I grew up in a small town in New Mexico. I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to live in a big bustling city filled with lights and busy people. If you asked my parents now, they would tell you that every time we vacationed in a bigger city I would beg to move there. I yearned for traffic jams and buildings that jutted into the sky. Instead, I grew up in a small town on what was once a dirt road in a farmhouse with only one bathroom that didn’t even have a shower. I was one of four kids sharing that one bathroom, and I dreamed of a different life each time I soaked in the bathtub … while my brother pounded on the door for me to hurry up.  

It wasn’t a farm that I grew up on… but it wasn’t not a farm either. I fondly remember watching goats give birth, the smell of warm blood as my Dad butchered our cow, and building a massive treehouse with my cousins… complete with a pulley-system elevator… aka a wooden palette attached to a rope that was flung over a big tree branch.  

The heart and soul of this non-farm was my Grandmother. We called her Grunner. She had a beautiful home. Green shag carpet covered almost every inch of flooring… yellow and green dandelion wallpaper… beautiful chandeliers and an oversized china cabinet filled with the most intricate trinkets and place settings. She made everything that she touched so damn beautiful. Her 35mm black brick of a camera seemed to never leave her hand, and she documented her family fervently. She had this way of capturing your appearance with her camera and your heart with her warmth. She loved hard, and lived with intention.

One of my fondest memories of Grunner’s home was pulling into the long gravel driveway and seeing handfuls of peacocks strolling lazily across the acreage. She loved peacocks. I remember how I gathered beautiful teal and royal blue feathers as a girl and I would lay in the grass and stoke my cheek with the softness of the tip of each plume… my fingers would slide down the side of the eye of the feather and create a storybook wave of the design before it settled back into place just moments later.

As an adult, I would give nothing more than to have my boys grow up the way that I did… yet as a child… I wanted the exact life that I’m living now. It has taken me this long to really understand everything that was engrained in me as a child, and how it is really beginning to manifest into my life now… and I can’t help but cherish the love of design, photography, and home that was clearly so much of my world growing up.  

I see so much of my Grunner imprinted into who I am today, and that thought makes me overflow with gratitude and my cheeks flush with warmth. My eyes sting with the memory of her, but as I create a home for my boys my life is filled with the purpose and intent that she planted. I can’t help but imagine this new stage of my life being represented as a peacock standing tall with its feathers slowly spreading… one plume at a time.  


Early mornings, bad grammar, small talk, talking politics, overhead lighting, close talkers, red wine, coffee (gasp!), mid-century modern furniture, cats, pretentious food, hipsters...


Late nights, funny movies, loud laughs, rap music, real conversation, farmhouse details, gold fixtures, lazy mornings, perfume, dirty martinis, candlelight, hot summer days...