Why You Should Keep a Homestead Journal (And How Mine Saved My Bacon More Than Once)

I’ll be the first to admit it—I’m not always the most organized person. Sure, I can wrangle chickens, fix a busted fence with zip ties and sheer willpower, and turn a bucket of foraged weeds into a halfway decent dinner. But when it comes to remembering exactly when I planted those carrots last year? Or what ridiculous mistake I made that nearly cost me an entire batch of canned tomatoes? Yeah… that information is long gone.

Enter: the homestead journal.

Now, before you roll your eyes and mutter something about how you don’t have time for another chore, hear me out. This little book (or binder, or crumpled collection of napkins if you’re like me) is hands-down one of the most useful tools on my homestead. It has saved me from repeating past mistakes, helped me plan better for the next season, and—perhaps most importantly—given me a place to record all the absolutely absurd things that happen around here.

A Record of Triumphs and, Uh, ‘Learning Experiences’

I once thought I’d remember everything about my homestead just by, you know, being here. Turns out, I was very, very wrong. Without a homestead journal, I’d have no way of recalling:

The exact date my apple trees were rudely ransacked by a team of raccoons (so I can set up the scare traps earlier next year).

That one time I accidentally fertilized my tomatoes with the wrong mix and ended up with mutant plants that looked like they were trying to take over the world.

When my hens finally started laying again after their dramatic winter strike (spoiler: it was way later than I expected).

Writing these things down has been a game-changer. It’s like leaving notes for my future self so I don’t have to relearn the same painful lessons every year.

A Place for Plans, Dreams, and the Reality Check That Follows

My journal isn’t just a disaster log—it’s also where I dream big and then reality smacks me in the face. In spring, it’s full of ambitious goals like “Plant enough potatoes to last all winter.” By fall, it’s got notes like “Next time, don’t plant so many potatoes. My back will thank me.”

I also sketch out garden layouts, list seed varieties, and note which ones actually produced food versus which ones flopped harder than a beached fish. It’s wildly satisfying to compare my hopeful spring notes to my brutally honest end-of-season reality checks. (Turns out, I’m not cut out for growing watermelon. It’s fine. I’ve accepted it.)

The Comedy Gold That Comes With Homesteading

The other unexpected perk of keeping a homestead journal? It’s an unfiltered record of all the bizarre, hilarious, and mildly traumatic events that unfold around here.

Like the time I tried to “gently encourage” a broody hen off her nest and ended up with a face full of angry chicken. Or the day I discovered a family of skunks had moved into my woodpile. (That entry just says, “Nope. Nope. Nope.”)

One day, when I’m old and rocking on my porch, I’ll crack open this journal and laugh at all the chaos. Or I’ll use it as a cautionary tale to my grandkids. Either way, it’s gold.

How to Start Your Own Homestead Journal (Without Overcomplicating It)

Starting a homestead journal doesn’t have to be fancy. Some people go full-on bullet journal with color-coded charts and perfectly neat handwriting. I admire these people. I am not these people. My journal is a mess, and that’s okay. Here’s a simple way to get started:

Pick a Notebook – Or a binder, or a spreadsheet, or whatever works for you. Just something you won’t lose.

Write Down the Important Stuff – Planting dates, first frost, last frost, what you harvested, what failed spectacularly.

Include Funny Moments – Because homesteading is ridiculous, and you deserve to laugh at it.

Make Notes for Next Year – Things like, “Don’t plant 87 zucchini plants unless you want to be buried alive.”

Keeping a homestead journal is one of those things you don’t realize you need until you start doing it. Then, one day, you’ll flip back through your notes, shake your head, and say, “Oh yeah. I totally forgot about that disaster.” And you’ll be glad you wrote it down.

So go on, grab a notebook and start scribbling. Future You will thank you.