Field Notes
Essays and stories on Idaho, home projects, creativity, and the work in between.
Field notes from a life being built one project at a time; recipes, renovations, photographs, and everything in between.
Some things stay with you. They just get better.
So when I moved to Georgia for college, I guess I held onto that little piece of home. Once I got my first apartment, Saturday mornings became something of a ritual. Before my roommates got up, I’d head to the kitchen, make a batch of blueberry muffins from the White Lily mix at the grocery store, and settle into the living room with an old Western.
The Other Wyoming
For 15 days straight, I sat in the backseat of a Jeep bouncing through the backcountry of Wyoming. There was one goal: the hunt of a lifetime. But somewhere along the way, I found myself discovering the other Wyoming.
The Magic of Ordinary Days
When I first moved out to Idaho, I had this sense of adventure — the kind you find anytime something new is on the horizon.
On Courage and Clarity
I didn’t realize that a simple phrase like “do epic shit” would quietly become a filter for my life. Not in a loud, reckless way. In a deeply clarifying one. This was the year of risk and adventure, yes, but more than that, it was a year of choosing myself again and again. Even when it felt uncomfortable. Even when it didn’t make sense on paper.
When The Path Gets Blocked
I’ve been walking the same trail along the Snake River a lot lately. It’s one of my favorite places to reset, to think, and to feel grounded. There’s usually wildlife, a few fishermen, and an old railroad bridge at the end that somehow makes the whole walk feel complete.
Don’t Settle for Good When You’re Waiting for Great
I have been in Wyoming this week with friends, and if you’ve seen my Instagram stories, you’ve probably noticed a lot of deer content, and no deer down. That’s on purpose.
Find Your People
In the spring of 2021, I flew to a mastermind event in the middle of nowhere Missouri. I didn’t know a single person, just saw an opportunity and said yes. Looking back, I realize I didn’t go to Missouri to find a mastermind. I went to find myself in a room of people who saw me.
Keep moving, even if the water hasn’t parted yet
When I said yes to climbing Kilimanjaro, I had no idea if I’d actually make the summit. Nine days, 19,341 feet, and more doubt than I’d like to admit, but that mountain taught me something about faith and persistence. I still wasn’t sure on summit night as we suited up at midnight, fueled only by popcorn and sheer willpower. But off we went. One step and then another. For nine and a half hours we climbed, slowly, steadily, in the dark. And then, finally, the summit came into view.
Forget the Job Resume, Show Me Your Life Resume
A friend once joked, “I want to see your resume of actual things you’ve done.” It made me laugh at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized they were onto something. A polished LinkedIn profile only tells part of the story. The real picture of who we are often shows up in the scrappy, messy, and sometimes unexpected experiences that shape us along the way.
Don’t Let Your Tombstone Read: She Worked
I don’t want my tombstone to read “She Worked.”
For nearly two decades, I was a workaholic. And I was damn good at it. I prided myself on being the first one in the office in the morning and the last one to leave at night. The first thing I did when I opened my eyes was check my email; the last thing I did before bed was the same.
The World Needs Who You Were Made To Be
There’s a children’s book by Joanna Gaines titled The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be. I’ve given it more than once as a baby gift, a small blessing for a brand new life coming into the world. But if I’m honest, it’s a message we all need to hear, no matter our age.
Stamped Stories: Lessons from a Decade of Travel
I submitted my passport renewal the other day. (The fact that this can be done completely online now is both amazing and a little scary.) As one does, I flipped through the pages of my old passport book.
There it was. Ten years of my life pressed between stamps and smudges of ink.