Suburban Homesteading: A Family Legacy

On this blog, I write a lot about practical tips for suburban homesteading on a budget.  Today, I’m taking a break from that to share a story from my family’s history.  This story comes from a time when suburban homesteading was the norm, not the exception.  I hope you’ll enjoy my grandmother’s story of survival and overcoming the odds.

In years past, what we think of today as “homesteading” was just normal for most people.  You didn’t go to the grocery store to buy fresh vegetables; you grew them.  You didn’t go to Kohl’s or Ross for new clothes; you mended the old ones.  But for my maternal grandmother (Mimi), homesteading wasn’t just normal—it was an absolute necessity.

First of all, you have to understand that my family comes from Texas white-trash stock.  Seriously.  Mimi has stories about her brothers wrangling an alligator into their backyard.  Apparently, my great-uncles would have fit in just as well in Florida as they did in Texas.

Her father, my great-grandfather, was an alcoholic.  Each Thursday, his paycheck was cashed, and his family got the bare minimum to cover food and bills; the rest went to booze.  His wife, then, was left to care for their nine children, armed with only that small allowance, her smarts, and her skills. 

By the time my mimi (the youngest) came along, great-grandma Lee-Lee was worn out.  Mimi was born prematurely and rushed to a Catholic clinic.  There, the nuns gathered in a circle, passed her around, and prayed over her, each woman begging God to spare her life.  By His grace, she survived. 

The family didn’t have a small enough crib for her, so they kept her in a shoebox; when she outgrew it, she graduated to a dresser drawer.  Though my jaded Lee-Lee didn’t want another mouth to feed, another daughter promised to take care of the baby; this great-aunt of mine practically raised my mimi and shaped her into the brave woman I know today. 

As she grew up, Mimi and her siblings were expected to help support the family in any way they could.  For example, Lee-Lee would often hand them a washtub bucket and send them to the bay, which was within walking distance of their home.  “Don’t come back,” she’d say, “until it’s full of crabs.”  And that would be their dinner.

Another way they worked to feed themselves was through raising small livestock.  They had laying hens for eggs, but they couldn’t afford to buy meat.  So, they raised rabbits, which gave them enough meat for the entire family.

The girls were also expected to help Lee-Lee with her chores and side hustles.  Other women would bring their washed clothes to Lee-Lee, and she and the girls would starch and iron them to earn extra cash. 

Now, about that alligator…

When she first told me the story, Mimi shook her head at the memory.  “I don’t know where they got it,” she told me, “but my brothers found a small ‘gator and carried it to the backyard.  They had to keep it penned up so it wouldn’t attack the rest of us.  I don’t know how they fed it—we could barely afford to feed ourselves—but they must have given it some of our rabbits.  Anyway, I think it was pretty angry at being so cooped up.  One time, it got out of its pen and chased me and my sisters around the yard.  We had to climb on top of the butane tank to avoid getting eaten!”

So, there you have it.  My mimi and her family survived on what they could raise, forage, or sell.  They knew how to make the most of every resource they had.  And the suburban homesteading we see as an exception today was a way of life—or rather, a way of survival—for them.

Do you have any family stories of resilience and suburban survival?  Let me know in the comments!