We Don’t Live on a Homestead — But We Live Like We Do
How We Built a Resilient Country Lifestyle on an Ordinary Suburban Block
We don’t live on a farm.
We don’t have acres of land, paddocks, a barn or a tractor.
We live in an ordinary suburban house, on an ordinary suburban block, surrounded by other houses, roads, shops and all the usual things that come with living in the city.
But we treat our home as though it is our homestead.
Not because “homesteading” happens to be fashionable, and not because we have romantic ideas about becoming completely self-sufficient.
We live this way because experience taught us just how important it is for a household to be able to look after itself when life suddenly doesn’t go according to plan.
And we learned that lesson the hard way.
We don’t have acres of land, paddocks, a barn or a tractor.
We live in an ordinary suburban house, on an ordinary suburban block, surrounded by other houses, roads, shops and all the usual things that come with living in the city.
But we treat our home as though it is our homestead.
Not because “homesteading” happens to be fashionable, and not because we have romantic ideas about becoming completely self-sufficient.
We live this way because experience taught us just how important it is for a household to be able to look after itself when life suddenly doesn’t go according to plan.
And we learned that lesson the hard way.
The Disaster That Changed the Way We Live
Long-time Cheapskaters will know our Disaster Struck story.
Many years ago I was working part-time, Wayne was working, we had two little boys, a mortgage and a comfortable life. We had also started renovating our home.
Then on a Thursday my job unexpectedly ended.
We thought we'd manage.
Wayne still had his job, and we decided we'd simply tighten things up for a while.
The next day Wayne lost his job too.
Suddenly we had gone from two incomes to none.
And, just to add another little twist, I discovered that baby number three was on the way.
We had a mortgage, two toddlers, half a renovated house and another baby coming. What I initially thought would be a temporary hiccup eventually lasted three years and nine months.
That experience changed us.
Eventually we learned to live differently. We cooked from scratch. We made do. We learned to shop differently. We used what we had. We ditched the things that weren't important so we could keep the things that were. Most importantly, we learned that panicking didn't help; having a plan, paying the important bills and carefully managing what we had did.
And somewhere along the way I made myself a promise:
I never wanted our family to be that vulnerable again.
That doesn't mean I thought I could stop bad things happening.
I couldn't then, and I can't now.
Jobs can disappear.
Illness can happen.
Prices can rise.
Power can go out.
Supply chains can be interrupted.
Cars break down.
Interest rates change.
Unexpected bills arrive.
Life happens.
What I could change was how prepared our household was when those things happened.
And that is really where our suburban homestead began.
Long-time Cheapskaters will know our Disaster Struck story.
Many years ago I was working part-time, Wayne was working, we had two little boys, a mortgage and a comfortable life. We had also started renovating our home.
Then on a Thursday my job unexpectedly ended.
We thought we'd manage.
Wayne still had his job, and we decided we'd simply tighten things up for a while.
The next day Wayne lost his job too.
Suddenly we had gone from two incomes to none.
And, just to add another little twist, I discovered that baby number three was on the way.
We had a mortgage, two toddlers, half a renovated house and another baby coming. What I initially thought would be a temporary hiccup eventually lasted three years and nine months.
That experience changed us.
Eventually we learned to live differently. We cooked from scratch. We made do. We learned to shop differently. We used what we had. We ditched the things that weren't important so we could keep the things that were. Most importantly, we learned that panicking didn't help; having a plan, paying the important bills and carefully managing what we had did.
And somewhere along the way I made myself a promise:
I never wanted our family to be that vulnerable again.
That doesn't mean I thought I could stop bad things happening.
I couldn't then, and I can't now.
Jobs can disappear.
Illness can happen.
Prices can rise.
Power can go out.
Supply chains can be interrupted.
Cars break down.
Interest rates change.
Unexpected bills arrive.
Life happens.
What I could change was how prepared our household was when those things happened.
And that is really where our suburban homestead began.
Our Homestead Isn't a Place — It's the Way We Run Our Home
When you hear the word homestead, you might immediately picture a big country property.
A farmhouse.
Chooks wandering around.
A huge vegetable garden.
An orchard.
Perhaps a cow or a couple of goats.
That's lovely, but it isn't the only way to build a homestead.
To me, a homestead is your home base.
It is the place where your family lives, eats, sleeps, works, rests, prepares and looks after one another.
And you can make that home more productive and resilient whether it sits on 100 acres or a regular suburban block.
Our version of homesteading means:
It's about needing a little less from it.
And that distinction matters.
When you hear the word homestead, you might immediately picture a big country property.
A farmhouse.
Chooks wandering around.
A huge vegetable garden.
An orchard.
Perhaps a cow or a couple of goats.
That's lovely, but it isn't the only way to build a homestead.
To me, a homestead is your home base.
It is the place where your family lives, eats, sleeps, works, rests, prepares and looks after one another.
And you can make that home more productive and resilient whether it sits on 100 acres or a regular suburban block.
Our version of homesteading means:
- growing some of our food,
- keeping a well-stocked pantry,
- preserving,
- cooking from scratch,
- making and mending,
- keeping useful household supplies on hand,
- preparing one season for the next,
- learning useful skills,
- and trying not to be completely dependent on having to buy everything the minute we need it.
It's about needing a little less from it.
And that distinction matters.
We Grow Food on Our Ordinary Suburban Block
Our backyard isn't a farm.
But it works.
We grow vegetables all year round, changing what we grow according to the season.
We have raspberries and strawberries.
We grow oranges, lemons and limes.
We have apple, peach and pear trees.
We have rhubarb.
And there are pots of herbs — rosemary, parsley, oregano, basil, garlic and whatever else we're growing at the time.
Do we grow all our food?
Of course not.
That isn't the aim.
But every lettuce, tomato, lemon, handful of parsley, bowl of berries or piece of fruit that comes from our garden is food our household has produced.
It is another source of food.
And having more than one source matters.
There's the supermarket.
There's the pantry.
There's the freezer.
There's the garden.
There are foods we've preserved.
No single one needs to supply everything.
Together they create layers.
And those layers create resilience.
You Don't Need a Huge Backyard
This is one of the reasons I want to talk about our suburban homestead.
I don't want anyone thinking "I'd love to do that, but I don't have enough land."
You may not have enough land to grow everything your family eats.
Neither do we.
But perhaps you have room for one fruit tree.
Or one raised garden bed.
Or three pots.
Fruit trees can be espaliered along fences or grown in pots (most of ours are in pots).
Herbs grow beautifully in pots.
Strawberries grow in containers.
Lettuce doesn't need acres.
Tomatoes can be remarkably productive in a small space.
Even a balcony or courtyard can produce something.
Instead of asking:
"Do I have enough land to homestead?"
try asking:
"What could the space I already have produce for us?"
That's a much more useful question.
But it works.
We grow vegetables all year round, changing what we grow according to the season.
We have raspberries and strawberries.
We grow oranges, lemons and limes.
We have apple, peach and pear trees.
We have rhubarb.
And there are pots of herbs — rosemary, parsley, oregano, basil, garlic and whatever else we're growing at the time.
Do we grow all our food?
Of course not.
That isn't the aim.
But every lettuce, tomato, lemon, handful of parsley, bowl of berries or piece of fruit that comes from our garden is food our household has produced.
It is another source of food.
And having more than one source matters.
There's the supermarket.
There's the pantry.
There's the freezer.
There's the garden.
There are foods we've preserved.
No single one needs to supply everything.
Together they create layers.
And those layers create resilience.
You Don't Need a Huge Backyard
This is one of the reasons I want to talk about our suburban homestead.
I don't want anyone thinking "I'd love to do that, but I don't have enough land."
You may not have enough land to grow everything your family eats.
Neither do we.
But perhaps you have room for one fruit tree.
Or one raised garden bed.
Or three pots.
Fruit trees can be espaliered along fences or grown in pots (most of ours are in pots).
Herbs grow beautifully in pots.
Strawberries grow in containers.
Lettuce doesn't need acres.
Tomatoes can be remarkably productive in a small space.
Even a balcony or courtyard can produce something.
Instead of asking:
"Do I have enough land to homestead?"
try asking:
"What could the space I already have produce for us?"
That's a much more useful question.
The Pantry Is Just as Important as the Garden
If the garden is the visible part of our suburban homestead, the pantry is its backbone.
We keep enough basics for around two years for a family of seven.
That has not appeared overnight.
It has been built slowly, carefully and deliberately over many years.
And it is constantly being used and rotated.
This isn't food sitting untouched waiting for some mythical end-of-the-world disaster.
We eat it.
Then we replace it.
We buy things when they're at our buy price.
We keep the things we know we use.
And our pantry isn't simply food.
It includes:
• food staples
• toiletries
• cleaning supplies
• basic medical supplies
• garden supplies
• basic clothing
• household linens
• sewing and mending supplies.
Why?
Because food isn't the only thing a household needs to keep functioning.
If the washing powder runs out, we need washing powder.
If someone cuts themselves, we need basic first aid supplies.
If a towel finally wears out, it's useful to have a replacement.
If something needs mending, I need thread, needles and other sewing supplies.
If I want to put vegetables in, I need seeds and garden supplies.
Our pantry is really a household buffer.
And we know from experience just how valuable a buffer can be.
We keep enough basics for around two years for a family of seven.
That has not appeared overnight.
It has been built slowly, carefully and deliberately over many years.
And it is constantly being used and rotated.
This isn't food sitting untouched waiting for some mythical end-of-the-world disaster.
We eat it.
Then we replace it.
We buy things when they're at our buy price.
We keep the things we know we use.
And our pantry isn't simply food.
It includes:
• food staples
• toiletries
• cleaning supplies
• basic medical supplies
• garden supplies
• basic clothing
• household linens
• sewing and mending supplies.
Why?
Because food isn't the only thing a household needs to keep functioning.
If the washing powder runs out, we need washing powder.
If someone cuts themselves, we need basic first aid supplies.
If a towel finally wears out, it's useful to have a replacement.
If something needs mending, I need thread, needles and other sewing supplies.
If I want to put vegetables in, I need seeds and garden supplies.
Our pantry is really a household buffer.
And we know from experience just how valuable a buffer can be.
A Stocked Home Buys Something More Valuable Than Groceries
It buys time.
I think this may be one of the most important things we've learned.
When you have no buffer, almost everything becomes urgent.
You're out of something, so you need to buy it today.
The price is high?
Too bad.
You need it.
The supermarket doesn't have your usual brand?
You have to find an alternative.
Money is particularly tight this week?
You still need groceries.
You don't feel well enough to shop?
Someone still needs to go.
But when you have a household buffer, you can often say: Not today.
We'll use what we have.
We'll wait for the sale.
We'll cook something else.
We'll substitute.
We'll manage.
We'll buy it next week.
And that ability to wait gives you choices.
After having lived through a time when our choices suddenly became very limited, I value those choices enormously.
It buys time.
I think this may be one of the most important things we've learned.
When you have no buffer, almost everything becomes urgent.
You're out of something, so you need to buy it today.
The price is high?
Too bad.
You need it.
The supermarket doesn't have your usual brand?
You have to find an alternative.
Money is particularly tight this week?
You still need groceries.
You don't feel well enough to shop?
Someone still needs to go.
But when you have a household buffer, you can often say: Not today.
We'll use what we have.
We'll wait for the sale.
We'll cook something else.
We'll substitute.
We'll manage.
We'll buy it next week.
And that ability to wait gives you choices.
After having lived through a time when our choices suddenly became very limited, I value those choices enormously.
We Preserve What We Can
Growing food is wonderful.
Buying seasonal food at a great price is wonderful too.
But abundance isn't terribly useful if half of it spoils before you can eat it.
So preserving is another important part of the way we live.
We bottle.
We pressure can.
We ferment.
We dehydrate.
We make jams and sauces.
We freeze some foods.
We preserve foods in whatever way makes sense for us.
Preserving is really just moving today's abundance into the future.
Something is plentiful and inexpensive now, so we put some away for when it isn't.
Our grandparents understood this.
Country households understood it particularly well because the nearest supermarket wasn't necessarily five minutes away and food needed to last between seasons.
Those principles haven't stopped making sense just because we live in suburbia.
Buying seasonal food at a great price is wonderful too.
But abundance isn't terribly useful if half of it spoils before you can eat it.
So preserving is another important part of the way we live.
We bottle.
We pressure can.
We ferment.
We dehydrate.
We make jams and sauces.
We freeze some foods.
We preserve foods in whatever way makes sense for us.
Preserving is really just moving today's abundance into the future.
Something is plentiful and inexpensive now, so we put some away for when it isn't.
Our grandparents understood this.
Country households understood it particularly well because the nearest supermarket wasn't necessarily five minutes away and food needed to last between seasons.
Those principles haven't stopped making sense just because we live in suburbia.
Why We're Moving Some of Our Food Away From the Freezer
Our freezers have always been useful.
But lately we've been deliberately moving more of our long-term food storage out of the freezer and onto the pantry shelf.
That doesn't mean we're throwing the freezer away.
It means we're spreading the risk.
Heading into summer, we know that blackouts and brownouts are possible.
There can be storms, heatwaves, equipment failures and power interruptions.
Then there is the rising cost of electricity to run the freezers.
And I've started looking at a freezer full of food a little differently.
Yes, it is convenient storage.
But it is also food that relies on electricity 24 hours a day to remain safely stored.
So we're preserving more food in ways that don't rely on continuous power.
Some food stays frozen.
Some is bottled.
Some is dehydrated.
Some is stored dry.
Some is growing in the garden.
If the electricity goes off, the jars on my pantry shelves don't care.
The rice doesn't care.
The flour doesn't care.
The dried foods don't care.
The canned proteins on the shelf don't care.
And neither do the lemons growing outside.
That's the point.
We don't want every egg in the one basket.
Food security doesn't have to mean having enormous amounts of food.
It can also mean having different ways to store and access it.
Our freezers have always been useful.
But lately we've been deliberately moving more of our long-term food storage out of the freezer and onto the pantry shelf.
That doesn't mean we're throwing the freezer away.
It means we're spreading the risk.
Heading into summer, we know that blackouts and brownouts are possible.
There can be storms, heatwaves, equipment failures and power interruptions.
Then there is the rising cost of electricity to run the freezers.
And I've started looking at a freezer full of food a little differently.
Yes, it is convenient storage.
But it is also food that relies on electricity 24 hours a day to remain safely stored.
So we're preserving more food in ways that don't rely on continuous power.
Some food stays frozen.
Some is bottled.
Some is dehydrated.
Some is stored dry.
Some is growing in the garden.
If the electricity goes off, the jars on my pantry shelves don't care.
The rice doesn't care.
The flour doesn't care.
The dried foods don't care.
The canned proteins on the shelf don't care.
And neither do the lemons growing outside.
That's the point.
We don't want every egg in the one basket.
Food security doesn't have to mean having enormous amounts of food.
It can also mean having different ways to store and access it.
Summer Prepares Us for Winter
Our wood-burning heater is another example of the way we now think.
We collect firewood through summer and stockpile it for the following winter.
On a hot summer day, the last thing we're worried about is being cold.
But that is exactly when we prepare for it.
We don't wait until the first freezing night to suddenly think:
"We'd better find some firewood."
Winter heating begins months before winter arrives.
And once you start thinking like that, you see the same pattern everywhere.
Summer fruit prepares the pantry for winter.
Today's seeds create a future harvest.
Specials can fill gaps in the pantry before prices rise.
Clothes can be mended before they become unwearable.
Supplies can be replenished before they're desperately needed.
Christmas can be prepared for long before December.
One season prepares us for the next.
This is one of the biggest differences between the way we lived before Disaster Struck and the way we live now.
We try very hard not to wait until something is urgent before thinking about it.
Our wood-burning heater is another example of the way we now think.
We collect firewood through summer and stockpile it for the following winter.
On a hot summer day, the last thing we're worried about is being cold.
But that is exactly when we prepare for it.
We don't wait until the first freezing night to suddenly think:
"We'd better find some firewood."
Winter heating begins months before winter arrives.
And once you start thinking like that, you see the same pattern everywhere.
Summer fruit prepares the pantry for winter.
Today's seeds create a future harvest.
Specials can fill gaps in the pantry before prices rise.
Clothes can be mended before they become unwearable.
Supplies can be replenished before they're desperately needed.
Christmas can be prepared for long before December.
One season prepares us for the next.
This is one of the biggest differences between the way we lived before Disaster Struck and the way we live now.
We try very hard not to wait until something is urgent before thinking about it.
This Isn't About Preparing for the End of the World
When people hear words such as preparedness, food security, stockpile or resilience, sometimes they immediately think of extreme scenarios.
That's not what I'm talking about.
Our original disaster wasn't the end of the world.
Nobody invaded.
Civilisation didn't collapse.
There was no great catastrophe.
Two people simply lost their jobs within two days.
It was an ordinary household disaster.
And that's exactly why I think preparedness matters.
The things most likely to test our households are usually much more ordinary:
a job loss,
reduced hours,
a big unexpected bill,
an illness,
a power outage,
a broken appliance,
a sharp rise in grocery prices,
a shortage,
an emergency trip,
or just one of those periods when several things go wrong at once.
A resilient household has some room to absorb those shocks.
Perhaps not perfectly.
But better.
That is what we're aiming for.
When people hear words such as preparedness, food security, stockpile or resilience, sometimes they immediately think of extreme scenarios.
That's not what I'm talking about.
Our original disaster wasn't the end of the world.
Nobody invaded.
Civilisation didn't collapse.
There was no great catastrophe.
Two people simply lost their jobs within two days.
It was an ordinary household disaster.
And that's exactly why I think preparedness matters.
The things most likely to test our households are usually much more ordinary:
a job loss,
reduced hours,
a big unexpected bill,
an illness,
a power outage,
a broken appliance,
a sharp rise in grocery prices,
a shortage,
an emergency trip,
or just one of those periods when several things go wrong at once.
A resilient household has some room to absorb those shocks.
Perhaps not perfectly.
But better.
That is what we're aiming for.
The Biggest Benefit Is Not Actually Saving Money
Naturally, living this way saves us money.
We're Cheapskates after all!
Growing food can save money.
Preserving can save money.
Keeping a pantry lets us buy at our price instead of paying whatever happens to be charged when we've run out.
Making things saves money.
Mending saves money.
Collecting firewood saves money.
Cooking from scratch saves money.
But after everything we've experienced, I don't think the money is the greatest benefit.
The greatest benefit is capability. We have collected skills we didn't have, and learned how to put them to use.
We know we can make meals from what we already have.
We know how to cook from basic ingredients.
We can grow some food.
We can preserve some food.
We can repair some things.
We can make some things.
We can manage for a while without shopping.
We can switch into a lower-cost way of living if we need to.
We have alternatives.
None of that guarantees that nothing bad will ever happen.
What it does mean is that when something does happen, we're not starting from zero.
And that's a very different position to be in.
Naturally, living this way saves us money.
We're Cheapskates after all!
Growing food can save money.
Preserving can save money.
Keeping a pantry lets us buy at our price instead of paying whatever happens to be charged when we've run out.
Making things saves money.
Mending saves money.
Collecting firewood saves money.
Cooking from scratch saves money.
But after everything we've experienced, I don't think the money is the greatest benefit.
The greatest benefit is capability. We have collected skills we didn't have, and learned how to put them to use.
We know we can make meals from what we already have.
We know how to cook from basic ingredients.
We can grow some food.
We can preserve some food.
We can repair some things.
We can make some things.
We can manage for a while without shopping.
We can switch into a lower-cost way of living if we need to.
We have alternatives.
None of that guarantees that nothing bad will ever happen.
What it does mean is that when something does happen, we're not starting from zero.
And that's a very different position to be in.
There Is a Quiet Pleasure in Living This Way Too
I don't want this to sound as though everything we do is driven by fear of another disaster and I certainly don't want to romanticise living this way because while it is slow and steady and calm and peaceful, it isn't without hard work, it takes time and there are days I'd like to just throw my hands up and quit.
But we genuinely love this lifestyle.
There's something wonderful about walking outside to pick rosemary for dinner.
Or bringing in lemons from your own tree.
Or seeing the first strawberries ripen.
Or opening a jar you preserved months ago.
Or cooking a meal almost entirely from what you already have at home.
Or repairing something and putting it back into use.
You become connected to your home in a different way.
You notice the seasons.
You know what needs planting.
You know what's ready to harvest.
You know what's in your pantry.
You know what your household uses.
You know what you can make.
Home stops being simply the place you return to after you've been out buying everything you need.
It becomes productive.
It supports you.
And I think that's one of the loveliest parts of the country lifestyle that we can bring into the city.
But we genuinely love this lifestyle.
There's something wonderful about walking outside to pick rosemary for dinner.
Or bringing in lemons from your own tree.
Or seeing the first strawberries ripen.
Or opening a jar you preserved months ago.
Or cooking a meal almost entirely from what you already have at home.
Or repairing something and putting it back into use.
You become connected to your home in a different way.
You notice the seasons.
You know what needs planting.
You know what's ready to harvest.
You know what's in your pantry.
You know what your household uses.
You know what you can make.
Home stops being simply the place you return to after you've been out buying everything you need.
It becomes productive.
It supports you.
And I think that's one of the loveliest parts of the country lifestyle that we can bring into the city.
Don't Try to Build It All at Once
I can almost hear someone thinking:
"That's all very well, Cath, but I can't possibly do everything you do."
Good.
Because I'm not suggesting you should.
What you're seeing in our home today is the result of many years of learning and doing.
It wasn't built in a weekend.
And yours doesn't need to be either.
Start with one thing.
Plant parsley.
Grow tomatoes.
Add a couple of meals to your pantry.
Learn to bake bread.
Buy an extra packet of something you use regularly when it's at your buy price.
Plant a lemon tree.
Learn to mend a hem.
Keep some basic first aid supplies.
Preserve one batch of fruit.
Grow potatoes in a bag.
Put together a blackout kit.
Learn how to cook one meal completely from pantry ingredients.
Each action looks small by itself.
But small actions accumulate.
And eventually you look around and realise that your ordinary suburban household has become far more capable than it used to be.
I can almost hear someone thinking:
"That's all very well, Cath, but I can't possibly do everything you do."
Good.
Because I'm not suggesting you should.
What you're seeing in our home today is the result of many years of learning and doing.
It wasn't built in a weekend.
And yours doesn't need to be either.
Start with one thing.
Plant parsley.
Grow tomatoes.
Add a couple of meals to your pantry.
Learn to bake bread.
Buy an extra packet of something you use regularly when it's at your buy price.
Plant a lemon tree.
Learn to mend a hem.
Keep some basic first aid supplies.
Preserve one batch of fruit.
Grow potatoes in a bag.
Put together a blackout kit.
Learn how to cook one meal completely from pantry ingredients.
Each action looks small by itself.
But small actions accumulate.
And eventually you look around and realise that your ordinary suburban household has become far more capable than it used to be.
Build Your Homestead Where You Are
Perhaps one day you'll move to the country, that's our goal.
Perhaps you'll buy acreage.
Perhaps you'll have chooks and goats and an enormous vegetable garden.
Wonderful.
But don't put off building resilience while you wait for the perfect property.
Start where you are.
Your homestead might be a suburban block like ours.
It might be a townhouse courtyard.
It might be a unit with a balcony and a very well-organised pantry.
The size of your land isn't what makes your household resilient.
It's what you do with the resources available to you.
Grow what you can.
Store what makes sense.
Preserve what you can use.
Learn skills.
Repair things.
Prepare ahead.
Know what your household needs.
Keep sensible buffers.
Make your home work for you.
Perhaps one day you'll move to the country, that's our goal.
Perhaps you'll buy acreage.
Perhaps you'll have chooks and goats and an enormous vegetable garden.
Wonderful.
But don't put off building resilience while you wait for the perfect property.
Start where you are.
Your homestead might be a suburban block like ours.
It might be a townhouse courtyard.
It might be a unit with a balcony and a very well-organised pantry.
The size of your land isn't what makes your household resilient.
It's what you do with the resources available to you.
Grow what you can.
Store what makes sense.
Preserve what you can use.
Learn skills.
Repair things.
Prepare ahead.
Know what your household needs.
Keep sensible buffers.
Make your home work for you.
Our Little Suburban Homestead
So no, we don't live on what Australians would traditionally call a homestead.
We live in the city.
There are neighbours over the fence.
Cars drive past.
The supermarket isn't far away.
But this ordinary suburban block grows vegetables, berries, herbs and fruit.
Our home holds a working pantry designed to support our family.
We preserve food.
We're spreading our food storage across different methods.
We collect firewood in summer for winter.
We cook from scratch.
We make things.
We mend things.
We stock useful supplies.
We think about tomorrow while things are going well today.
Because many years ago we learned how quickly normal can change.
And we learned something else too:
Preparing ahead when life is calm is much easier than trying to solve everything once the crisis has already arrived.
That's why our ordinary suburban house has become our homestead.
Not because of where it sits.
Not because of how much land surrounds it.
But because we've deliberately built it into a home that is productive, useful, prepared and resilient.
And that's exactly what Ready for Tomorrow — The Cheapskates Way is about.
You don't need to predict the next problem.
You don't need to be frightened of what might happen.
You simply use today to make your household a little stronger for tomorrow.
One plant.
One jar.
One pantry shelf.
One useful skill.
One small buffer.
One sensible choice at a time.
Because if there's one thing our own Disaster Struck story taught us, it's this:
You can't always control what happens outside your front gate. But you can do an awful lot to strengthen what is inside it.
So no, we don't live on what Australians would traditionally call a homestead.
We live in the city.
There are neighbours over the fence.
Cars drive past.
The supermarket isn't far away.
But this ordinary suburban block grows vegetables, berries, herbs and fruit.
Our home holds a working pantry designed to support our family.
We preserve food.
We're spreading our food storage across different methods.
We collect firewood in summer for winter.
We cook from scratch.
We make things.
We mend things.
We stock useful supplies.
We think about tomorrow while things are going well today.
Because many years ago we learned how quickly normal can change.
And we learned something else too:
Preparing ahead when life is calm is much easier than trying to solve everything once the crisis has already arrived.
That's why our ordinary suburban house has become our homestead.
Not because of where it sits.
Not because of how much land surrounds it.
But because we've deliberately built it into a home that is productive, useful, prepared and resilient.
And that's exactly what Ready for Tomorrow — The Cheapskates Way is about.
You don't need to predict the next problem.
You don't need to be frightened of what might happen.
You simply use today to make your household a little stronger for tomorrow.
One plant.
One jar.
One pantry shelf.
One useful skill.
One small buffer.
One sensible choice at a time.
Because if there's one thing our own Disaster Struck story taught us, it's this:
You can't always control what happens outside your front gate. But you can do an awful lot to strengthen what is inside it.