10 Wheels

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Our children were embarrassingly old when they finally mastered riding bikes without training wheels. And not because they lacked desire or skill—it’s kind of on us. Many of you know that we live on a farm, and even though we have 30 acres to roam, none of it is paved or smooth. That makes for wonderful walks and hikes, but not so great for learning how to ride a bike.

Justin and I love biking. I grew up near trails that wound all around Tulsa. I have memories of being strapped to my mom’s bike, just like that little character from Peanuts—riding with her is one of my best memories. Justin too—he comes from a long line of cyclists. His grandfather still rides in his 80s. Cycling runs deep with the Foster men.

But for years, our kids struggled on gravel, and hauling 5 bikes to trails always felt like a chore. Finally, Christmas of 2024, we upgraded everyone to mountain bikes to make that bumpy driveway a little more manageable. Within weeks, all three kids were cruising the farm, riding to Granny and Grandpa’s, even waking up asking if they could ride before breakfast.

All that to say—my family literally learned how to ride bikes together just seven months ago. Now we’re on a cross-continent trip and had to bring the bikes.

Honestly, when we started this trip, we had never gone on a full family bike ride longer than maybe half a mile—and that was only once. Our kids had never ridden on city streets or navigated right-of-ways. The younger two had definitely never been on a trail bumpier than our gravel road.

In the last three months, they’ve taken paved scenic rides, gravel forest rides, been dropped off at a glacier overlook and ridden their way down, biked trails to beaches, waterfalls, rocky slopes, and canyons. They’ve even tackled trails that draw people from all over the world in Whistler and Moab. And guess what—so have I.

I had only been mountain biking once in my life before this trip. It always scared me. Something about going up mountains seemed impossible, and I preferred the wind-in-my-hair part of road biking over the watch-out-for-obstacles part of mountain biking. But I did it all too. Scared to death most of the time—self-talking, praising myself for going faster, taking turns more bravely.

Ellie and I learned that hanging back at the rear of the pack, going at our own pace, gave us time to do hard things together. We became like our own affirmation track, cheering each other on with every pedal stroke.

Every ride, I not only felt stronger, but more loved—loved by my family and loved by myself.

This trip hasn’t been about escaping anything. It’s about creating space to be us. To step into situations every single day where we get to practice being our best selves. Where we have the freedom to fail. To be afraid. To learn. And to do it all together—not just parents teaching kids, but a family sharing challenges and new adventures genuinely together.

And biking has, by far, been my favorite adventure…… (well there is also all those animals we saw too:)

Sailing around the World

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This post is not what you think.
We are not sailing around the world—
or at least, that’s not on my list of things to do.

About eight years ago, we were sitting on our couch. Theo was a toddler, Ellie was a baby. I’m foggy on the exact timeline, but not the conversation.

Justin looked at me and said,
“What if we sailed around the world?”

Now—most of you have seen me in person.
“Rosy” is a gentle word for my complexion.
I burn just thinking about going outside.

I sort of like the beach—slightly.
These days I wear a full-body suit, a wide-brimmed hat, and sit under an umbrella.
All to say: I should not be in the sun.

Also, I don’t know how to sail.
Wait—we don’t know how to sail.


Oh and we had toddlers – see post on Fear if you are wondering my thoughts on living on a boat with little people who sink easily. 

So there we were: my husband sharing his soul- baring his hopes and dreams of life on a boat- and I’m pretty sure he’d like me to come along.

Now here’s something I’ve learned in our marriage:
When Justin shares something like this, he has already dreamed, researched, and planned, for hours.
By the time he says it out loud, it’s not just a dream.

Here’s another honest truth:
I like saying no.
It’s not something I struggle with.  Well maybe something I’m learning to struggle with better. 

And back then, this dream—this sailing adventure—with me and our non-floating babies?
I couldn’t see that it wasn’t really about the boat.

What I didn’t realize at the time was… he was right.
Not about the boat (we’re still not quite aligned on that).
But about the life it would bring.

It took time—
it always does.
He always sees things first.
Where we could go.
Who we could become.
He sees it in us, he sees it in others.  

With time, this dream had grown with intention.

We substituted a boat for an Airstream.

And you know what?
He was right.
I’m glad he was.

Salmon are a runnin’

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Every summer, salmon head from the deep ocean back to the streams they were born. They run upstream—not to eat—but to spawn and die.

Before this trip, I didn’t know much about salmon. In all the years we’ve talked about coming to Alaska, everything has been planned around the salmon run. Our earliest conversations were a mix of me agreeing to a vacation in Alaska and Justin insisting it needed to be four weeks long. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just spend a week here.

But over the years—talking, planning, deciding—I started to understand. And now, as we sit at the river, I get it.

We arrived on the Kenai Peninsula around July 8th. We claimed a site at a first-come, first-served campground right on the river. We’d done our research. For the past few years, we’ve tried to book a private fishing spot. They’re all full. For years.

We managed to secure one for August—but even that, I booked almost a year in advance. So, we were nervous about not having a firm reservation. We stalked this campground, paid for a site about a week early, then traveled to Homer and Seward before circling back. I’m so glad we did. By the time we returned, the campground was filling up. By the 15th, it was full.

Two hundred and fifty sites packed with families, waders, rain tents, and fishing poles. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—almost like camping at a music festival… but replace the music with fish.

Centennial Campground
Home for three weeks

The first few days, we caught three to four salmon a day. Still finding our groove—figuring out spots, gear, lines. That felt like a win to me. I was focused on finding places where the kids could come and go, spots that felt convenient to our campsite.

But Justin had a different vision. He was on a mission to find the best hole in the river. And while he found a great one, the truth is—in just a few days—the entire river would be full of salmon.

At the start of the run, salmon begin entering the mouth of the river in the thousands. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game sends out daily fish counts and tracks year-to-year trends. We’ve been watching that tracker for years to know when to come.

When we started on the 15th, the count was around 50,000. That felt big at the time. But that was nothing.

Each day we caught more and more. Depending on how many of us were fishing, we were hauling in between 12–36 salmon every time at the river.

What we didn’t know—what even the locals didn’t know—was that this year would be one for the record books. Historic numbers. Multiple days with over 250,000 salmon pushing through the mouth of the Kenai. The total is approaching 3 million… and the season isn’t over yet.

Our freezers are bursting and this shows why…..

Before this trip I barely knew the types the ofsalmon. Now, I at least know their names—and I know we’re here for Sockeye (Reds). King Salmon are off-limits on the Kenai due to dangerously low numbers, largely attributed to commercial fishing.

One rumor floating around town is that commercial boats were forced to back off from the mouth of the river this year—giving more salmon a chance to make it upriver. If that’s true, we’re certainly not complaining.

You might be wondering, Who needs so much salmon?

Most days now, I wake up asking the same thing. But when you plan your entire year around fishing the salmon run on the Kenai, it feels a little crazy to ask your husband and father-in-law to take the day off (they did take plenty of days offs on their own accord)

So we fish. We pack. We freeze. We ship.

And for a lucky few, fresh Alaskan salmon is flying across the country to your doorstep.

As for us—we’ve added a second deep freezer, a bigger vacuum sealer, two more coolers, and built a smoker.

Because we’re determined to keep fishing… until the last salmon stops running….. well not really- but we’ll take our time.

Fear

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I sleep soundly at home—in a bed my body knows is safe. Somewhere deep in its subconscious, my nervous system knows: this is where we’re okay.

But in a car, it’s different.
It senses danger.

Sometimes I understand why. Other times, it’s murkier. But the truth is—I am afraid. Often.

I’ve been to therapy. I breathe deeply. I regulate. I process. I use the strategies I’ve learned.
And sometimes, I don’t.

But when I fall asleep as a passenger in a car, my fear doesn’t. It stays awake.
My body remembers the what if.
It embodies the old panic of “what if we aren’t okay?”

Here’s how it looks:
I jerk awake, heart racing, in complete and utter panic.
I can’t control it—it just happens.
I bolt upright, convinced we’re crashing.
And it can happen ten, fifteen times during a single drive while attempting rest.

Fear is always close. Maybe sometimes it’s grief as well.
And when I’m awake, it’s there too – just quieter.
I feel it in my chest—centered, tight.
Sometimes it looks like anger.
Often, like control.
But underneath, it’s fear.

This adventure we’re on—it’s stirring that fear up. Stretching it.
Calling it to the surface.

Will I choose adventure?
Or freeze in my afraidness?

Not every cliff is mine to peer over.
Not every path is mine to walk.

But I’m working on it.

Mostly, I’m working on keeping my fear mine.
Not my children’s.

It’s hard—this work of processing fear without handing it off.
I’ve failed more times than I want to admit.

But we’re lucky.
We have a protective guide in fearlessness.

So far, we’ve hiked up glaciers.
We’ve walked bear-filled mountainsides.
We’ve biked trails lined with signs of wild things.
We’ve stood atop mountains.
Stood beside raging rivers.
Sped down steep hills.

I did it all—afraid.
But not alone.

I’m working on my fear
so they can learn to be free.

Fish On!

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For all the places to spend the summer on an adventure, why did we choose Alaska? Well, there are many reasons—but fishing is at the top of the list. We came for the fish, and Alaska is not disappointing.

We are in an area of Alaska called the Kenai Peninsula. It’s known for its vast wilderness—like much of Alaska—its towering, snow-capped mountains that rise straight from the water, its glaciers, and more bears and moose than people…..Okay, that’s not exactly accurate, but on the drive here, it sure felt like it.

Kachemak Bay, specifically, is known for halibut—a flat, white, bottom-dwelling fish best caught here as they come into the shallower waters in spring and summer.

So we started our fishing adventure in Homer. Unsure of how the kids would do out on the open ocean—Ellie gets a little seasick—we booked a half-day fishing boat just for our family to get our sea legs moving. We woke up very early, geared up with coats, snacks, Dramamine, and a whole lot of encouragement and positive thinking. Then we met up with a wonderful local, Thad, and his son Dawson from TNT Adventures, for a day on the water.

Now, we have some experience fishing. Justin grew up on the Gulf and has spent many days on the open water. I’ve been twice. I hear there are definitely days when you hook up one after another, but those are few and far between. Usually, you’re waiting hours between bites.

Not sure what we were expecting but It was non-stop: “Fish on!”

We set out with seven souls on board around 5:15 AM and limited out on halibut before 8:00 AM—total catch: 12. It was amazing. Justin’s face the entire day was a permanent smile. The boys had a blast, and Ellie didn’t throw up and didn’t complain—which are both huge wins.

We were home by 11, and everyone was napping and smiling the rest of the day.

Then came Day 2. Ellie and I sat this one out because I wanted her to have the success of open-water boating and fishing fresh on her mind. The boys headed out. Again, by 9:00 AM, they had limited out with six halibut—but this time, they reeled in big fish. They went to a different part of the bay and caught fish after fish, each one seeming bigger than the last, with the largest weighing in around 125 pounds and measuring 5’2″.

A common saying on this trip is, “This is the best day of my life”—it echoes from one of the five of us almost daily. Today was Justin’s day.

By breakfast, they were done with halibut and had plenty of time for another adventure: salmon. Salmon is the main fish we are here for. Our primary spot for salmon fishing will be the Kenai River—but this was like a mini preview. Thad and Dawson took them upriver to fish for salmon.

According to the stories and the pictures, this wasn’t just salmon fishing. This was hiking upstream, climbing waterfalls, and finding a fishing hole filled with salmon—that kind of fishing. This group of salmon was hatched by a fishery, so it’s like their beacons get confused and they don’t know where they’re going. They have the instincts to swim upstream, but they aren’t sure which river. So they swim here and get stuck at the bottom of the waterfall.

Which means—wildlife and anglers alike feast on the fishing.

They once again limited out on Salmon – and packed the freezer with a total of 250 pounds of Halibut and Salmon in two days…

…and we haven’t even gotten to the Kenai River.

Time

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What’s that saying again? You can buy things, but you can’t buy time.

Well, I’m trying to buy us some time.

Time to be more present.
Time to explore.
Time to still be their favorite person.

So that’s what we’re doing—taking a mini sabbatical to buy some time.
Time with our kids.
Time with each other.
Time with our dreams.
Time with our thoughts.

If you know me—and definitely if you know Justin—you know we can be pretty spontaneous. All our planning and organizing energy gets poured into keeping the wheels turning in our businesses. But personally and in family – we thrive on some last minute planning.

But this time was different.
This time wasn’t spontaneous.
This was a well-thought-out dream, years in the making.

Maybe it started back in the season I last wrote on this very old blog 🙂

Our move to Oklahoma was about “sinking down some roots,” but it was also born out of financial necessity and vocational dreaming. We didn’t want to live buried in debt. We were chasing financial freedom—not wealth, just freedom. The kind that gives you the power to choose your own path—or maybe even build a path that brings life.

Farming came up as an idea. But we learned that path is mostly hard work with very little freedom or income. Still, it brought something beautiful—getting our hands dirty, cultivating from the soil, watching our little corner of the world come to life. For 10 years we’ve been dreaming and building a place we call home. A place we love.

But farming stayed a hobby. Life still needed income. And we found ourselves on two diverging career paths—Justin in oil and gas, me in feeding therapy and speaking. We could feel the pull—two different tracks, tugging at our time, our marriage, and our family.

We had a dream of a present life together.
And in 2016, Justin started making a plan.

A plan for time.
Time with each other.
Time with our parents.
Presence over hustle.

This wasn’t a whim. It was purposeful.
A small dream requiring hard work.
Seasons of preparation.
Long conversations.
Sacrifice.

Patience.

Leading to rest – built with intention.

So here we are. One year.
One year of being as fully present as we can.
One year of high intention.
One year of family.
One year of adventure.
One year of time.

We’ve pulled the kids out of school, packed our bags, and hit the road for 90 days to begin this new season. A season of time and lived vocation together.

We’re 32 days in, and our hearts are full and happy.

I think I’m ready to share more.

I want to document this time—but also keep it sacred. We still have work and business that does require our presence too – so I’m still figuring out what that looks like to share more publically.

But to our dear community who loves us—thank you.
Thank you for holding space for us.
For the grace and encouragement surrounding our decision and this adventure.
For the support—even from those who don’t fully understand our “why.”

For our business partners, family and friends helping us hold down everything during our travel. You are allowing us to do the work that matters in our business and our family.

We want to share—we love our story—but we’re learning how to balance being present with each other while also telling that story along the way.

So dusting off this old way of communicating with the world for a while. This may change – but for now -Word Press will be my documentation 🙂 – and man do we have some good stories to tell already.

All things new and old

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So…….we are five months into this journey as parents and I have big thoughts and feelings about the process so far. It’s been an overwhelming time of deep joy and surprising sadness as well. But I’m also realizing it’s hard to organize all of those thoughts on three hours of sleep! For the sake of keeping people a little updated on our lives, we’ll focus on the restoration of the little man’s room as opposed to the unfinished essays floating in my brain on becoming a mother 😉

In case you aren’t aware of the “unfortunate incident of the molded room” you can catch up on your reading from the past post here. Let’s just say Theo’s living conditions would have been less than ideal, but with the help of our family in the weeks after his arrival, Theo has a new room! And it’s a beaut!

 

original bunk room of the house. 7 Lester boys slept here.

 

and Theo’s room after

 

We have turned the old “bunk room” into two seperate rooms that will eventually have sliding barn doors to section off Theo’s room from the from living room/play room. New bamboo floors in front, carpet in back optimal for baby rolling and exploring. New doors on all closets, new trim, new paint, new windows… All things new.


This room has become a place of rest (maybe just for us, Theo is still learning the concept) and lots of laughter. Easily our favorite place in the house. But every once in a while I get visions of the old room. Not the mold filled, rotted floor, peeling paint room, but the room I remember growing up. The games in the closet where Theo’s clothes now hang. The table where I remember Grandpa telling me he didn’t like spinach, the chair he sat in and played goofy hiding games with my toys. The recliner where Granny spent so many of her last year’s reading, watching TV, telling stories. It was the room we all lived in. Every uncle, every aunt, every cousin has a memory of this room. The life of our family is in these walls and I’m forever grateful that new paint and floors cannot cover over those memories.

What once was lost

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We thought she was a goner…  
Two days ago our 11 chickens were free ranging around their coop when I noticed one of the golden ladies was missing. I began my count again..2 blacks, 2 browns,  3 speckled, 1….2….3 golden.  One was missing. I called to Justin, he recounted. Again and again we counted. We corralled them into the pin, recounted. We searched inside and outside the coop. Klud the rooster was crowing like a crazy bird but our little gaurd pup seemed unphased. Did she fly over the electric fence? Was she roosting in the trees? We finally came to the conclusion a hawk must have snatched her. No feathers, no signs of struggle, and with the fortress our chickens live in the only predators that can really get to them are Hawks and Snakes. 
Losing animals was not something I was prepared for when moving to the farm. Sure I understood some of our animals would die. We (meaning Justin) may have to even choose to take the life of some. But losing them, literally not knowing where they are, was not something I planned on happening often. 

Our little lady chick is not the first to help me handle this mystery of not knowing. Our cats are constantly challenging me to hold my care for them loosely as well. They wander, disappear, willingly leave to find a home that will let them indoors, who knows what cats do? At first I cried. I cried hard. It’s such a feeling of failure. We failed to care for them, failed to protect them, failed in knowing what we are even doing. But something about this farm and this pregnancy have been teaching me the value of not knowing. They are both slowly helping me hold onto things I care about lightly, with an open hand instead of a tight grasp. 

I imagine that holding onto things loosely will be expontially more difficult in parenthood, maybe impossible. But God is giving me cats and chickens who seemingly disappear and reappear to help me find Him when I face mysteries and uncertainties, really when I have no control or understanding. 

Grateful for the practice with chickens, because money, jobs, relationships, family… Those are the things I struggle to open my hands to. Thanks chicky for the practice and glad you came back from wherever God had you hiding. 

Mud, mold and meditation 

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Deep slow breaths. One of the many strategies I’ve been taught as I prepare for labor. Lucky for me the practice of slow breaths has been grounding me not just in pregnancy but in the everyday surprises and at times chaos that has become our lives before baby. 

Most of this we have brought on ourselves, garden, chickens, a new puppy. But surprisingly those big things have brought a simplicity to everyday life. We have settled into a routine of letting chickens out of the coop at 7, taking the puppy on his walk around the perimeter of his “gaurd” area, feeding all the animals, and sitting quietly in the coop watching puppy and chickens as they build their bonds. Then it repeats all in reverse at night. It can be quiet and calming most days, a welcome routine that brings structure, stillness and space to breathe. Not to mention early morning routines provide escape from the blazing Oklahoma heat as well. 

However simple routines feel more chaotic in the pouring rain. The first drops are welcome. They cool the air and bring relief to the garden and to this VERY pregnant lady. But soon, the cool rain feels like it’s bringing more than just relief. Specifically, in our case it brought mud and mold. It started last week with a small chip in some paint. A weekend girls project of painting the nursery turned into scrapping paint off walls to uncover tiny spots of mold hiding underneath. (Apparently, mold is not the best for lungs or new babies.) So a simple project turned into pulling up baseboards, then tile, then subfloor, then joist…. All to find a small river and pond of water sitting under the house. Not what we expected weeks before baby, a room of mud and mold and lots of unplanned chaos around us. 

And so I’m reminded of those slow, steady breaths. Reminded to find stillness and peace among the many things that are out of my control. Reminded that I can choose to be grateful even when I think it’s the last feeling I can find. And reminded that from the uncontrolled will come something new, something beautiful, both to the physical structure of our home and the very soon addition of new life to our family. 

 

nothing handles mud like overalls

  
 

(we still think its just a little leak)

 

maybe more than we expected

 

the start of something new

  

Baby’s going to have the best room in the house😀 

 

Animal crazy

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Well, we may have lost our sanity, but constantly making sane rational decisions is no way to live life. Yesterday, 5 weeks before Baby Foster arrives, we bought a puppy! 

Meet (fill in soon to be named puppy, who we currently call Pooch)!  

 
The Pooch is a Great Pyrenees- Known for their amazing ability to gaurd small livestock. While raising a puppy wasn’t on the to-do list this month, we were given an offer that was hard to refuse. 

Day 1 went pretty well. Ollie is less than excited about The Pooch, but Ollie gets some grace because we thought he was a goner just a few days ago (save that story for another day) 


The chickens seem to like him, already started cleaning his coat for him. Pooch has already been living with chickens so he’s trained to leave them alone (as well trained as an 8 week old can be) 

 

  


And we are pretty happy too;)   

Welcome to the farm baby puppy! The Raccoon you saw trapped in the metal cage next to the chicken house. That’s what you’re here for!