Hi, I’m Ash.

My first understanding that home could disappear without warning was just before I turned four and lost my mom. Some of my earliest vivid memories after that are of noticing everything deeply about this world: turtles at her favorite nature preserve, the rocks with lines and dots, bark of all types, caterpillars needing help across the sidewalk, veins in the leaves that move like wind but sound like rain, the near and far of views, the songbirds. Oh my goodness, the songbirds. Life-long-loves ever since. I think it’s in those moments that I actually woke up to life. I found sanctuary in nature — a sense of home I could always return to — and with it, eyes to see beauty in the overlooked and an understanding that paying attention to small, vulnerable things was sacred work.

My upbringing was a quiet one where pattern-recognition and high-alert energy were at the forefront as the years went on. This pushed me toward interior architecture. I wanted to create homes, shelter, protection, stability, safety. A place to feel at home. Partly for me, partly for those who never felt it or knew the feeling of losing it and what came after. A place to remove the mask, heal from a chaotic world, and refuel. A place to be vulnerable so we can become powerful.

I wanted to create this over and over again, to be an expert in building this space. And to do so in a way that was both mesmerizing and deeply reflective of those who would call the space Home — their most raw identity, built up around them, a mirror to who they are at the core and who they most want to be. I wanted to help them reach their potential in life, to be their most true form, to see it before the end of their days. To be who the universe meant them to be for the benefit of all beings who need them to become it.

While studying in the heart of Chicago, often from inside buildings with the most ornate architectural detailing I’d ever dreamed of, I began researching the impact of my design choices on specific wildlife. I looked for how certain materials I was considering would affect elephants where they’re extracted. Or how a layout would impact nearby hummingbirds. And what that ripple effect would be. I wanted to know how many acres were destroyed by choosing one type of wood versus another, and what that meant for all species in the area. How it altered the number of babies they’d have and would survive, how far they’d have to now travel for food, how much less they could communicate with one another now being farther for longer, etc. All due to our singular design choice, or the timing of construction. And much more. But I didn’t find what I was looking for.

Building What I Couldn’t Find

After pursuing a BFA in Interior Architecture and working for firms in Chicago and Seattle, I felt increasingly disillusioned with conventional practices. Even “sustainable” options fell short when viewed through the lens of the natural world I deeply value. I continued on with hollow sustainability stats. I soon found myself working for conventional firms that didn’t light me up professionally, with decisions that began to physically hurt, and which personally started to tear into my values and run my sensitive self into the ground.

When I began moving further from civilization, and finally put roots down on raw acreage and off-grid in the foothills of the Olympic National Park, it all began to click. Living in the woods by the bay with numerous running creeks, surrounded by wildlife, I witnessed destruction that was loud, fast, and permanent: clear-cut land, trucks hauling ancient trees, forest floors scraped bare, followed by silence. No more songs. That’s when I realized that I might offer placement and protection for some, but I’d been trained to take it from others. Namely, wildlife. The wildlife that made me feel at home when I needed it most, and had consistently grounded me since then.

Watching those animals lose their homes and way of living — their nests, dens, migration routes — I recognized a similar violation to what I’d experienced, scaled up. Animals who had sanctuary were having it stripped away in an instant. I felt their vulnerability in my bones, still do. These were innocent victims of systems they couldn’t control or escape. Families torn apart, wellbeing broken, a knowing: nowhere safe to be.

And suddenly I understood: my overwhelming sensitivity and hypervigilance, to habitat destruction especially, is exactly what this work needs. I feel every lost nest because I know what it’s like when home disappears, I know what that means for wildlife, and feel with my whole heart that they are the last beings who deserve to lose what is already theirs. And this fierce protectiveness toward vulnerable creatures isn’t too much, as I’d often hear and believe — it’s just the protection I wish I had. There’s a warrior in me that rises when I see the vulnerable under threat, and a gentle soul that remembers what we’re fighting for. My anger at destruction is love with boundaries, my compassion with teeth. A place where both ends of the spectrum are fused together and in full force, not separate nor fighting. And the weight of this is something I can now bear because I have Wildlifeel at Home to channel it through.

I had spent years turning a blind eye, leaving destruction in my wake. That’s my fault. But once seen, we can’t unsee. So the extractions just to get something “perfect” into a home now deal with a highly-critical eye. The price of each choice is now different — it’s now on a life, a nest, a migration, a future.

I’m here today trying to right as many of my wrongs from the past as I can. Trying to earn my keep; trying to ensure my existence is a worthy one in the eyes of Mother Nature; trying to show gratitude for my use of resources and spaces that we ought to share more fairly with our wild neighbors who actually do deserve this world.

All of it — the loss, the sensitivity, the years of pattern-recognition and high alert, the design training, the rage at unnecessary destruction, the fierce love for the voiceless — led here. It couldn’t have been anyone else to take these ideas and keep building them. And I’m not done.

The Larger Picture

What is home to you?

That warm feeling of safety, comfort, and love. Where you can sleep peacefully knowing your loved ones are protected.

What if it was taken away from you? What if you had to leave your city, find shelter in an unfamiliar place — not knowing where you’d stay for the night or how you’d get food and water for your family?

Just imagining it makes me nervous. But this is the reality for millions of wildlife, with the number increasing each passing day. They are losing their place of refuge, protection, and comfort.

The design/build industry accounts for 50% of all habitat destruction. We build our houses with little regard for the natural world around us, creating structures designed to keep us separate from nature rather than connect us with it. When did we go from co-existence to conquer-it-all?

By disconnecting from the natural world, we forget that what is happening to them will one day happen to us. We coexist. If one is in danger, we all are in danger. We forget that we are not the only inhabitants of this planet, and that we have a responsibility to protect and preserve the habitats of other species as well.

It’s not too late. Change begins at home — and that’s exactly where this work lives.

Conservation-Based Design/Build Practices

This is a term coined by Wildlifeel at Home, describing a way of designing and building structures that are in balance with the natural world rather than competing with it. At its core, these practices exist to empower the wellbeing of wildlife, and to care for their homes just as much as ours.

A few starting points:

• The Wildlifeel Framework: How Conservation-Based Design Actually Works
• The (ever-growing) ‘Materials & More’ Library + more info about it here
• What Is an Impact Report in Home Design?

They spark a mindset that recognizes the power of our choices and their ripple effect on the surrounding ecosystem. Aiming to preserve and protect the environment by minimizing negative impacts and maximizing the potential benefits of the natural world, they are the embodiment of responsible construction — where the well-being of the environment and its inhabitants are properly respected and prioritized.

Ultimately, the goal is to create a sustainable future where wildlife and humans can coexist in harmony. When you adopt conservation-based design/build practices, you’re building a house — yes — but more importantly: you’re creating a sanctuary for yourself, your family, and the creatures that share this planet with us.

With every building we create, we are shaping the environment and impacting the delicate balance of ecosystems that we are a part of. You have the opportunity to make it a positive one.

What Wildlifeel at Home Is

This is the resource I desperately needed and couldn’t find — a place to connect the dots between our homes and the homes of wildlife, to explore alternatives, and to combine wildlife conservation with home design and build practices.

If you’ve ever felt vulnerable, if home never felt like home, then maybe you’ll understand why Wildlifeel at Home is what it is: a place where protection goes both ways.

Here, you’ll find research and writing that:

• Connects the dots between our homes and theirs — showing that we must share finite spaces and natural resources, all that we take but is already owned, used, and called Home before we even think about it
• Shines light on the real impact and ripple effects on wildlife — getting granular about how our choices affect the individual lives and families of our wild neighbors
• Helps you make informed, compassionate choices when creating your home, through wildlife-first and conservation-based design and build practices
• Proves that countless homes don’t need to be sacrificed for another to thrive — we can design and build homes that allow wildlife to keep theirs too
• Fights natural habitat loss from within the industry that causes so much of it

I see this as soul work. I’m fighting for every creature who needs sanctuary and can’t advocate for themselves. Everything led here: the loss, the sensitivity, the design training, the rage at unnecessary destruction, the fierce love for the voiceless. I’m becoming exactly who this work needs, and I’m taking you with me.

Interested in a conversation, collaboration or have questions? Contact me here. 

Ready to work on your home project together? Learn more and fill out the form here.