Lately I’ve been allowing myself to dream.

Not the kind of dream that disappears with morning coffee.

The kind that settles into your bones and quietly whispers,

“Keep going.”

I dream of a piece of land somewhere in Humboldt County.

A place where the gate opens and the noise of the world begins to soften.

A place where the scent of pine and cedar mixes with woodsmoke and fresh bread.

A place where laughter drifts through the trees.

A place where children run barefoot through the grass chasing bubbles while musicians tune instruments in the distance and goats stand on things they absolutely should not be standing on.

At the heart of it all stands a great barn.

Part home.

Part workshop.

Part gathering place.

Part dream factory.

Nearby, colorful circus tents rise from the meadow.

Jugglers practice.

Aerialists fly.

Puppeteers build impossible creatures.

Artists paint.

Storytellers gather around fire circles beneath the stars.

Women come for retreats.

Families come for celebrations.

Children come to learn, create, explore, and wonder.

There are gardens everywhere.

Not just a garden.

A living food system.

Vegetable gardens overflowing with tomatoes warm from the sun.

Rows of squash and pumpkins.

Herb spirals fragrant with rosemary, thyme, lavender, and mint.

Berry patches that children sneak snacks from while pretending not to.

Orchards filled with apples, pears, plums, cherries, figs, and nut trees.

Food grown not only for the people who live there, but for guests, retreats, festivals, and community gatherings.

A place where people remember what a tomato is supposed to taste like.

What fresh eggs taste like.

What food grown with love tastes like.

There are animals.

Lots of animals.

Goats.

Sheep.

Ducks.

Geese.

Rabbits.

Ponies.

Friendly dogs.

Cats who choose their humans.

Perhaps even rescue animals who can no longer survive in the wild but still have stories to teach.

Children learn about ecosystems, animal care, gardening, stewardship, and the interconnectedness of all living things.

A place where learning happens through experience.

Through muddy boots.

Through feeding animals.

Through planting seeds.

Through wonder.

There is a sauna tucked among the trees.

Hand-built hot soaking pools warmed by fire or sun.

Steam rising into cool morning air.

People gathering after workshops, performances, and long days in the garden.

A place for healing.

A place for rest.

A place for nervous systems to remember what safety feels like.

Therapists and facilitators come to host retreats.

Artists come to teach.

College students come to learn about land stewardship, sustainable agriculture, animal husbandry, performance arts, community building, event production, and creative entrepreneurship.

There are apprenticeships.

Scholarships.

Work-trade opportunities.

Residencies.

Internships.

Community partnerships.

A village where everyone has something to teach and something to learn.

On warm summer evenings, lanterns glow.

The outdoor stage comes alive.

Bands play beneath the stars.

Families spread blankets on the grass.

Children dance.

Neighbors reconnect.

Stories are told.

Memories are made.

Nearby stands a giant outdoor movie screen.

Old-fashioned and magical.

People arrive with lawn chairs, blankets, picnic baskets, and friends.

Some watch from the grass.

Some from picnic tables.

Some from classic cars parked beneath the stars.

Movie nights.

Concerts.

Community gatherings.

A place where people can still experience wonder together.

There are campsites scattered thoughtfully throughout the property.

Simple.

Beautiful.

Intentional.

Places where people can wake to birdsong, morning fog, and the smell of coffee brewing nearby.

Not a crowded campground.

A sanctuary.

A gathering place.

A home.

And perhaps most importantly, it wouldn’t belong to me alone.

It would belong to the community.

Supported by volunteers.

Caretakers.

Artists.

Teachers.

Sponsors.

Grant programs.

Scholarships.

Partnerships.

Neighbors.

Dreamers.

People who believe that art matters.

That children matter.

That community matters.

That healing matters.

That creativity matters.

That nature matters.

That we need places where people can gather face-to-face and remember that they are not alone.

I don’t know exactly how this dream comes to life.

I don’t know where the land is.

I don’t know what pieces arrive first.

But I know this:

Every beautiful thing begins as imagination.

Every forest begins with a seed.

Every village begins with a gathering.

And every home begins with someone daring to dream it.

Maybe one day we’ll build it together.

🌻🎪🐐🌿🔥🎭✨

If you could spend a weekend in a place like this, what would you most hope to find there? ❤️