by Jessie Koester  November/December 2008

J. Jasper and Lynn Whitehead are a couple of unlikely homesteaders. By that, I mean, in many ways, they're just like you and me: They're balancing work, school, family and money concerns. They dream of living a simple life, but it's still pretty complicated.

Even so, a little more than a year ago, they made a commitment to start living self-sufficiently, basically because they "had a gun to their heads," as J. jokingly puts it. And they're doing it, with little time, less money, and no prior knowledge. After spending time with them, I learned that anyone, anywhere, can become a "back-to-the-lander," whether you're urban or suburban, country or city, on one acre or 100, even in a brownstone or a high-rise.

J. and Lynn both grew up in cities—Milwaukee, Wis., and Manhattan, respectively. J. actually has genuine wilderness bona fides, having worked with Outward Bound for several years, but Lynn had never spent any time in the country until she met him and he took her camping in the Catskills. That's when their shared vision of living in the country, "in a little house in the woods, next to a babbling brook, totally off the grid," began to take shape.
In 2002, circumstances led the pair not to their country dream-come-true, but to the city of Kingston, which feels sort of like the country compared to Manhattan, especially when you're standing outside their 1860s farmhouse on two-and-a-half hilly acres, which used to be a horseradish farm. It's now their homesteading experiment.
The site is an odd one, but beautiful. Set smack in the middle of a residential block of ranch homes with small, tidy yards, their driveway—a gravel and dirt road—winds its way up a hill, around a bend, and through meadows of milkweed, garlic mustard, goldenrod, ginseng, goldenseal, and wild berry bushes. Off to the left, there are beehives and a couple of apple trees. To the right, a tractor tiller from the horseradish days sits rusting in a field. Standing there with the wind rustling through the trees and the knee-high grasses, it's possible to forget there are sidewalks just yards away, strip malls blocks away, and a surrounding city of 20,000 people. The house J. recently restored sits at the end of the drive. Of their homesteading duo, J. says that he's "the brawn. Lynn's the brain."

Originally, when they bought the old farm, they'd planned on subdividing it and selling the lots. But that was before the real estate crash. Homesteading had always been just a "romanticized notion" for them, J. says, but it became a necessity when they found themselves saddled with the land and having trouble making ends meet. It simply made sense to start living their dream—to become more self-reliant—in order to save the farmhouse they'd decided to call home.

In Brooklyn, where they'd lived before, they leaned "green": They were members of the Park Slope Food Co-op, and they walked everywhere or relied on public transportation, like most New Yorkers. But that's as close as they came to living their ideal. Now, certain elements of homesteading—simple living practices like sustainable gardening, worm composting, beekeeping, and producing and storing food—are their reality. And not-so-simple projects—such as restoring the house and making it more energy efficient—have also become a priority.

The two found inspiration and advice at food co-ops and farmers' markets, in books and blogs, as well as at workshops in and around the Hudson Valley. They invited an herbalist over to point out what was already growing in abundance on the property: wild raspberries and blackberries, chickweed, motherwort, and English plantain. Then they planted a garden, some trees, and blueberry bushes. They dug two pits for composting, and welcomed red wiggler worms to their new homestead. J. took a beekeeping class, and now has two hives.

If the two of them can join the back-to-the-land movement, says J., anyone can. He works more than full time, sometimes 24 hours a day, days on end, as a wilderness guide, leading kids through challenge courses, and hiking and canoeing in the Adirondacks year-round. Lynn, a former journalist, is in her last year of nursing school at Ulster BOCES (Board of Cooperative Educational Services, one of many in the state that provide shared services to participating public schools). They have a 12-year-old son, tenants, and an old house in need of updating and repair.

In other words, they have a very full life. In short, they're exactly like you or me.
But now they have a worm composting pit, a manageable 4-by-8-foot garden, beehives, apple trees, berry bushes, and a vision for a self-sufficient future that is coming to fruition, in fits and starts, whenever and however they're able to work it in. Lynn bakes her own bread. Makes her own juice. She wants chickens. And an orchard. She and J. are waiting for solar energy to become more affordable. They'd like to draw their water from the spring on their property. They're interested in recycling their greywater, or wastewater. They're starting from scratch. It's been just a little more than a year, but they're well on their way.

This year, the garlic was abundant—as were the blueberries, basil, cucumbers, tomatoes, and potatoes. The bees are thriving, the worms in the compost pit are thriving, and so are J. and Lynn. J. documents their progress on his blog, www.homesteadblogger.com/horseradishhill. His entries are erratic because of his work schedule, which becomes quite hectic in the summer when it coincides with prime gardening season.

So, the garden and the fields are a bit unruly, the apple trees didn't do so well this year, and there were some setbacks with the potatoes. But this process is trial and error—a lesson they're learning. And, as yet, they're undeterred. They do what they can, when they can. And when they can't, they don't worry.
You can get a sense of the joy the two take in their new lifestyle with blog entries like this one: "The fireflies! All the wonderful fireflies! Our place is full of fireflies that spark all along the tree line and into the mostly wild fields. You can see they're making a pattern, see the pulse pass along a line, even if their meaning is inarticulate to us." They've stumbled into their dream, making it come true in an unlikely place, at a sometimes ungainly pace, but the results are inspiring.

Even so, a little more than a year ago, they made a commitment to start living self-sufficiently, basically because they “had a gun to their heads,” as J. jokingly puts it. And they’re doing it, with little time, less money, and no prior knowledge. After spending time with them, I learned that anyone, anywhere, can become a “back-to-the-lander,” whether you’re urban or suburban, country or city, on one acre or 100, even in a brownstone or a high-rise.
J. and Lynn both grew up in cities—Milwaukee, Wis., and Manhattan, respectively. J. actually has genuine wilderness bona fides, having worked with Outward Bound for several years, but Lynn had never spent any time in the country until she met him and he took her camping in the Catskills. That’s when their shared vision of living in the country, “in a little house in the woods, next to a babbling brook, totally off the grid,” began to take shape.
In 2002, circumstances led the pair not to their country dream-come-true, but to the city of Kingston, which feels sort of like the country compared to Manhattan, especially when you’re standing outside their 1860s farmhouse on two-and-a-half hilly acres, which used to be a horseradish farm. It’s now their homesteading experiment.

The site is an odd one, but beautiful. Set smack in the middle of a residential block of ranch homes with small, tidy yards, their driveway—a gravel and dirt road—winds its way up a hill, around a bend, and through meadows of milkweed, garlic mustard, goldenrod, ginseng, goldenseal, and wild berry bushes. Off to the left, there are beehives and a couple of apple trees. To the right, a tractor tiller from the horseradish days sits rusting in a field. Standing there with the wind rustling through the trees and the knee-high grasses, it’s possible to forget there are sidewalks just yards away, strip malls blocks away, and a surrounding city of 20,000 people. The house J. recently restored sits at the end of the drive. Of their homesteading duo, J. says that he’s “the brawn. Lynn’s the brain.”
Originally, when they bought the old farm, they’d planned on subdividing it and selling the lots. But that was before the real estate crash. Homesteading had always been just a “romanticized notion” for them, J. says, but it became a necessity when they found themselves saddled with the land and having trouble making ends meet. It simply made sense to start living their dream—to become more self-reliant—in order to save the farmhouse they’d decided to call home.

In Brooklyn, where they’d lived before, they leaned “green”: They were members of the Park Slope Food Co-op, and they walked everywhere or relied on public transportation, like most New Yorkers. But that’s as close as they came to living their ideal. Now, certain elements of homesteading—simple living practices like sustainable gardening, worm composting, beekeeping, and producing and storing food—are their reality. And not-so-simple projects—such as restoring the house and making it more energy efficient—have also become a priority.