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This image is how I picture a day at Wildwood: dirt on my shirt, trees waiting to be planted, and work worth coming home tired from. When Dawne died in 2016, I had no idea what to do with the love and grief she left behind. Over time, I began dreaming of a tree farm where families could honor someone they miss by planting something living. I do not own the land or have a working farm yet. But I can see the purpose clearly: choose the right trees, care for them through the seasons, and give people a place to return,…
In this imagined Wildwood Farms portrait, my shirt is covered in dirt and the barn already bears the W. In reality, I am still working toward the land. Losing Dawne in 2016 left me searching for somewhere to put the love that grief could not erase. The dream of a tree farm gave that love a purpose. I want to grow trees that families can plant in memory of someone they miss, then return to see them reach higher with every passing year. This is not about wearing the name on a shirt. It is about earning it through pat…
Some days I still feel the weight of losing Dawne as sharply as I did in 2016. Grief did not disappear when I learned to keep going. It changed shape. In the silence, I began to picture Wildwood, a tree farm built around remembrance. I want families to have a place to plant a tree, speak a name, and return years later to see how something living has grown. That is the part of the dream I hold closest: making room for love that has nowhere obvious to go. This image is part of that imagined future, not a farm I own t…
These images show two sides of my Wildwood dream. In one, I study the needles of a pine. In the other, I stand before a farm sign that, for now, exists only in my imagination. After Dawne died, grief changed how I saw the future. I spent years carrying love and loss without knowing what to do with either. Trees gave that love a direction. I want to find land, raise healthy trees, and create a place where families can plant one in memory of someone they miss. They could return through the years and watch a living tr…
Wildwood started with a loss I never learned to make sense of. When Dawne died, I was left carrying love with nowhere to put it. For years grief was the loudest thing in my life. Somewhere along the way, trees became a way to imagine giving that love roots. These two scenes are how I picture the work: hands on a shovel, seedlings ready for soil, a quiet cup of coffee after a long morning. The farm is still a dream, not land I own. But I want to build a place where someone missing a loved one can plant a tree, come…
Every time I stand beside an old tree, I think about the years it took to grow. Losing Dawne in 2016 changed the course of my life. At first, grief was simply something to survive. Over time I began imagining Wildwood, a tree farm where people could plant in memory of someone they love and return to see those memories take root. I want to learn the land, raise healthy trees, and make room for stories that deserve to be remembered. I do not have the farm yet. I have a purpose shaped by loss and sustained by love. I…
Wildwood began in the aftermath of losing Dawne. Grief left an emptiness I could not fix, and for a long time I did not know where to put all that love. The idea of planting trees gave it a direction. I dream of a farm where families can honor someone they miss, return year after year, and watch a living tribute grow. I have not acquired the land. This portrait reflects what I hope to build, not what already exists. I want to turn loss into care, remembrance into something rooted, and my own grief into a purpose th…
Autumn 2026. The work jacket, the worn cap, and the tractor behind me capture how I imagine Wildwood Farms, but the farm itself is still a dream. I want to find the right land, plant native trees, and build a place where families can dedicate a tree to someone they love. I picture them returning through the seasons, watching a sapling grow into something lasting. Getting there will mean finding support, caring for the land, and doing the hard work long after the first planting. I do not want a tree farm just for th…
Autumn 2026. This close-up reminds me that a dream is more than a nice picture. Wildwood is not a farm yet. It is a promise I am making to myself to keep looking for land, learning how to grow trees, and building a place where families can honor someone they miss. The trees are not planted, but the reason to plant them is already here.
Autumn 2026. I imagine this as the end of a long day at Wildwood, sitting on an old porch, looking out over trees that started as little more than hope. We have not found the land yet. But I know what I want to grow there: a place for families to remember, to heal, and to leave something good behind. The dream deserves the work.
Autumn 2026. In this imagined scene, I am standing beside the Wildwood Farms sign I hope to see for real one day. I want to build a place where families can plant trees for the people they love and return to watch those memories grow. We do not have the land yet, but the dream has a name, a purpose, and a future I am determined to work toward.
Autumn 2026. I look at these young trees and see more than seedlings. I see the Wildwood I hope to build, a place where families can plant something living in memory of someone they love. The land is still a dream, and there is work ahead, but every forest begins with a first tree. I intend to keep moving toward that day.
Autumn 2026. Looking through these woods, I can see the Wildwood tree farm I hope to build. It starts with finding the right land and putting the first saplings in the ground. Someday, I want families to plant a tree in memory of someone they love and return to watch it grow. For now, it's a dream that gives me something to work toward.
Autumn 2026. Sitting beside this tree, I think about what it takes to build something that lasts. The Wildwood tree farm is still a dream, but I can see it clearly: open land, young trees, and families planting in honor of people they never want forgotten. One day I hope this dream gives someone a place to remember, and a reason to come back.
Autumn 2026. The Wildwood Farms name is on my cap, but the land is still a dream. I picture rows of trees, families planting in memory of someone they love, and a place that keeps growing long after we're gone. I don't know every step it will take to get there, but I know why I want to begin.
Autumn 2026. I picture Wildwood as more than a tree farm. A place where people can plant a tree for someone they love, watch it grow, and leave something living for the next generation. The land is still a dream, but the purpose behind it is real. I am not giving up on it.
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