The Road that Led to Homesteading, Part One
- The DeHaven Family
Laura Ingalls and I share many similarities. The most obvious is that we have the same first name; mine is just spelled differently- Lara. We both grew up in a happy, close-knit family in rural communities. We both had to move to a town/city and longed to return to our rural home. Laura and I met and married wonderful men. She raised a small family and I am raising a big family. And, we both enjoy writing.
For a short time after I graduated from Texas A&M, my husband, Lane, my first child, Clayton, and I lived in the city of Navasota. I use the term city loosely. It has a population of 7500 people. Anyway, we lived in a small rent house in a residential area in the middle of town. We were close to the grocery stores, gas stations, a movie rental place, etc. The conveniences of life were within walking distance. At first all of this was new and exciting. However, the newness wore off really quickly.
Our next door neighbor loved to throw huge street parties that really started getting into full swing about 2:30 in the morning. Trains ran through town all night long laying on their horns to make sure the tracks were clear. Sitting in your own backyard offered very little privacy. People knocked on your front door selling insurance, books, and/or fundraising. It felt like there was no peace.
We decided to move out to the country. My husband and I bought an acre from my parents and began building our dream house. It is a Victorian-style, two-story house that my husband and brother-in-law built. My husband is a jack-of-all-trades. The man can do anything, I kid you not. My brother-in-law was a framer and part-time contractor. But, I digress.
Lane and I continued working in Navasota. He was an automotive technician and I taught Spanish at the local high school. We had two more children, Kyla and Jake respectively. Clayton started school in Anderson, Texas. We were a very average, run of the mill family.
Then one day I had a horrible car accident. My Jeep Cherokee hydroplaned down a hill into the back of a parked school bus. As I realized that all of my attempts were failing to not hit the bus, I really and truly thought I was going to die. However, I was most concerned with the welfare of Clayton, who was seated in the back seat.
To make a long story short, I was the only one hurt. I had broken my femur and both bones in both arms. I had gone from a healthy, vibrant young mother to a completely helpless invalid in just seconds. I needed round the clock care once they finally let me out of the hospital ten days later.
Stop to think what you do with your hands and legs in a day. When do you not you use them? I literally could do nothing by myself, including taking care of my youngest who did not quite understand why mommy couldn’t hold him or play with him. People talk about turning points in one’s life. Without a doubt, this car accident was my turning point.
I did a lot of soul searching. I had to fight against depression and the “poor me” syndrome. I realized that I did not have my priorities in the right order. Life is so short and eighteen years fly by so fast so I yearned to be home with my children. I wanted to invest myself in them. After all, you only get one chance. There are no do-overs.
To continue on my journey to homesteading and read Part Two “Off the Treadmill of Life,” click here.
[...] If you have not read Part One “On the Treadmill of Life,” you might want to start there. If so, click here. [...]
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