DerpLab FarmStead Blog

     This weekend was one of those rare stretches where everything felt busy in the best possible way. We finally tackled some of the bigger items on our “must‑go” list — the couch, a couple of recliners, that old gun cabinet, and a handful of other bulky pieces that have been taking up space both physically and mentally. And here’s the best part: things actually sold. That gun cabinet in particular has been haunting me for a while. I’ve listed it a couple times before with almost zero interest, so this time we priced it low just to move it. And boom — gone. Watching someone load it up and drive away felt like a tiny victory flag planted in the middle of the chaos. The couch is the next big domino I’m hoping will fall. Once that beast is out of here, I can finally finish stripping the ceiling and get the living room refinished. That’s one of the last major steps before we can list the house, and I’m itching to get it done. Every time I walk past that room, I can see ...

       I’ve lived my entire life within a 100‑mile radius. Northwest Wyoming has been my whole world — the mountains, the small towns, the familiar faces, the same roads I’ve driven since I was old enough to sit in the passenger seat. With the exception of travel, this corner of the state has shaped almost everything about me. And I do love Wyoming. But loving a place doesn’t mean you’re meant to stay there forever.      Outgrowing the Space We Have Our current home is… fine. But it’s small. Too small for two dogs, too small for gardening, too small for the kind of life we’re trying to build. We own it, but we share walls with neighbors and don’t even have guaranteed parking. Property prices here are high, and the cost of living keeps climbing. Every month feels like we’re paying more for less. We want room to breathe — literally and financially.      Wanting a Different Kind of Life We’ve reached a point where we want land, space, ...

     There’s this picture that keeps looping in my head lately — me stepping out the door of our future place, walking into a garden or greenhouse, and picking dinner with my own hands. Not because it’s trendy or because I’m trying to “live off the land” in some dramatic way, but because it feels like coming home to something humans have always done.      It wasn’t that long ago that everyone had a garden. Not a hobby. Not a weekend project. Just part of life. Food didn’t come wrapped in plastic or stacked under fluorescent lights. It came from the dirt behind the house, from hands that knew the plants, from seasons that shaped the meals. And honestly, the more I think about it, the more I want that rhythm back.      I remember my grandma’s garden when I was a kid — the smell of warm soil, the snap of a pea pod, the way you could wander through the rows and just… munch. Just sunshine, dirt, and food that tasted like it actually wanted to be ...

     Every once in a while, life hands you a moment of clarity disguised as something ordinary. For me, it was a dusty three‑ring binder I hadn’t opened in years. Inside were pages dated August 2012 — printouts, sketches, guides, and plans I’d collected back when the idea of going off‑grid was still just a spark in my chest. I didn’t know it then, but I was documenting the earliest version of the life I’m finally building now. Flipping through it felt like opening a time capsule from a younger version of myself who already knew exactly what he wanted.  What Was Inside the Binder The first page hit me right in the nostalgia:   “How Living Off the Grid Works.” From there it spiraled into a full‑blown blueprint of early homestead dreams: Solar hot water heater plans A DIY septic system guide Notes on generating your own power A 3 dome living‑space layout A thorough papercrete guide — including how to build a mixer And then the big one: a massive aquaponics print...

  We’ve spent a lot of time staring at used trucks lately. Hours of scrolling, comparing, zooming in on blurry photos, and trying to decode listings written in what might as well be another language sometimes. It’s become its own little ritual—coffee, couch, and a parade of Fords, Dodges, and the occasional “runs great just needs a transmission” special. One thing became clear pretty fast: Diesel is a must for us. Not because it’s trendy or because we want to roll coal like idiots, but because of what we’re planning. Until we find the right land, we need something tough enough to pull a camper or RV, haul water, drag supplies, and keep going without complaint. Gas trucks can do some of that, sure, but diesel does it without complaining. Buying new isn’t even on the table. We’re not dropping $80k on a truck when we’re trying to build a homestead. So the used market is where we live now. Ford: The Overthinker’s Truck Ford makes great trucks, but wow… they do not make it simple. Ever...

  I don’t know when it happened exactly — the moment my brain stopped drifting and started pulling toward a different life — but lately it’s all I can think about. The truck. The camper. The land. The freedom. The quiet. The space to finally build the life we’ve been talking about for years instead of just surviving the one we’re in. It’s like something in me finally snapped into place. Not in a dramatic way — more like a quiet click. A realization that if I want this dream to happen, I have to move toward it every single day, even if the steps are small. And right now, those steps look like this:  • figuring out the truck and camper situation • prepping the house to sell • downsizing a space that somehow feels bigger than it is • trying not to drown in the stress of it all • keeping the dream in focus even when the day-to-day feels heavy The truth is, our current home isn’t huge. But when you’re trying to uproot your entire life, even a small space can feel like a m...