truly able to settle into a home. Year after year, apartment to apartment, city to city, with each place becoming increasingly uninspired, uninviting and unlivable — at least to our standards.
But then something happened. We got really impatient and irritated. Not the climactic “eat, pray, love” moment you were expecting? Well it’s the truth.
We got creative. We began with the simplest of ways we could bring a sense of “home” to our current dwelling. Starting with sit down dinners by candlelight, canning vegetables from the local farmers market, hanging laundry on a summer’s day, or baking our own breads on the weekend. These things took time, something we felt we had none to spare due to our busy schedules and lack of energy.
We were wrong. Before we knew it, the time began to appear out of nowhere and we quickly realized how much more connected we felt with our meals, with our spaces, and even with each other. Our to-do lists became moments we looked forward to, rather than dreaded daily chores.
Soon enough, it became clear to us that we needed to make our way to the country side, and every day since has been one step closer to creating that reality. After years of planning and hard work, we are finally on the move to our farmhouse in Vermont. This blog serves as a living journal to document and share our journey, and to share teachable moments along the way.
So, what is the Bauernhaus?
It’s a representation of all the things you want to manifest in your life, but aren’t sure how.
It’s for you: the people who want to find ways to break the mold; the people who want to find an ounce of something that brings them joy during a week where all the days look the same; the people who love life, but can’t seem to find the time to enjoy it.
In Germany, we have a word, “Gemütlichkeit”, (similar to the Swedish “Hyyge”) which translates to “the feeling of coziness”. If this is something you feel might be missing, then you’re in the right place.