04/28/2026
We’ve stewarded a 5-acre property tucked into the forest for the past four years, reclaiming it from a blackberry patch that had nearly consumed the entire parcel.
The soil was poor, which is precisely why the blackberry thrived. But despite sitting atop a ridge, the land was flat and sunny, just outside town and close to the ferry terminal to Seattle. We decided this would be the place to build an eden.
Starting from scratch has not been easy. It has required designers and contractors with specialized expertise and equipment, countless hours of devotion, and more than a little blood and tears.
What you see today is only half the story. The garden, the orchard, the meadow, the farm, the medicinal garden, the mushroom cultivation zone — all of it rests on infrastructure you’ll never see: underground systems and rooftop installations managing water, power, and drainage.
In many ways, we’re building this place not just for ourselves, but for our son and future generations. I’m reminded of this every day watching our fledgling orchard come alive, still too young to fruit this year. This week we painstakingly planted dozens of asparagus crowns by hand, knowing these stalky greens will grace dinner plates for the next three decades — most of that harvest belonging to whoever comes after us.
This experience has complemented and deepened my real estate work, and it echoes what we’ve witnessed with .regenerative.re over the years.
The people who have toiled, bled, and loved their places deeply are the ones who stand out. Yet when the day comes to move on, they’re often told their home is valued no differently than the place down the road: devoid of life, dependent on harmful chemicals, producing no food, habitat, energy, or beauty.
This is the tragedy of the mainstream real estate industry. It prices toxicity the same as stewardship, and depletion the same as abundance. This is why we do what we do at Latitude — to lead with values, and to demonstrate what value truly looks like.
