I had no intention of turning my backyard into a healing space.

A backyard garden with a gravel ground, small plants and bushes along a wooden fence, and a house in the background with a window and a towel hanging outside.
A backyard garden with various flowering plants, trees, and a wooden fence, with a house in the background and a blue sky.

When I first bought this property, the backyard space was barren and uninviting, mostly gravel and a few meager weeds.

Before long, it became overgrown and wild, unwieldy.

I knew the space had potential, but I didn’t yet have the vision.

For three years I managed the land, just barely keeping the wildness at bay.  

The physical terrain mirrored my own inner landscape at the time: in transition, emerging, disorderly but full of life.

Bright orange poppy flowers growing next to green foliage on a concrete surface, with shadows cast on the ground.

I was exploring different healing modalities and had recently discovered breathwork.

With that discovery, a door opened: into my own healing and into my capacity as a healing guide. 

In March of 2024, I returned home from a breathwork training in New Mexico with a bag of seeds and dried blossoms I’d been given by my mentor.

I decided to scatter the seeds in my backyard, connecting the two healing properties and connecting my mentor’s medicine to my own. 

An elderly woman with short gray hair and glasses, wearing a blue striped shirt with yellow buttons and gold jewelry, sitting on a floral-patterned couch with a framed landscape painting on the wall behind her.

Within two weeks of my return, on the first of April, my mother died suddenly. 

Even in my shock and grief, I somehow knew I needed to transform my backyard into a healing space, not just for me but for others. And I knew I needed to bring the project quickly to life. 

The month of April had started with my mother’s death, and needed to end in a rebirth. 

The land became a kind of sacred container I tended through ritual and ceremony, just as I was tending my own grief.

A small garden scene with a variety of plants, flowers, rocks, and a decorative glass sphere on gravel. The background features tall, colorful ornamental grasses and flowering plants.

One tending followed and informed the other.

Every decision—whether it was about a plant, a piece of art, the placement of an object, sitting area, or path—was made with clear intention.

It was a deeply therapeutic conversation that changed both me and the land.

By April’s end, the wheel had turned.

My mother’s death gave birth to the beautiful healing space now known as The Terrain. 



Once the outdoor space was finished, it was clear I would pursue a similar process to transform my garage into an indoor healing space.

Months later, The Lightning Tree was born. 

The Terrain and The Lightning Tree are now spaces where creativity, ceremony, celebration, and community converge.

Once barren and wild, now fertile ground for our continued personal and collective healing. 

It’s a great joy to welcome you here.

The name 'Robert' written in teal cursive handwriting.

A man sitting in a blue hammock chair outdoors among green plants, smiling at the camera.

TAKE A LOOK INSIDE

The Terrain & The Lightning Tree


[click on any image to enlarge]