Raised in a small Canadian town where it was usual to trudge to school in waist deep snow, and to come home when the street lights came on. My parents owned a paint store on the corner of the local shopping plaza and I poured my soul into some sort of creative aspiration with every chance that I could.

For as long as I can remember I’ve loved how words and phrases that mesh together in writing and song can speak to someone. How Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision could turn any implausible landscape into the perfect basis for his architecture.

Here's what I've learned through life's ups and downs, and through my writing that's been my basis in life: home is a place that alters you.

Home is when I witnessed the most luminous Utah sunset as the red canyon walls of the Flaming Gorge were painted gold. I felt enriched by nature’s song as if the deepest part of my being woke up to the freshly squeezed infusions of nature’s fruits.

Home is when I moved to a small mountain town in the Kootenays (British Columbia) and met the man of my drea... I actually couldn't dream about a man like him. I'm mesmerized by his sharp intelligence, but most of all I'm most at home when he lifts me up by his gentle love.

Home is the tranquility of the wild around me. How the landscape surrounding me tells stories of change—the good and the bad.

With gratitude for life, notebooks and coffee,

Em