The Liminal Acre began in the garden—just soil, seeds, and a pair of work-worn hands learning to listen. I didn’t have a plan—just the need to make something with what I had, to find meaning in the mess of becoming.

I thought I was just growing food. But the plants taught me more than I expected—about patience, presence, and resilience. I watched them bend in storms, push through hard ground, and come back after frost. They were stronger than I knew, and in their quiet persistence, I started to see my own.

Working the land taught me rhythm. Not the rushed kind, but a slower one—rooted in the imperfect, the unfinished, the real. As the garden grew, so did my urge to create with what the land gave back. What started as planting and preserving turned into crafting soaps and candles—made from the very animals we raise, using farm-rendered tallow and lard. Nothing wasted. Everything with purpose.

Now, The Liminal Acre is more than a place. It’s a way of living in that in-between space—not what was, not quite what will be. A space rooted in resilience, made by hand, and always in progress. Because there’s beauty in always learning, in never quite having it all figured out—in staying curious, humble, and open to the next season of becoming.

Everything I grow, make, or offer carries that spirit. Slow emergence. Gentle grit. Honoring the process over perfection.

If you find yourself somewhere in the in-between too, you're welcome here.