Before we begin, I owe you a little heads-up.
Some chapters in life tell one story.
This isn’t one of them.
Life rarely hands us one challenge at a time. It throws ten of them into the air and quietly asks us to catch them all.
This chapter is exactly that.
The story you’re about to read isn’t one storyline. It’s half a dozen stories happening all at once.
A move across state lines. The beginning of a dream. The end of our little family farm. My dad’s health.
Two weddings. Three kids. A hundred cardboard boxes.
Somehow, all of those threads became one story.
So come with me while we untangle them.
Welcome to the chaos…
At first, the move didn’t feel real.
There were too many unknowns, too many moving pieces, and too many “we’ll figure it out when we get there” moments. Looking back now, I realize the move didn’t begin when we packed the car—it began months earlier, one day and one decision at a time.
Many mornings found me sitting on my front porch just as the sun was beginning to rise. Fog lingered between the trees while our animals stretched their legs and slowly made their way toward the grain buckets.
Over those three years, we had built a little family farm that we proudly called GKR Family Farm. Around that same time, I had also made the decision to start another small business.
Our little farm had grown into something special. We had four baby fainting goats, four female goats that kept our pastures trimmed like they were getting paid by the square foot instead of the hour, several very interesting chickens, a grumpy miniature donkey, every little girl’s dream—a unicorn-like miniature pony that I had hauled all the way from Oklahoma to North Carolina—and one “little” pig who was convinced he was one of the dogs.
One of my favorite parts of our farm was sharing it with others. I hosted classes for kiddos who didn’t have the opportunity to grow up on a farm the way mine did. Watching them meet each of our animals and learn their unique personalities brought me so much joy.
But now I sat on that same porch realizing I had to decide what would happen to every one of them.
The move to Alabama came with one big unknown—we had no idea where we’d be living. Finding a place that could accommodate our entire little farm anytime soon was incredibly unlikely. The next option that crossed my mind was taking them back to my Dad’s farm in Texas—the same farm where I grew up. But that would mean an eighteen-hour drive, not including all the stops to feed, water, and care for them along the way.
Even if we made the trip, it would place the responsibility of caring for all of my animals on my Dad, who had just finished radiation treatments.
It wasn’t a decision I could make lightly.
In the midst of all these decisions, and in every quiet moment I could find was spent dreaming about what this little business might become, my husband was preparing to head to Alabama before the rest of us to start his new job.
We both agreed it would be best for me and the kids to stay behind in North Carolina so they could finish the school year.
So we packed up the truck, hooked up the trailer, and sent Gregg on his way.
That truck had been part of our family for years. I had purchased it with part of my inheritance after my mom passed away in 2021. It had faithfully carried us through so many seasons of life, but lately it had started showing its age. As much as I wanted to, I had to come to terms with the fact that it simply wasn’t reliable enough to make an eighteen-hour trip to Texas hauling a trailer full of animals.
Just like that, another option quietly disappeared.
Back to the porch I went.
The morning dew still rested across the grass as the sun slowly crested through the trees.
I was going to have to rehome my beloved farm.
That decision became official just as our realtor pulled into the driveway.
We walked through the house, talked about getting it ready to list, and made a plan for the weeks ahead. Thankfully, I had a little time to find good homes for most of our animals.
But Willie… Willie couldn’t wait.
Our beloved miniature pig had been raised in our laundry room from the time he was just three days old. After one of the wettest winters we’d had, his outdoor pen had become a muddy, smelly mess—definitely not something potential buyers would appreciate seeing.
Thankfully, I found a wonderful family who shared my passion for teaching children about farm life. They planned to use Willie for educational events and give him a life full of attention and love.
The morning I took him to his new home, I loved on him a little extra after dropping the kids off at school. I told myself it would be like every other time I’d helped an animal find a new home.
It wasn’t.
The moment we walked into his new pen, Willie wouldn’t leave my side. He followed me everywhere I went, making the saddest little cries I’d ever heard him make.
It absolutely broke my heart.
He didn’t understand why I was leaving. All he knew was that home—the only home he’d ever known—was disappearing.
Another box checked off the moving list.
But this one hurt.
Life kept rolling, and I had to keep rolling with it. There wasn’t time to sit and soak it all in.
We had to coordinate the movers, figure out temporary housing in Alabama, finish out the school year, and somehow keep life feeling normal for the kids. It felt like every minute of every day, there was something that needed my attention.
But every night, after the kids were asleep and another day of moving plans had finally come to an end, I opened my laptop.
I wasn’t looking at paint colors for a new house.
I wasn’t shopping for furniture.
I was building a business.
I was designing logos, writing website pages, researching contracts, creating pricing guides, and trying to imagine what KD Kreative Digital could become.
Looking back now, it seems almost crazy. Every logical part of me says I should have waited until life settled down.
But something in my heart wouldn’t let me.
The move may have been uncertain, but this dream wasn’t.
Looking back, I truly believe God placed that dream on my heart at exactly the right time. In the middle of all the uncertainty, He gave me something to build, something to be excited about, and something that reminded me there was still purpose in the middle of the chaos.
April 1.
It was official.
The sign was staked in the front yard. I had cleaned every inch of that house—from the floorboards to the dust hiding on top of the ceiling fan blades. Fresh flowers sat on the front porch, adding the perfect little pop of color.
Our home was officially on the market.
What a huge step.
We already had several showings scheduled before the listing even went live, which meant the next challenge was keeping the house looking like three kids barely lived there while six different families walked through what had been our home for the past three years.
If you’ve ever sold a house with kids, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Every toy had to disappear.
Every countertop had to be spotless.
Every family picture came off the walls.
Nothing could feel too personal.
It was still our home, but somehow it already felt like a model home—staged for strangers to walk through and decide whether they could picture building their own memories there.
Then came a phone call that felt like a huge answered prayer.
We had multiple offers.
Three days after listing our home, we were officially under contract.
One more thing checked off the list.
So between realtor phone calls, packing boxes, school events, and trying to decide where every farm animal would call home, I picked up my phone, packed my gear, and went to work.
One of the greatest blessings during that season was my best friend. As a photographer with a busy wedding schedule, she trusted me to come alongside her as a content creator. Between two weddings and several smaller sessions, she gave me something far more valuable than experience—she gave me confidence that this dream could become something real.
Those wedding days became a strange kind of escape.
For a few hours, I wasn’t thinking about moving trucks, real estate contracts, or endless to-do lists.
I was helping preserve someone else’s happiest day.
Then I’d come home, upload thousands of photos and videos, edit late into the night, send galleries off to excited couples, close my laptop…
…and go right back to packing my own life into cardboard boxes.
At the time, it felt exhausting.
Looking back now, I don’t think those weddings happened by accident.
I think God knew I needed those reminders.
In the middle of all the uncertainty, He kept placing opportunities in front of me that quietly whispered,
Keep going.
Those weddings reminded me exactly why I was building KD Kreative Digital in the first place.
Amidst all of this, the moving date had finally been set.
The first weekend of June, we would officially be moving out of our home.
It was finally starting to sink in.
We were really moving.
The goodbyes were coming.
One morning, I sat back out on my front porch, watching cardinals dart between the trees, and called my dad to give him an update on everything.
After losing my mom in 2021, our relationship changed in ways neither of us expected. Somewhere in the middle of all that grief, my dad quietly stepped into conversations that my mom and I used to have. He became the person I called for everything—from everyday drama and life updates to the spiritual advice that somehow always seemed to come at exactly the right time. Even though we lived states apart, we found ourselves talking almost every morning—him sipping his coffee in Texas while I soaked in the quiet on my front porch in North Carolina.
Those phone calls became part of my routine.
Part of my comfort.
Part of home.
That morning started no differently.
He had planned to be in Alabama that same weekend for an archery event. The plan was for him to stop by afterward, see where we’d be living, and spend a little time with us before heading back to Texas.
But he had news of his own…
I knew he had been having a few heart tests after doctors discovered a small arrhythmia during one of his follow-up appointments after radiation.
What I didn’t know…
…was that he had only told me the very tip of the iceberg.
After his trip to Alabama, he would be heading back to Texas for open-heart surgery.
A valve replacement.
An ablation.
A vein harvested from his leg to help rebuild part of his heart.
God…
What do You mean?
I just sat there.
My mind couldn’t process what he had said.
We were already preparing to leave the state.
We were selling our home.
Rehoming our animals.
Starting over.
Building a business.
And now…
My dad was preparing for open-heart surgery.
I wanted to be there.
Not just after the surgery.
Before it.
To hug him.
To laugh with him.
To make one more memory before everything changed.
But just like every other challenge this season had thrown our way…
All we could do was make another plan.
My husband flew back in for moving week. Thank goodness.
From our previous move with his company, we knew they typically gave us three days. I was under the impression the first day would simply be an evaluation—someone would come out, walk through the house, make notes, and then return the following day to start packing, just like they had when we moved from Texas to North Carolina.
Then the doorbell rang.
I opened the door and slowly looked up to find four very large men standing there, arms full of boxes, packing paper, rolls of tape, and enough supplies to pack an entire house. One of them smiled, introduced himself, told me who they were with…
…and casually informed me they were there to pack everything.
Everything.
It was Wednesday.
The kids still had two more days of school.
We weren’t supposed to be out of the house until Saturday.
Despite my brain struggling to process what was actually happening, I welcomed them inside. The crew leader pulled out his clipboard, clicked his pen, looked at me, and kindly waited while I stood there looking like a deer caught in the headlights, trying to process what was happening.
“Alright, Ma'ma… can you show me around so I can spread my crew out?”
Meanwhile, behind him, the front door stood wide open as the rest of the crew marched in and out carrying stacks of boxes, bundles of packing paper, and rolls of tape.
It honestly felt like a scene straight out of The Cat in the Hat.
I was not ready.
I ran from room to room trying to label everything we would need for temporary housing. Since we had decided to build our next home, we knew we’d be living in temporary housing for quite a while—through different seasons of the year. We needed a lot more than the few suitcases I had thoughtfully packed.
My husband and I were running in completely different directions, trying to make quick decisions before another box disappeared.
The stress finally caught up with me, and I ended up with an IBS flare-up.
At that point, I completely leaned on my husband to keep the chaos moving while I tried to catch my breath.
At least tomorrow would be easier…
…or so we thought.
Thursday came.
We sat there waiting for the moving truck to arrive so everything could finally be loaded.
Instead, we got a phone call.
The driver wasn’t coming until Friday.
So we spent an entire day living in a house filled wall-to-wall with cardboard boxes.
The place we’d called home for three years no longer felt like home.
It just felt like a house.
Friday finally arrived.
While my husband stayed behind to oversee the movers loading every last box and piece of furniture, I had one final branding session with my best friend. We were squeezing every last moment out of our friendship, whether that meant sitting side by side working on our businesses or creating branding content together.
When she dropped me back off at the house that afternoon, we hugged goodbye.
One of the hardest “see you laters” I’ve ever had.
But there wasn’t time to fall apart.
We still had to finish loading the car, pick the kids up from school, somehow fit the rest of our lives into the back of our SUV, and start driving toward Alabama.
By the time everything was packed, we were completely exhausted.
Instead of pushing through the night, we checked into a hotel, climbed into bed, and planned to finish the drive the next morning.
As all of our heads finally hit the pillow, my mind began running through the checklist one last time.
We had…
- Rehomed every one of our farm animals.
- Emptied the little chicken coop and feed shack the kids and I had built together.
- Taken down the farm sign that greeted everyone who drove by.
- Cleaned every pasture for its next four-legged family.
- Loaded up our tractor and sent it ahead to Alabama.
- Found the land where we would one day build our next home.
- Sold the house we had filled with so many memories.
- Packed every drawer, every cabinet, and every closet.
- Swept up even the little dust bunnies hiding beneath the couch.
- Said goodbye to some of our dearest friends.
- Finished my final branding session with my best friend.
- Packed our family SUV to the brim—so full I had to lean against the tailgate just to get it to latch.
- Captured one last family video in front of the home that had shaped us for three unforgettable years.
By the time I reached the end of that mental checklist, I realized something.
Not everything we were taking to Alabama had been packed into cardboard boxes.
Tucked inside one laptop was a dream called KD Kreative Digital.
I had no clients waiting for me.
No connections.
No network.
Just faith, a whole lot of determination, and the hope that if God had opened this door, He would help me walk through it.
The moving truck carried our belongings.
Faith carried everything else.
I wasn’t just moving across state lines.
I was carrying my dream with me.
Next stop…
Sweet Home Alabama.
Next Chapter: Building In The Waiting
Until next time,
— Katelyn
KD Kreative Digital
