Not all those who wander are lost

~ J.R.R. Tolkien

I’ve spent more than 25 years exploring the world and the U.S., discovering new places, meeting fascinating people, and collecting experiences that shape how I live today. Along the way, I’ve learned to savor life’s simple joys—sharing a meal, wandering through gardens, or capturing fleeting moments with my camera.

My love of slow living began with my grandmother, in her kitchen and backyard—with the Nicolet National Forest as my summer playground and a 50-acre, spring-fed lake just beyond. From her, I learned patience, care, and heritage: baking bread, knitting, fishing, and playing solitaire—each a quiet lesson in focus, craft, and contentment.

At home in the city, in the Midwest, we had a large yard with fruit trees and an abundant garden, like most of our neighbors. I learned to garden—initially, I suspect, as a punishment for raiding everyone’s gardens for their fresh delights—but once they discovered I loved it, I began helping our neighbors keep the weeds at bay and tackle the “dirty work,” which to me was great fun. Those early lessons taught me to respect my neighbors, be helpful and kind, move thoughtfully, and honor the seasons of life.

That curiosity for life and making things with my hands stayed with me. By my thirties, I had a home with a garden and a renovation project that tested both my patience and creativity. I also began to travel more widely, and my first experience living and working abroad took me to Kathmandu—a year that deepened my appreciation for how culture, food, and daily rituals connect us wherever we are.

Later, while living in North Africa, my approach to cooking became more adventurous. The market felt like a challenge: what could I make with what they had in season? It taught me to embrace flexibility, trust my instincts, and move gracefully with whatever each day offered.

Years later, in Denmark, I settled into a life that intertwined both work and home. Together with a close community of friends and colleagues, I helped grow a leading sustainable goods company, deepening my philosophy and sharpening my discernment. I learned to see beyond clever marketing—to recognize what’s genuinely sustainable versus what’s simply dressed up to look that way. Natural doesn’t always mean harmless, and my goal is to help sort the hype from what truly nourishes and does no harm, both in products and in life.

Today, I carry these lessons into everyday life. I’ve planted more than sixty biodiverse, edible plants in my kitchen garden and often harvest herbs and Sichuan peppers, handcraft seasonal salts, or preserve fruits in a Rumtopf—a special rum pot—for gifts or shared meals. Friends often say a meal in my home feels like an experience: long-simmered stews rich with warmth and spice, homemade ice creams, and a table set with intention and care.

Over time, I’ve been gathering these experiences, and now I feel it’s time to share a few with you—photos, recipes, garden discoveries, and reflections on slow, simple living. Timeless, elegant, and never fussy.

I hope you’ll subscribe to my blog to follow along on this next chapter—and perhaps find a little inspiration and connection with a community of like-minded souls along the way.