Pull up a chair, Momma, and let’s chat about something that’s been gnawing at me lately. As our youngest boy inches closer to double digits, I’ve been diving into another Joel Salatin book (you’re not even surprised anymore, are you?). This time, it’s got me fired up about the way we treat our kids. Specifically, the way we’ve turned teenagers from valuable contributors into little more than an inconvenience with Wi-Fi access.
Think about it: not that long ago, teens were the backbone of the village. They weren’t spending 16 hours a day locked in a virtual world chasing pixels; they were out there, chopping wood, hauling water, and learning real skills that mattered. Today? They’re thumb athletes with energy to burn, so it’s no wonder they’re out at 2 a.m. looking for trouble instead of collapsing into bed after a hard day’s work.
Historically, chores weren’t just about keeping the household running—they were about raising capable, resilient humans.
Let’s talk firewood.
Gathering firewood wasn’t just “grab some logs and go.” It was a master class in critical thinking. You had to know your woods—green, dry, rotted, or termite-ridden. You needed to understand moisture content, how much wood a family needed to get through the winter, and how to harvest sustainably so you weren’t clear-cutting like the Lorax’s nemesis.
And then there was the logistics. Finding the wood, chopping it, hauling it, stacking it just right so it wouldn’t fall over in the middle of the night and crush someone’s foot. All of this taught planning, teamwork, and responsibility. You learned what it meant to provide for your family. Compare that to Mario Kart or Call of Duty, and tell me which builds more character.
Now, let’s wander into the chicken yard.
Winter protein sources were scarce, and chickens can’t thrive on grain alone. Enter the young boys, who were tasked with catching critters to keep the flock healthy. They’d set snares or traps for squirrels, rabbits, and the like, then learn the hard (but necessary) skills of dispatching and processing. Was it gruesome? Sure. But it taught ingenuity, problem-solving, and respect for life.
And it wasn’t just about the catch. Boys swapped techniques with each other, sought advice from elders, and got real-world affirmation for their efforts. Imagine your kid coming to you, beaming with pride over a successful hunt. Now imagine that same kid trying to explain how they “beat the boss level” in some video game. Yeah, I know which story I’d rather hear.
And who could forget the barnyard wheelbarrow brigade?
Scooping cow manure and hauling it to the compost pile was a rite of passage. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary. That manure would ferment all winter, turning into black gold for spring planting. It taught patience, foresight, and the value of hard, dirty work. Mastering the wheelbarrow was like a learner’s permit for driving the tractor.
Today, we’ve stripped these opportunities away.
We call it “exploitation” to let kids work hard, even though a 16-year-old can legally operate two tons of steel on the interstate but can’t put in a full day’s labor. We’ve criminalized the very activities that used to build self-worth, resourcefulness, and community.
Why?
Because somewhere along the way, we decided kids were liabilities instead of assets. We stopped seeing them as capable contributors and started treating them like fragile ornaments to protect, coddle, and entertain. And now we’re left scratching our heads, wondering why they’re bored, restless, and getting into trouble.
But here’s the kicker: it doesn’t have to stay this way.
On our farm, chores aren’t optional. They’re part of life. They teach our kids the value of their contributions, the rhythm of the land, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Whether it’s collecting eggs, weeding the garden, or scrubbing water buckets, they’re learning skills that will stick with them long after they leave the nest.
And honestly? It’s not just about the work. It’s about the conversations we have while stacking hay or peeling potatoes. It’s about the pride on their faces when they see the results of their labor. It’s about teaching them that life isn’t easy, but it’s worth it.
So, Momma, let’s bring back the village mindset. Let’s give our kids more than just participation trophies and screen time. Let’s give them the tools to be resilient, capable, and proud of what they can do.
Because the truth is, raising kids isn’t just about keeping them alive. It’s about teaching them how to live.
Until next time,
Traci
