The neighbors called us Indians when we pitched a 
tent on our two acres of Pennsylvania hill-top back in 
1977. We spent the first winter shivering inside our 
8x10 canvas bedroom, planning a future log cabin. 
Our kitchen was a cooler set outside in the snow, the 
bathroom was an outhouse, and the rest of the 
outdoors was our living room. 

Our only son Scott turned two the following spring 
and we had a picnic on our tiny lawn to celebrate 
both his birthday and our survival. The name Sonrise 
came from trying to get Scottie out of bed on the cold 
mornings. 

The years have flown by. The overgrown brush lot 
has gradually blossomed into a food production 
system or what we call a homestead. Trying to grow 
a garden with only three inches of dirt on this barren 
mountain almost made us give up until we learned 
about compost. To make good compost you need to 
mix materials that contain carbon with others that 
have lots of nitrogen. Carbon or brown ingredients 
consist of fallen leaves, hay and straw to name a few. 
The best source of nitrogen comes from animal 
manure, referred to as greens. We hauled browns and 
greens by the truckload from neighboring farms and 
raked mountains of leaves every fall. Within five 
years we had increased the depth of our garden soil 
to over two feet. As a bonus, good compost draws 
earthworms that help to bring air down to the plants' 
roots through their tunnels. We move hundreds of the 
worms every year to a box under the rabbit pens and 
sell them to fisherman all summer long. 

In our garden we grow enough vegetables and herbs 
to feed us all year long. Tomatoes by the bushel are 
cooked down for sauce. Celery, onions and carrots 
are dehydrated to save space in the freezers for beans, 
corn, cabbage, pumpkin, and strawberries. Beets are 
canned and cucumbers turned into pickles. Peppers 
along with parsley, oregano, basil and other herbs are 
hung to dry in the barn. Someday we'll build a root 
cellar to store the potatoes and squash but until then 
they go to a cool spot in the woodshed. 

When I was given a pair of rabbits as a job bonus 
they started a trend that has kept the soil fertile 
without the need for cleaning other peoples barns. 
We built a barn of our own and moved the rabbits to 
it; along with two milk cows, their calves and some 
pigs. A chicken coop near the barn houses twenty 
hens and a couple of roosters. Close to the chicken 
coop is another pen that keeps turkeys and 
sometimes guinea fowl or pheasants. 

Daisy-Mae and her daughter Rosi give us all the 
dairy products we need, milk, butter, cheese, 
whipped cream, and ice-cream. The cows also give 
us our hamburger and steaks, along with an extra 
calf to sell or trade for hay. Our pork and bacon 
come from the hogs. We sell rabbits for both pets and 
meat, butchering enough to fill a freezer shelf every 
fall. The chickens provide more eggs than we can 
eat, the extras are sold to buy their feed. Our holiday 
dinners are homegrown turkey with all the 
trimmings, including the pumpkin pie coming from 
the homestead.  

We don't worry about pesticides, e-coli, trucker's 
strikes, or other food crisis' that make the evening 
news. Homesteading gives us the security to worry 
about more important stuff, like why do people fight 
wars, who will be the first person on Mars, when did 
the dinosaurs die, or where in the world is Atlantis?