Modern Farmhouse – John Marshall Custom Homes via Hooked on Houses
So here’s something I haven’t shared until now: we almost bought an alpaca farm. It isn’t an old story — this was about a year and a half ago. I hesitated to tell it because I had just finished a book about moving into the homes I love, and the idea of seriously considering an alpaca farm felt a little too ironic.
Before we planned a move to Seattle to be closer to family, we entertained a very different possibility: life on a farm with alpacas. At the time our priority was more togetherness, and the thought of a larger property seemed like a natural way to expand what we do as a family.
When the farm went on the market we went to see it. We instantly fell in love — the charming farmhouse, the circular driveway, a large studio, a wonderful barn, a rentable apartment, and the way the buildings were arranged on the land. And, of course, the alpacas themselves. We imagined a life there: hosting gatherings and church events in the barn, teaching craft days in the studio, and living more simply together.
Those alpacas were incredibly endearing. When we visited they trotted up along the fence to greet us, and it was hard not to picture them running toward us every evening as we came home. The whole scene felt so inviting and full of possibility.
We were serious enough to daydream about decorating the farmhouse, waking up to farmhouse breakfasts, and watching our doodles Jack and Lily play in the fields with the alpacas. We imagined chickens, community events, and ways the property could enhance our current activities. The idea seemed both practical and delightfully impractical.
Everyone in our family bought into the vision. The property had real potential, and the possibilities were exciting. But before we rushed into a decision, we paused to reconsider our priorities for that season of life. My instinct when a big dream appears is to leap and see what happens. That boldness can be an asset, but only if it aligns with your goals and you’re ready for the commitment it requires.
As appealing as the farm was, we had to be honest about what we could manage. We weren’t the right people for that life at that time. Our aim was to simplify and make room for family, not take on more responsibilities that would complicate life further.
Farming is rewarding, but it also demands a lot of time, learning, and resources. We realized we loved the idea of owning an alpaca farm more than we would have loved the daily work it entailed. We could have become farmers with enough time and dedication, but we weren’t prepared to invest what would be necessary to do it well.
Ultimately we decided not to add alpacas to our lives. We needed to simplify, not add new demands. As a natural dreamer, I constantly have more ideas than time or money to pursue them. Without discipline I can be swept up by the romance of a vision and lose sight of what’s essential.
To find peace at home, I continually work to pare down, refocus, and simplify. That means being intentional about what we invite into our lives and recognizing there are limits to what we can take on. If I don’t make purposeful choices, I risk spreading myself too thin — imagining myself in overalls feeding baby alpacas while also juggling everything else we already do.
I’ve been learning to rein myself in so I can focus on the people, pets, and projects that truly matter. Simplifying often means letting go of attractive opportunities — even good ones — that would distract from our primary goals.
Sometimes simplifying means giving up the dream of owning an alpaca farm.
Sometimes it means clearing out the clutter in your closet.
Saying no to one tempting thing makes space for what matters more. Letting go can be difficult, but it creates room in both home and life for priorities that bring deeper joy and purpose.
If you’re curious about how I simplify and make room for what matters, my book Make Room for What You Love explores practical ways to pare down and focus on what’s essential.