Not because I’m old.
Not because I’ve given up.
But because I am tired — and also deeply committed to peace.

I’m in my last few years of my 30s, and instead of chasing whatever the internet says I should be doing, I’m over here making jelly like it’s a personality trait. Baking bread because it fixes more than it feeds. Canning meals so future-me can feel loved on a Tuesday when everything goes sideways.

This era looks like meal prepping not for aesthetics, but for survival. A freezer stocked like winter is personal. A garden that humbles me daily. Homeschool happening in real time — between chicken interruptions, goat commentary, and at least one kid asking a question from a different room.

I’m learning that slowing down doesn’t mean falling behind.
It means I finally stopped running in circles.

The granny era is choosing skills over hustle.
Hands-on over hands-full.
Rooted over rushed.

It’s dirt under my nails. Bread on the counter. Kids learning out loud. Animals that think I exist solely to feed them. A home that feels lived in — not staged.

I used to think this phase would come later.
Turns out it showed up right on time.

And honestly?
If this is what my late 30s look like…
I’ll take the apron. 🐔🌿