I’ve always been a seeker of belonging and community. Growing up, my happiest place was an all-girls summer camp where I spent 11 summers as a camper and counselor. It was there I first understood the magic of friendships, intentional community, and what it feels like to be truly seen. That thread has run through my whole life—personally and professionally—as I’ve explored what helps people and places thrive.

My high school yearbook “senior dream” read: I want to grow up and live happily in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, with my dream family. Somehow, that’s exactly what happened.

I’ve lived in the San Juans since my early twenties, when my husband, Stephen, was stationed here as a wildland firefighter. These mountains—with their long winters, avalanche closures, and endless blue-sky days—became our place. Now, he’s the Parks and Recreation director, and we’re raising our three kids at 9,318 feet, in a town where sometimes only four children fill a classroom, bikes and skis are the main mode of transportation, and winter seems to last forever.

I’m still a bit of a rebel at heart—a former “tortured debutante” who loves a good cocktail napkin but doesn’t care if my kids’ clothes are monogrammed. I’m more of a dirt-on-the-knees, cut-the-dreadlocks-out-because-we-haven’t-brushed-in-days kind of mom.

This space, Life at 9,318, is where I share what it’s really like to live in the San Juan Mountains. Some posts are practical—how to shop for two weeks at a time, what to pack for a camping trip with kids. Others are reflections on small-town life, resilience, belonging, and the beauty (and absurdity) of raising a family at this altitude.

I’ve also been leaning into practices that keep me grounded and connected—listening for what my ancestors have to teach, trusting intuition, and honoring the rituals that bring a little everyday magic. I love my dogs, reggae music, and the kind of dancing that feels like slipping into another dimension.

At this moment in time, I carry a deep desire to create more community—more widespread, women-focused, intentional. I don’t know yet what form that will take, but I know this: stories connect us, and this is where I’ll start.

It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. Welcome to our life in the high country.