I’m not building this project because I have extra time or extra money.

I’m building it because I need a way out.

We live in low-income housing right now. We make it work. We get by on my SSDI and food assistance. It keeps a roof over our heads.

But it’s not the kind of place where kids get to just be kids.

My son has already had to deal with neighborhood bullying.

My daughter, who is both Black and white, gets singled out in ways that don’t make sense but still hurt. From both sides. Too Black in some spaces. Not Black enough in others.

And as a parent, you can’t fix that for them. You can only see it happening and wish you could give them something different.

We hear gunshots sometimes.

Last summer, someone tried to kick our door in while we were all sitting in the living room.

Nothing happened after that. They moved on.

But something shifts in you when your home doesn’t feel fully safe anymore.

I didn’t plan for my life to look like this.

I was in school, working toward my master’s degree, building something stable.

Then I got sick.

Not the kind of sick you recover from. The kind that stays. The kind that slowly reshapes your life until survival becomes the only thing you have energy for.

For a long time, that’s all I could do.

But now, almost a decade later, I have better answers. Better treatments. I’m not in remission, but my symptoms are more controlled than they’ve ever been.

And with that, something came back.

I can think again.
I can create again.
I can imagine something beyond just getting through the day.

So I started asking a different question.

What can I build from here?

I want to own land.

Not just enough for a house, but enough to build something bigger than that.

A place where my boys can run, explore, and grow up outside instead of being told to stay close and stay careful.

A place where the evenings are quiet enough that you can hear crickets instead of sirens.

A place where my daughter has the option to stay close too. Where she could have her own small apartment or space on the property and live inexpensively while she finishes college.

I want to build a place where she doesn’t have to fit into a category.
A place where the only thing she has to be is herself.

And whatever I build has to sustain itself.

I can’t rely on a traditional job anymore. My health, my energy, and my schedule don’t allow for that kind of consistency.

So this land can’t just be a home. It has to function.

That’s why part of the plan is to add small cabins for short-term rentals.

Simple. Quiet. Intentional.

A way to generate income that works with my limitations, not against them.

And at the same time, a way to offer something meaningful. A place where people can step away from the noise and reconnect with themselves and their families.

The problem is… I don’t have the money to build it.

Not right now.

But I do have something else.

Imagination.

So I’m starting there.

I’m writing the place before I can build it.

I’ve started working on a children’s book series that takes place on the land I plan to own someday. Every path, every structure, every small detail is something I plan to create in real life.

In the story, there’s a quiet orchard trail with small hidden doors tucked into the trees.

On the real land, that’s where the orchard path will go.

Right now, I have drafts of the first two chapters.

It’s messy. It’s new. I’m learning as I go.

But it’s also a blueprint.

This isn’t just a story.

It’s a way forward.

A way to build something when you don’t have the resources yet, but you refuse to stay where you are forever.

If you’re reading this, I’d love to know what part of this vision speaks to you most.

The quiet.
The safety.
Or the idea of building something from nothing.

I don’t know exactly how we get there yet.

But I know we’re not staying here.