Our Story

My grandparents lived in the San Juan Islands, and before anyone else was awake, I was outside. Bare feet, still in pajamas, picking fruit warm from the sun and eating it with cream for breakfast. I didn't know it then, but that was my first permaculture lesson: that land, tended well, just gives.

I grew up deep in the Willamette Valley, where the soil is rich and dark and growing things feels almost effortless. My dad is an avid gardener, and somewhere around middle school, the two of us spent a summer installing a full irrigation system from scratch in our backyard. Sprinkler and drip, every line run by hand. It's still running today. That's when I understood that a good design outlasts the designer.

I spent years growing things - hops and kiwis, grapes and banana plants, honeyberries and strawberries, more herbs than any kitchen could reasonably use. At my home in the Willamette Valley, I tore out the front lawn entirely and replaced it with a peach tree, garlic, berry plants, and flowers. My neighbors thought I was a little unhinged. They came around eventually.

In 2019, I moved to Idaho in search of sunshine and snow. Hard frosts into June, hot dry summers, and wildlife that will absolutely eat your garden if you let it - the high desert outside Boise is a humbling counterpart to the lush valley I grew up in. I live on acreage in the mountains with an orchard, a vegetable garden, two dozen chickens, three dogs, four cats, and elk that have strong opinions about my brassicas (and anything else they can get their hooves near).

I've had to learn what actually survives here. What thrives. What to stop fighting and what to work with. That's the real permaculture education - and it never stops.