The Mendocino Spot
Finding the New Place
While exploring the redwoods in search of my next landing spot, I met a wonderful family with a beautiful piece of land. After some good conversations, we started discussing the idea of making a more permanent setup here.
On the far side of the property, away from their home and cabin rental area, there was a large fenced garden. Inside were the remnants of old hoop houses, a few vegetable beds still thriving, and—most exciting of all—an old Airstream.
This vintage trailer became my new creative studio and current home base.
The Airstream Renovation
In exchange for a place to stay, I worked with the landowner to restore the Airstream. It needed a lot of love:
Broken windows replaced
Sheet metal patches over gaping holes in the aluminum siding
Endless rivets to seal everything up
Rotten flooring ripped out and replaced
A full power wash, rust treatment, and a fresh coat of paint
The process was hands-on, gritty, and incredibly satisfying. By the end, it was transformed into a bright, functional studio and creative hideaway.
Building the Space Around It
Even after the Airstream was usable, I stayed in construction mode. There was a massive pile of salvaged wood from dismantled greenhouses nearby—an unexpected goldmine of building materials. From that pile, I built a small deck, table, shower, steps, and shelving.
By February 2025, this new spot had truly become home—a creative nook in the redwoods made from repurposed materials and imagination.
Living Simply, Creatively
This space gives me everything I need—privacy, quiet, inspiration, and room to create. With my van and the Airstream combined, I’ve built a way of living that’s light on stuff and heavy on meaning.
The Homestead Life
Looking for an off-grid escape to reset during a sabbatical, I stumbled upon a rustic lean-to cabin tucked away in the forest. I planned to stay for a few days. A few days turned into a week. That week turned into a year.
This is the story of how I spent 2024 living on an off-grid permaculture homestead in Humboldt County, California.
After that week in the lean-to, I returned to San Francisco, adopted a rescue dog named Louie, showed up to work on Monday, and quit by Wednesday. I couldn’t shake the feeling I had on the land—creative, clear-headed, free. I knew I had to find a way back.
A few months later, I moved into the cabin.
The Cabin
In January 2024, a hand-built cabin on the Van Duzen River became available—a short walk downhill from the main farm. The community above included the owner, a few volunteers, farm animals, and visiting campers.
I packed up the van with my dog Louie, art supplies, camera, and a few tools, and hit the road. The cabin had seen better days—over 20 years old, one of the first structures on the land—but I saw potential. It quickly became my sanctuary: a creative studio, nature retreat, and a place to just be.
That winter, I found myself in the temperate rainforest of Northern California. It rained—a lot. But the sound of it hitting the roof while the wood stove crackled made the cabin feel like the coziest place in the world. The stillness gave me space to slow down, reflect, and focus.
The Garden
As spring approached and the rain finally eased up, it was time to get my hands in the soil. I built three raised beds using natural materials and repurposed wood, inspired by survival shows and a love for off-grid building.
With help from the farm animals (and Louie supervising), I grew lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, melons, basil, oregano, carrots, Swiss chard, and cannabis. I even cultivated oyster mushrooms in laundry baskets using rice straw and grain spawn.
Each morning started with feeding Louie, making tea or coffee, and checking on the garden. What had sprouted? What could be harvested? It became a daily ritual—a rewarding and productive way to start the day.
The Animals
Life on the land was shared with an eclectic crew: Rumi the cow, a small herd of sheep, chickens, ducks, dogs, and a few roaming cats. They added charm, chaos, and companionship.
Rumi and the sheep helped keep the grass low and fertilize the garden-to-be. Louie, my dog, loved every moment outside—rain or shine. His joy in the wet weather helped me learn to love it too.
The River
Though winter made the river too cold for swimming, it was a constant and calming presence. The Van Duzen flowed just beyond the cabin, offering moody reflections and the soothing sound of water over stone.
In summer, the river would become a place to cool off, but during those first months it served more as a visual anchor—a wild, beautiful reminder of where I was.
The Nature
Living in a temperate rainforest meant being surrounded by towering redwoods, thick moss, and an endless variety of mushrooms that flourished after every rain. The forest canopy often shielded me from the weather, making it feel like a quiet, protected world of its own.
But nature here isn't just trees and trails. The rugged Northern California coastline was never far—dramatic cliffs, crashing waves, and moody skies became part of the rhythm.
It was wild and ancient. Whether in the forest or by the sea, the natural world out here felt deeply alive—and I felt more a part of it than ever before.
