What Happens When the Internet Disappears? Lessons from Life on a Minnesota Farm

Last summer my boys ran ethernet out to my office in the barn. At the time it felt like a luxury. Suddenly everything loaded quickly. Galleries opened almost instantly. Uploads that once took forever became manageable. I did not realize how much I appreciated that simple improvement until it disappeared.

When we first purchased this property in 2013, internet was a challenge for a completely different reason. You would think since we can see Mankato it wouldn't have been so challenging out here in the country. Ultimately, the trees along the road blocked the signal, and it took quite an adventure of cutting down two of them before we could finally connect. Back then my studio was still growing, and I simply did not depend on the internet the way I do now.

In many ways, it was glorious.

The kids were younger. We spent more time outside. There were fewer distractions, more spontaneous visits, and far less pressure to always be connected online.

Ironically, the county just removed another tree from that same line yesterday because of an entirely different issue. It left a rather noticeable gap that now gives passersby on the highway an even better view of the studio than before. Standing there looking at it, I could not help but think about how much has changed since those early years on the farm.

Back then, not having internet was an inconvenience. Today, it feels more like losing a utility.

Now I am back to relying on a hotspot that struggles to keep up with the demands of a photography business. Every task feels like it takes twice as long. Sometimes three times as long. Things that normally happen in the background suddenly require patience, planning, and a lot more waiting.

Yet somewhere along the way, this stopped being a story about internet speeds. Instead, it became a reminder of how many things quietly support our lives without us ever giving them much thought.

Most people see the finished portrait hanging on a wall. They see the social media post, the blog, the gallery, or the final product. What they do not see are all of the systems working behind the scenes that make those things possible. The internet connection. The software. The backups. The websites. The countless little pieces that quietly do their jobs day after day without demanding our attention.

The truth is that much of life works that way.

We do not spend much time thinking about our hips until one of them hurts. We rarely appreciate our eyesight until it changes. We take our health, our energy, and even our ability to do ordinary daily tasks for granted because they have always been there. It is often only when something stops working that we realize how much we depend on it.

As frustrating as this internet outage has been, it has also given me some perspective. My grandparents farmed without internet, smartphones, cloud storage, GPS, or even computers. They faced challenges far greater than waiting for a file to upload or a webpage to load. When something broke, they adapted because they had to. They kept moving forward with the tools they had available.

Perhaps that is the biggest lesson in all of this.

So much of what supports our businesses, our work, and our lives happens quietly in the background. We rarely notice those things when they are functioning well. Yet when one piece disappears, we gain a new appreciation for all of the invisible systems, and people, that help make our daily lives possible.

Thankfully, yesterday brought a bit of relief. Through a connection at Bethany, the IT department was able to help our family with a loaner hotspot that has dramatically improved our situation. It is still not the same as having our own system up and running, but it has made it possible to communicate, work, upload files, and even finish writing this post.

As I have reflected on all the hidden systems that quietly support our lives, I have also been reminded of something even more important: the people who do the same. Sometimes help arrives through technology. More often, it arrives through community.

So for now, I will continue tethering my computer to a hotspot, waiting for uploads, and counting down the days until a replacement system arrives. The work still needs to be done, even if it takes a little longer.

If you happen to pass by the farm, be sure to wave. The newly opened view means there is a much greater chance I will actually see you. Better yet, pull into the driveway and say hello.

Because perhaps that is the lesson hidden in all of this. We spend a lot of time thinking about the connections that technology provides, but this experience has reminded me that the ones that matter most are often the people right in front of us.