My love affair with Otter Tail County started years ago when I first dove into Eagle Lake. Is a lake even meant to be that clear?
I visited this area from the Twin Cities for many years because my best friend’s family homestead is just north of Ashby. Many memories were made over the fire pit and on our hikes at Glendalough State Park. I always looked forward to visiting.
In 2020—during the height of the pandemic—my wife and I were living in St. Paul. George Floyd had been murdered, and a wide swath of the Midway neighborhood I lived in was destroyed. The pandemic made things even more bleak. I was working as a community developer and neighborhood organizer in Midway, and while I deeply loved the city I called home for many years, like so many others, I had harbored romantic notions of moving to the country. The 8-by-20-foot community garden plot was just never big enough, and I was tired of loading my dogs into the car three times a week to drive 30 minutes to Lake Elmo Forest Preserve, my happy place, for prairie walks and gorgeous sunrises.
So, when my friend told me that the property next door to her place in Ashby was going on the market, we immediately contacted the owner and arranged a tour. Just a few days later, we walked through the home—a modest rambler and former cattle farm. We immediately fell in love and made an offer. In October 2020, we said goodbye to St. Paul and moved to the country during a snowstorm, of course, and with little to no idea how we would transition from a 1/8 acre “plot” to 40 acres. We just knew it would be an adventure.
And what an adventure it has been. More like a crash course in learning how to become resilient and lean on others for help—and a humbling reminder to never admit that there are so many things we have no clue how to do! It’s been nothing short of amazing, however, to look back with gratitude and wonder on the incredible support we’ve received from locals, many of whom we now consider our friends. When we decided to restore eight acres of pasture to prairie, a local farmer and neighbor sat with us over coffee to offer guidance. He then showed up five times with his tractor and tiller to help us with site prep over the course of a year, all in exchange for fresh pie.
And after a particularly gnarly spring storm, our power was out for days. We didn’t have a generator and were concerned about all the meat going to waste in our chest freezer. So we asked our electrician if he had a generator we could borrow. When we came home from an errand, he had (unbeknownst to us) already set up the generator on our property and had it plugged into our fridge! This same electrician also gifted us hand-carved spoons he makes in his wood shop.
Friends in the city have asked if we have any regrets about moving. And while I desperately miss take-out Thai from the local restaurant we kept on speed dial, my answer is always the same: no regrets at all. I never imagined how much fun a Friday evening could be until we farm-sat for our neighbors, laughing hysterically as we threw night crawlers to the free-range chickens and taking bets on which one would steal the worm. Or rallying our friends to help us build a wood-burning sauna in the yard, learning how to use tools that used to intimidate me.
I’ve also been extraordinarily lucky to find employment at West Central Initiative. I’ve been introduced to new business owners in my role as Business Development Officer and am proud to be a small part of supporting entrepreneurs launching their enterprises. I am also afforded the opportunity to develop local foods systems, including strengthening sustainable agriculture networks. Just a few weeks ago, we hosted a gathering of beginning and existing farmers at Outstate Brewing to discuss how we can learn from one another and explore the dizzying resources available in the region that support better land use and offer opportunities for city folk like me, eager to learn how to raise goats and grow our own food.
There is talk of an urban/rural divide in our state. The comments I read in the paper often make me cringe when this split results in insults and finger-pointing. What I’ve learned is that there is no shortage of kindness and generosity of spirit when you approach others with curiosity and openness and set down preconceived notions and expectations. We all tend to hold onto judgments with unwavering certainty to some extent, and living here has opened my eyes to the expansive possibilities—as far-reaching as the open prairies surrounding us—of human connection, resilience, and opportunity.
About The Author
Kate Mudge has a varied career history, having worked as a professional baker, animal welfare director, community organizer, and in the hunger relief sectors. She now helps business owners startup or expand their businesses in her role as Business Development Officer at West Central Initiative. You can find her living her best life just north of Ashby on her hobby farm with her wife, Amy, and a bunch of unruly mutts.
