一对夫妇出售了他们在檀香山的家，用这笔钱在瓦伊亚纳购买了4.5英亩的土地，开始了他们一直梦想的乡村生活。然而，没有自来水、电力和房屋的现实生活充满了挑战，从恶劣的条件到技能的匮乏，再到家庭的适应。尽管困难重重，他们依然珍惜与孩子们在大自然中度过的时光，并对未来充满期待，尽管他们承认不知道这一切是否最终值得。

🏠 **生活巨变：** 作者与丈夫出售了他们在檀香山的房子，购买了4.67英亩的土地，搬到了一个偏远、炎热且尘土飞扬的地方，开始了自给自足的离网生活。新家只有一个巨大的仓库，没有现成的水电设施，土地上长满了杂草和入侵树木，生活环境极其简陋，例如厨房在帐篷下，卧室是金属箱，洗浴在仓库内的简易空间。

💪 **挑战重重：** 尽管梦想着自给自足，但现实是严峻的。电力依赖经常需要维修的旧太阳能电池板，杂草的生长速度惊人，需要不断清理。他们需要自己处理垃圾和运输丙烷，并且在高达86华氏度（约30摄氏度）且湿度30%的常年高温下生活，没有空调。这些挑战让最初的“冒险”变得异常艰难。

🛠️ **技能与付出：** 购买土地耗尽了大部分资金，导致发展受限。丈夫正在学习操作和维修重型设备如反铲挖土机和更换太阳能电池板，而作者也感到自己在启动发电机或木材粉碎机等方面技能不足。夫妻俩在努力适应新生活的同时，还需要兼顾各自的日常工作来维持生计并为未来的项目储蓄。

🌱 **苦中作乐与反思：** 尽管生活艰辛，但他们仍然珍视与孩子们在户外玩耍、采摘水果、收集鸡蛋的时刻，以及分享花园丰收的喜悦。这些美好的瞬间让他们不忘当初的梦想。然而，作者也坦诚地表示思念城市生活的便利，并对目前的决定感到不确定，承认自己仍处于“混乱的中间地带”，不知道两年后的生活是否“值得”。

🛤️ **承诺与可能性：** 夫妇俩用“轻松换取挑战，可预测性换取可能性”来形容他们的转变。尽管怀念旧居，但他们对实现新梦想的承诺坚定不移。即使最终将这段经历定义为“40多岁时尝试自给自足”的阶段性尝试，但他们认为，这是主动追求的生活，而非被动发生，这足以支撑他们继续前行。

We sold our home in Honolulu and used the money to buy 4.5 acres of land with no house.We'd always dreamt of owning land, but the reality of no plumbing or house is hard at times.I'm not sure I'd do it again given the chance, but for now I'm motivated to keep going.

Owning land and being immersed in nature was always our dream, which we'd talked about since our early dating days.

I met my husband when I was 30. We moved into a small studio one month after meeting, and married six years later.

Our pattern has been a series of slow and fast. We were engaged for two years, but we spontaneously planned our wedding in two and a half weeks.

So it wasn't too surprising when, after living in our small plantation-style home in Honolulu for 11 years, we decided on a whim to sell it and use the profits to fund our long-sought dream.

We traded our house for land

We bought 4.67 acres of raw land on a rural, dusty, and very hot part of the island, in Waianae.

Our new home, which we moved to in August 2023, came with a massive warehouse that the previous owner had used for salvaged boats.

There was a water line, but no plumbing, no power, and definitely no house. The land was covered in invasive trees and weeds, but we could see the potential.

We told ourselves the move was an adventure, and it is—one that I'm not sure I'd do over, given the chance.

It's been one of the hardest things we've ever done

We live off-grid with our two young boys, ages 5 and 8, who attend a public Hawaiian charter school that runs from preK to high school.

Our kitchen sits under a giant tent between two shipping containers. We sleep in what's essentially a metal box with windows.

We shower and use the bathroom in a makeshift space inside the warehouse. A friend once joked, "You guys have really long outdoor hallways."

At night, it's just us, crickets, and the stars. It's romantic, until it's not.

The dream was sparkly. The reality is gritty.

This new life is a rough dance between ambition, uncertainty, and a serious lack of skills.

While the idea of self-sufficiency felt liberating, the trade-offs are a hard reality check. Our electricity comes from old solar panels that often need repairs.

The chickens I once romanticized poop on everything.

The weeds? They're relentless. I'll clear a section one weekend, only to find it overrun again the next.

We haul out our own trash. We haul in propane. Dust storms coat everything in a layer of coral-colored silt.

The heat, which averages 86 degrees Fahrenheit and 30% humidity year-round, is merciless. We have shade and occasional breezes to keep us cool, but no air conditioning.

At first, finding solutions through the chaos felt like growth. However, the charm wears off fast when you're making dinner in the rain and your dirt-floor kitchen turns to mud.

We got swept up in the potential of it all without stopping to think practically

All the money from our house sale went into buying the land, which means there's little left for development.

My husband is clever and capable, but the skills needed to turn our dream of healing the soil and building a house into reality are more than we planned for.

Before, in our previous home, necessary fixes were small, like building a fence and repairing the garbage disposal whenever it was on the fritz. Now, my husband is learning how to drive and repair a backhoe and replace solar panels.

As for me, I feel useless many days. I still can't start the generator or wood chipper without his help. And that's assuming it's a day we're not both working our regular jobs just to get by and save for future projects.

Despite the hardship, there have been many good moments

I cherish the moments when the boys are running wild with the chickens or picking fruit from trees we planted.

I get excited when the garden overflows and we can share the abundance with friends and neighbors.

Even two years into this life, I still get giddy collecting eggs every morning.

We live under an open sky and are surrounded by raw beauty (if you can look past the to-do list and piles of weeds).

These moments remind me of what we came for.

However, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss city water, trash pickup, or being close to friends. There are days I wonder: What the hell did we do?

So is it worth it? Ask me in 5 years

The truth is, I don't know if it has been worth it.

We're still in the messy middle. There's no tidy ending to our story. We're tired, yet proud that we've made it this far.

We traded ease for challenge, predictability for possibility. I miss our old house, but I'm committed to our new dream.

Even if we eventually call it a phase—our "Remember when we tried to homestead in our 40s?" moment—it's a life we reached for, not one that just happened to us.

For now, that feels like enough to keep going.