My husband and I wanted space. We wanted to be off-grid.
After years of traveling in a van, our wild hippie hearts wanted a place where we could build whatever we wanted, meditate outside in the sun, and feel inspired by natural, untouched land nearby.
When we first visited Taos, New Mexico, we realized that this desert town — quirky, rural, spacious, and breathtaking — checked off everything on our list.
In 2019, we bought an off-grid home about an hour outside Taos and moved in without a second thought.
For 2 years, life in New Mexico was great
Jayme Serbell
Our home sat on 40 acres and featured large, sweeping views of the Rocky Mountains. It had a well, a septic tank, and solar panels.
We started our mornings by tossing freshly chopped wood into the wood stove, slowly heating up the entire house as our floor’s sandstone slabs cooled our feet through our wool socks. Then, we’d make tea and sit on our meditation cushions in front of our floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at snow-capped mountains.
Later in the day, we’d hike with our dogs, zig-zagging through the trees to our favorite spot on the property and pausing to listen to the birds overhead. We’d spend our evenings watching epic sunsets over the expansive peaks.
We made dinner with vegetables from our 40-foot garden and listened to records we found at the thrift store. Our days usually ended with us constructing puzzles under the full moonlight as coyotes yipped outside.
Then, we had a revelation and officially moved back home
Jayme Serbell
It was March 2021, and I was nine months pregnant. I’d planned on a home birth, which felt safe — in case of emergency, we were an hour away from the nearest hospital.
After my son was born, I hemorrhaged badly. Although we were an hour away from a hospital, it took us closer to two to get there via ambulance. I made it just in time, but I lost a significant amount of blood and needed multiple transfusions.
Back at home, my husband and I sat in the discomfort of some sobering realities.
We were far from our family and friends. We were far from a hospital.
And now, we were parents. There was only one family with kids out where we lived. Driving to extracurricular activities would take hours.
We had these conversations before our son was born, but now that he was here — and after the frightening experience we’d just gone through — everything changed. It was time to go home.
That year, we’d officially decided to move back home.
We visited St. Louis to house hunt. Over the span of two weeks, we looked at 30 houses, including rural properties, subdivisions, and starter homes.
We even peeked our heads into the city limits. These houses were smaller, and the backyards were nearly nonexistent, but they were walking distance from a 289-acre park that hosted sporting events, farmers markets, festivals, and more.
An old brick home sang to us. Every time we checked out the house, we would see kids running around the neighborhood — a dozen kids! The excitement bubbled up in our chests.
We’re so grateful for our life here
Jayme Serbell
One day in June, we got the wagon ready with my sister and two friends.
Our son climbed in while our daughter — who was born here three years after we moved — patiently waited for her turn. We walked down our block and struck up a conversation with our neighbors on their porch.
We entered the park. It was a beautiful early-summer day. The magnolia trees were blooming, and the smell of a new season rested around us. My best friend offered to race my son ahead on piggyback toward soccer practice, and my son’s laughter and enjoyment were contagious.
We grabbed some produce from the farmers market. Our son played in the splash pad with all of his friends. Later, we went to the city’s free zoo with my in-laws.
The Midwest sun warmed my face, and gratitude relaxed its way into my heart. Before, we were peacefully isolated. Now, we’re purposely surrounded.
