Autumn 2026. This close-up reminds me that a dream is more than a nice picture. Wildwood is not a farm yet. It is a promise I am making to myself to keep looking for land, learning...

Autumn 2026. Sitting beside this tree, I think about what it takes to build something that lasts. The Wildwood tree farm is still a dream, but I can see it clearly: open land, young trees, and families planting in honor of people they never want forgotten. One day I hope this dream gives someone a place to remember, and a reason to come back.

Autumn 2026. The Wildwood Farms name is on my cap, but the land is still a dream. I picture rows of trees, families planting in memory of someone they love, and a place that keeps growing long after we're gone. I don't know every step it will take to get there, but I know why I want to begin.

Autumn 2026. I picture Wildwood as more than a tree farm. A place where people can plant a tree for someone they love, watch it grow, and leave something living for the next generation. The land is still a dream, but the purpose behind it is real. I am not giving up on it.

Ten years since I lost Dawne. This reimagined sunset brings us together again, even if only in a picture. I miss her smile, the way we held each other, and the life we shared. A decade has passed, but some love never fades. She will always be part of who I am.

Ten years since I lost Dawne. This reimagined picture of us hiding behind our coffee mugs makes me think of the laughter we shared over the smallest things. I miss those quiet, ordinary moments more than words can say. Life has moved forward, but my love for her remains.

Ten years since I lost Dawne. Nine reimagined moments of us, but the love behind them was real. The laughter, the little kisses, coffee together, the sunsets. I miss those ordinary moments most. A decade has passed, and she is still part of every chapter of my life.

Dresden, five years ago. Joey and I leaned in across a wooden table for this picture. I remember the easy smiles and the feeling of having nowhere else to be. Sometimes the simplest moments become the memories I hold onto most.

Five years ago in Dresden, Joey and I leaned in for this picture. I love how one photograph can bring back a whole feeling: the warmth, the closeness, and the simple joy of being together. Some memories always make me smile.

Ten years since I lost Dawne. This reimagined moment of us sharing coffee reminds me of what I miss most. Her smile, the comfort of being close, and the simple joy of being together. Life has changed in ways I never imagined, but the love I carry for her has never faded.

Ten years since I lost Dawne. This image is reimagined, but the love behind it is real. I remember her smile, the comfort of being close, and the ordinary moments that meant everything. A decade later, life keeps moving, and I keep carrying her with me.

Autumn 2026. A portrait of where I am, not just how I look. This year has asked a lot of me. I am still learning, still rebuilding, and still moving forward with gratitude for every new day.

Autumn 2026. My Led Zeppelin shirt, golden light through the trees, and a moment to reflect. This year has tested me, but I am still here, still moving forward, and learning to appreciate the quiet moments along the way.

August 2026. Sunset on the lake, a little rock and roll, and a reminder that life is still full of good moments. This summer tested me, but I am still here, still moving forward, and still grateful for views like this.

August 2026. My Yellowstone spoof. No ranch, no cattle, just a cowboy hat, a leather jacket, and my best John Dutton stare. I may not own a thousand acres, but I can look like I have a few rules about the fence line.

August 2026. In the hospital for my L4-L5 TLIF fusion surgery. Not how I imagined spending the summer, but this chapter reminded me to slow down, accept help, and take recovery one day at a time. Every small step matters.

November 2021. Blue skies, autumn colors, and a little time to myself. Looking back at this photo, I'm reminded that the simplest days often leave the strongest memories. Just being present was enough.