The first step was enough to make me question what I had gotten myself into.

Ahead of me stretched 450 feet of narrow wooden planks suspended high above the Capilano River in Vancouver, British Columbia. Towering evergreens surrounded the canyon, their branches reaching toward the sky, while the river wound through the forest far below. From where I stood at the entrance to the Capilano Suspension Bridge, the other side looked like a very long way away.

“Buzzy, I see one!"

No sooner had the words left Emery's mouth than she was off running across the yard, wand in hand, determined to save us all from the dragon lurking nearby. Her little sister, Autumn, was right behind her, gripping her own magical wand with complete confidence that together we could make the dragon disappear.

Thankfully, our castle was close by.

The air was thick before I ever stepped onto the first tee. It was one of those hot, sticky summer mornings where you can almost feel the humidity resting on your shoulders. Dark clouds lingered overhead, threatening rain at any moment, yet somehow never quite committing. It wasn't exactly ideal golfing weather, but there we were, clubs in hand, determined to make the best of it.

The sun was sparkling across the lake, laughter drifted across the dock, and the occasional splash of someone jumping into the water echoed through the Northwoods air. It was another beautiful summer afternoon at my brother Greg and sister in law Pat's cabin in Wisconsin, one of those days where no one was looking at the clock and everyone seemed perfectly content to simply enjoy being together.

After spending most of the day swimming, floating, boating, and relaxing on the dock, someone suggested we play Tip Cup.

There is something magical about summer evenings in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. As the sun begins to sink behind the trees, the lake takes on a golden glow and the air feels just a little softer. After a day filled with boating, swimming, tubing, skiing, surfing, fishing, and family time, there is nothing better than gathering together on the deck, sharing stories and enjoying each other's company.

Every July, my family heads north to my brother Greg and sister in law Pat's summer home tucked away in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. It has become one of those traditions that quietly anchors our family each year. Long before we arrive, the anticipation begins. Calendars are checked, vacation days are requested, grocery lists are made, and everyone starts counting down the days until we're together again.

A few months ago, I was talking with my daughter Hannah on the phone. It wasn't one of those calls where we set out to change our lives. It was simply two people chatting about this and that, letting the conversation wander wherever it wanted to go.

Somehow, the topic of starting a business came up.

There is something magical about a summer Friday evening.

The sun hangs a little lower in the sky, casting that beautiful golden light that seems to invite you to slow down and savor the moment. The birds are chirping, the breeze is gentle, and for a few hours, life feels a little lighter.

The elevator doors opened and suddenly it felt like we had stepped into another world.

Above us stretched a brilliant blue sky. Around us stood tall buildings reflecting the sunshine, and below us the city buzzed with its usual Sunday energy. Rows of striped lounge chairs faced a giant movie screen, and colorful flowers framed the entrance to the Rooftop Cinema Club. For a moment, I just stood there taking it all in.

Every Wednesday, I gather around a table filled with colorful tiles, score cards, a little friendly competition, and a group of women who have become one of my favorite parts of the week.

Now, if you have ever played Mahjong, you know there is a lot more to it than simply matching pretty little tiles. At least that is what I tell myself every week when I look down at my rack and Mahjong card and think, “Wait a minute, what section can I play?”

The other day, I found myself staring at my computer screen with a list of tasks in front of me and a question quietly circling in my mind. What if this doesn't work? It wasn't the first time that thought had appeared over the last couple of months, and I'm guessing it won't be the last.

The other morning, I sat quietly with my coffee before the world fully woke up. The house was still, the kind of stillness that allows your thoughts to rise to the surface. And for some reason, I began thinking about women.

Not the polished version we often see on social media. Not the carefully curated highlights or the perfectly posed moments. I thought about the women quietly rebuilding their lives.

My story about getting a fence actually began over a year ago… although if I’m being honest, it had been sitting on my heart much longer than that.

The idea came to me in the quiet of an ordinary day… the kind of idea that makes your heart smile before your mind has time to question it.

I was planning a sleepover with my two and four year old granddaughters, and I wanted to create something special. Not just another activity, but something they would feel… something they would remember.

A fairy garden.

It started with something simple. Or at least, I thought it would be. I was swapping out a 5x7 rug for an 8x10 in my living room. The smaller rug came out with ease and I remember thinking, well that was simple enough. I rolled out the new one and almost immediately paused.

Wow… this is big.

The air was warm that early afternoon, the kind that makes you want to have strength training class outdoors. As we prepared to get started you could hear the quiet chatter of women gathering, and sense that familiar mix of anticipation and uncertainty that comes with every workout.

We had just started class when our trainer smiled and said, “Alright ladies… today, we’re ending with Sally.” A groan escaped from one of the women in the circle. The rest of us exchanged looks that said, this can’t be good.

The room was already alive when we walked in. You could feel it in the air. The hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and a room filled with possibility and promise of a great evening ahead. There was an energy building, like something special was about to unfold. We found our table, settled in, and I took a quiet moment to look around.

I still remember the feeling as I walked through the doors that morning, a quiet sense of purpose, mixed with curiosity. It was one of those company community service days where we stepped away from our desks and into the community, offering our time wherever it was needed most. That year, I was assigned to A Safe Place.