Life on the land isn’t tidy. It’s real. It’s work. And for those of us who live it, who breathe it, who tend to it every single day, it’s more than just a lifestyle — it’s a calling.

I live here. I work here. I am here.
That’s not just a statement; it’s a declaration. It’s the reminder I have to give myself when the world tries to tug me in a hundred directions I don’t belong in.

Because here’s the truth: when you’re deeply rooted in your own work — on your land, in your home, within your own namespace — it’s easy for others to assume you have time, energy, and space to give. They’ll pull, they’ll prod, they’ll try to distract. And it gets frustrating.

Why? Because all of that energy is already spoken for. It belongs to the work I’ve been entrusted with right here.

The Weight of the Work

There’s plenty to be done. Too much, some days. When neighbors rearrange horse property setups that throw the balance off and turn the air into a breeding ground for flies, it doesn’t just make life uncomfortable — it adds more work to what’s already a full plate.

When others move their traffic closer to your line, plant cacti in the wrong places, and don’t think about waterflow or stewardship, you feel the weight. Because you’re the one who has to live with it.

And then — just when you’re knee-deep in your own real, physical work — someone tries to pull you aside, off into their priorities. That’s when the frustration sharpens.

What It Means to Be a Mother Creeker

That’s why I say: we are all Mother Creekers — at least those of us who are mothers in this CREEKERhood.

A Mother Creeker isn’t just a woman with children. She’s the one who holds the line, who knows the land, who sees what needs to be done and doesn’t look away. She’s the one who builds the setup, who turns the dirt, who keeps things alive.

It’s not glamorous, but it’s sacred.

And I see it beyond my own fenceline. The mother creeker@ Stagecoach Village is Sue Marshall, Owner/Operator at ATSexhibits.com. She holds that role in her space, the same way I hold it here. Each of us, in our own corner, is carrying the load that keeps the whole hood standing.

Why Boundaries Matter

So yes — I get frustrated. I admit it. Because my work is here, my calling is here, and when I’m pulled away, things unravel.

But that frustration has taught me something: boundaries are holy. Saying “no” isn’t rejection; it’s preservation. It’s how I keep faith with the work that was given to me.

Being a Mother Creeker means claiming that authority without apology. It means saying:

  • I live here.
  • I work here.
  • I am here.

And that is enough.