The Gift of Less

We sold our house.

Even typing that still feels a little surreal.

And now? We’re living in a camper.

Yes—a camper. About 400 square feet, give or take. The kind of decision that tends to make people pause, tilt their head, and respond with either a soft “bless your heart” or an enthusiastic “you’re so brave!”

And every time, I can see it in their eyes—the question they don’t quite ask: Why would you do this?

But here’s the thing…

Rarely does anyone see it for what it really is.

A gift.

We have been given something that is incredibly hard to come by these days: time and space to breathe.

Fewer rooms means fewer things to manage.
Fewer things means fewer distractions.
And fewer distractions means more presence.

We’ve traded square footage for slow mornings.
We’ve traded convenience for connection.
We’ve traded routine for rhythm.

Our days look different now.

We do school outside.
We start our mornings with fishing poles in hand.
We learn with dirt under our feet and sunshine on our faces.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Because stepping outside the mainstream—the carefully packaged, cookie-cutter version of life we’re often handed—doesn’t feel like a burden.

It feels like freedom.

It feels like saying no to the constant rush.
It feels like refusing to run my children (and myself) through a race no one ever really wins.
It feels like choosing a different way—one that is slower, simpler, and far more intentional.

And as we begin building our new space on the family farm—a place that will also serve as a homebase for REC—I can’t help but feel like this season is shaping us in ways we never expected.

Because when your “classroom” is no longer confined to four walls, something incredible happens.

The outdoors becomes the teacher.

Curiosity expands.
Attention deepens.
Wonder returns.

And the research backs this up.

Studies have shown that students who learn in outdoor environments demonstrate increased engagement, improved focus, and even higher retention of material compared to traditional indoor settings. Exposure to nature has also been linked to reduced stress levels and improved overall well-being in children.

In other words—it’s not just beautiful.

It’s effective.

But beyond the data, I’m watching it unfold right in front of me.

I’m watching minds expand.

I’m watching my kids notice things they might have otherwise missed—the way the water moves, the patterns in the sky, the rhythm of the wind through the trees.

I’m watching them learn not just from books, but from the world around them.

And I can’t help but think…

Maybe this is closer to how it was always meant to be.

Not confined.
Not rushed.
Not fluorescent-lit and boxed in.

But open.
Alive.
Rooted in creation.

This season may turn heads— and it has.

It may not make sense to everyone.

But I know this:

It is a blessing I don’t take lightly.
And a gift I I may never be able to top.

Because sometimes, the most meaningful growth doesn’t come from adding more…

It comes from choosing less—and living it fully.

With grace and grit—

Kehla