As a Pisces growing up in the Northern Territory of Nevada—where the stark expanse of the Great Basin Desert meets the Sierra Nevada mountain range, I often felt like a fish out of water.
It wasn’t until I discovered the beauty and tranquility of Lake Tahoe, and later Lake Michigan, that I truly felt connected to the Earth and her bounty. I was drawn to the protective forests surrounding these waterscapes—filled with Sugar Pines, Quaking Aspens, and Incense Cedars in Nevada, and Eastern Red Cedar, Sugar Maple, and Black Cherry in Northern Michigan. The old-growth forests spoke to me in whispers, offering something I didn’t yet understand.
I raised my four children in the freshwater state of Michigan, surrounded by lush woodlands. We hiked, camped, and explored the natural beauty of Northern Michigan. My soul, like the great trees, began to take root.
A decade ago, I was called home to Reno to become the primary caregiver for my mother. I returned to the harsh desert landscape, longing for the nurturing canopy of the forests that had sheltered my spirit. What I didn’t realize then was that in this solitude, my lifelong reverence for the wild woods would grow into something deeper—something tangible.
One afternoon, a neighborhood forum post caught my eye: “Free Olive Wood.” I felt an immediate pull. When I arrived, I found a pile of gnarled, irregular pieces—each holding the promise of something more. I didn’t have a plan, or even a workspace, but that offering opened a new creative door.
My backyard became a makeshift woodshop. Slowly, I began collecting tools and experimenting.
Those first pieces were clumsy and uncertain, but with each cut and each pass of the sander, I felt myself drawing closer to the material—and to myself. The wood began to speak. I learned to listen. Each grain, knot, and imperfection became part of a story.
My work became intuitive and therapeutic—an outlet for processing emotion and memory. What started as a form of healing has grown into a dedicated passion.
