About me

I’m Vicki and this is my blog.  You might know me as Tori, Victoria, Mac or Babe; depending on when and where you met me.

Hitch, Pitch, & Flip started as my intention to write about the things I love to do. House tours in old homes, estate sales, yard sales, rummage sales, tearing apart my house , decluttering, upcycling, and being a mom.

I’m a mini farmer, a bee chaser, a duck mom, a human mom, a lover of hair metal, and a wife.  Oh, and I might have a slight penchant for all the bad words.

I’m raising two hilarious and smart-ass ADHD and ODD (oppositional defiance disorder) kids who are the chaos in my life. I’m also a friend of Lois W.   This blog is a way to record my journey in the dirt and to live a sustainable life for when the zombies come (I might have to throw them the kids, first).  It’s how, through gardening and homesteading,  I’ve learned to re-center myself and gain control over my own chaos.  And to prove that we can all get nutritious foods in our body without paying the non-sustainable price for “certified organic”.

I live with My Mechanic husband, two kids, dogs, cats, and rabbits in the Inland Northwest of Washington state.  We reside in a 1927 craftsman bungalow that we are slowly fixing up.

I also have a creepy love for bugs and other things that crawl, slither, and swim.

I love spiders
She lived right over our door for a couple weeks.

We lived in California for decades but in December 2014 we packed up everything and moved 800 miles north.  Yes, in not-quite winter.

And so here we are – growing food and soon-to-be tiny livestock on our mini homestead.

 

Thank you for joining us!


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please note:

any DIY, car repair, or building projects I do here is done based on my or my husband’s expertise and experience.   We are not certified professionals.  There are some posts that might involve projects that require permits or professional help.   You will need to do your own research before attempting to copy any of the projects I post and take any risks at your own peril.  In other words, you might fuck something up in your car or home. Don’t come crying to me if you do.