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...
