just the start of 2018
Mournicopia: Living between mourning and coping.

Let’s get you all up to speed. Saturday I broke two fingers stacking wood, Sunday our dog went missing from our front yard, Monday I laid in bed and mourned, Tuesday I rescued Rich from a truck breakdown, Wednesday Rich was admitted into the hospital.

The rest of the week continued with small mishaps, like paper cuts from the poster board bought for missing dog posters…  

It’s been a week to say the least. One night, as we got ready for bed Rich said, “you know, sometimes I feel like the average person would crumble under these circumstances.” I agreed  and told him I thought we had pretty extraordinary coping mechanisms. I’m not sure if either of us could do it alone but together we push through the worst, assessing the situation, doing what we need to fix it and moving on to the next task.


To be honest, I think we’ve even grown since moving to the homestead. Here there’s a neverending task list. Our homestead has taught us the beauty of growing something, the cycle of life and death, how to work hard, the importance of priorities, and will allow you to experience every emotion – even the ones you didn’t think existed.

Roscoe’s disappearance was a sure example. He’s too clever to be dead. I wholeheartedly believe (along with a timeline and evidence) that someone picked Roscoe up. If we had found him dead, at least I could grieve. I’m stuck with all these unknown roads leading to a black void to mourn. I was with that dog 24/7. Now, I wake up to a routine all on my own. He’s not there to nudge me to wake up in the morning, he’s not lying in front of the bathroom door for his turn to be let out, he’s not there for the car ride to run errands, he’s not the one to call first dibs on helping to let chickens out, or the one scooping up rouge popcorn from a late night Netflix binge.


Before turning off the lights, I told Rich, “well, my coping might not be as evolved. I’ll probably cry again in the morning” as I wait for Roscoe to climb into bed only to realize he’s still not there. Without hesitation, he replied “Kendra, you are not coping, you are mourning the loss of a family member. Mourning can take days, weeks, even years. This is not something you cope with.”

As I sat thinking about their differences, he randomly blurted out “Mouurrnnicopia!” And that was it. I told him that would be the word of the year 2018: Mournicopia.

Recently Published

Spring Chickens

Spring Chickens

The countdown to Spring is well underway for farmers, homesteaders and all those anticipating a new batch of chicks! If you’re new to raising baby chicks, most choose to purchase them in the Spring when temperatures begin to rise. This period makes brooding easiest...

A Letter To Our Homestead – 2018

A Letter To Our Homestead – 2018

Dear Homestead, Reflecting on 2018 is an arduous task. Our word of the year was coined early on as Mornicopia. It’s that weird place between mourning and coping -- you can read more about that here. In fact, I contemplated not writing our year end post, but it’s only...