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| I never expected to marry a farmer, but I fell for his personality and passion for his work. Billi J. Miller |
Back when I lived in Edmonton, I thought I had everything figured out. A secure government job, a cozy house, and a calendar full of social events made for a life I was proud of. I had independence, stability, and momentum all the things I thought I needed. And yet, looking back, I can see how I was always reaching for something I couldn’t name. Something softer, slower, and more rooted.
Then I met a farmer.
It happened in 2009, during a family fishing trip in northern Saskatchewan. It was supposed to be a casual weekend getaway, but a family friend had other plans he brought along someone he thought I should meet. From the moment we started talking, I realized this wasn’t just a chance encounter. Despite our wildly different lives, something clicked. His quiet steadiness, deep connection to the land, and unshakable work ethic left an impression on me.
We spent two days getting to know each other, then exchanged numbers and began a long-distance relationship. By April 2010 less than a year later I had packed up my life in Edmonton and moved to his century-old farm in east-central Alberta. It was two and a half hours from the city and a world away from everything I’d known.
Gone were the urban comforts of lattes on every corner, constant cellphone coverage, and weeknight happy hours. In their place were gravel roads, neighbors who waved from tractors, and cows lots of cows. By fall, we were married. And I had officially traded my high heels for muck boots.
From Boardrooms to Barn Boots
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| My new town has more cows than people. Billi J. Miller |
When I told friends I was moving to a farm, their reactions ranged from supportive to bewildered. They knew me as the city girl organized, career-oriented, plugged in. I had never mentioned a desire to raise cattle or live where the population was outnumbered by livestock.
But I wasn’t walking away from my old life in search of a fantasy. I was walking toward something that finally felt real.
From the moment I arrived on the farm, I felt it in my bones this was right. The slower pace, the honest labor, the space to breathe. I fell in love not just with the man who brought me here, but with the life that unfolded all around us: early mornings fogged with dew, prairie sunsets that stopped me mid-sentence, and quiet nights where the hoot of an owl outside our window became part of my bedtime ritual.
I never imagined I’d live in a place where the closest town had a population you could count on two hands, but now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
Redefining Success, One Season at a Time
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| Living on a farm helped me rethink the career and lifestyle I wanted. Billi J. Miller |
In Edmonton, success meant moving up the next raise, the next house, the next achievement. But on the farm, success began to look like something else entirely. Here, it was measured by a healthy calf, a crop that survived hail season, or an evening spent under an open sky without checking my email once.
The wide-open space gave me something I didn’t even know I was craving: clarity. With room to dream and time to reflect, I started building something of my own. I combined my love of photography and writing into a small business that grew steadily over time. Eventually, I authored four books celebrating the resilience, history, and beauty of farm women and rural life. My work became a tribute to the life I had once never imagined for myself, but now can’t imagine living without.
I also discovered what true community looks like not a busy social calendar, but people who show up when your tractor breaks down or bring you dinner when you’ve had a tough calving season. Here, people know each other. They dig each other out of snowbanks and cheer when the crop finally comes in. That’s the kind of wealth no city paycheck can buy.
No Regrets, Just Gratitude
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| I've loved raising my kids in a town with so much outdoor space. Billi J. Miller |
Every once in a while, I think about that other version of me the woman in the city with a well-paying job, a walkable neighborhood, and a closet full of dry-clean-only blazers. She was content, but also searching.
Today, my closet is full of work boots and flannel. I still have my daily coffee habit some things never change but I also have something she didn’t: roots. A life built on soil, not cement. A partnership built on shared purpose, not convenience. A home where my daughters can run barefoot in the grass, feed baby calves in spring, and fall asleep under skies without streetlights.
I didn’t just fall in love with a farmer. I fell in love with a way of life. One that values work you can see, communities you can lean on, and days that begin and end with the land.
It’s been more than 15 years since I left the city for this life, and I can honestly say I’ve never looked back. Trading office deadlines for harvest schedules, and rooftop patios for prairie skies, was the best decision I’ve ever made.
