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Beautiful words on jewelry, ornaments, bookmarks, magnets, journals, tableware, t-shirts, and anything else that's not nailed down. We go weak in the knees for vast wide open anywhere, but especially Montana.
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For the wild at heart - Fifty8 Acres

For the wild at heart

This might sound a little strange, but we think about you a lot. (Yes, you.) It's easy enough for us to tell our own story, to share what makes us light up and to weave this thread of a dream through each idea for something new to make and send out into the world. But in order to create things that we think you might love, we put a lot of stock in this belief that we share some common ground with you. Sure, we all have different jobs and houses and cars and families, but this is something else. No matter how your life looks on the outside, I like to think that there's a piece of you that wishes to live in a cabin...

Wild Horse necklace

The words that sent her to Missoula

Blame it or praise it, there’s no denying the wild horse in us. — Virginia Woolf She scribbled the words onto the last blank page of her notebook and slipped the copy of  Jacob's Room back onto the shelf. The shopkeeper didn’t look impatient, exactly, but he fussed with the already-tidy stacks of pens and bookmarks next to the register. Minutes ago, he’d turned the sign from Open to Closed. She charmed him with a wide smile and said goodbye. A week later, she packed the notebook in a box labeled ‘misc,' and a month after that, in a little apartment over a bar in Missoula, she sat cross-legged on the floor and drew a scissor blade through the tape that sealed that box. She pulled out the notebook and fluttered through...

the emerson t-shirt

The magic of making things

In the spare room, in one of the boxes I always neglect to label when I move (the family photos are for sure in a box marked 'kitchen' or 'books'—if at all—which tells you everything there is to know about how good I am at packing), a few letters to my grandparents are tucked away. Yesterday, I was trying to remember the first thing I ever designed or made by hand. The pet rock with the furry eyebrows and plastic eyes probably takes the crown, but the stationery I designed when I was 7 or 8 was where the real action happened. At the top left corner, an uppercase J or S would start things off. A flourish over the J, or a swoosh to start the...

The beginning…

Twenty or so years ago, a studio apartment in southern Missouri, my first apartment on my own. I slept on a Murphy bed, which wasn't as charming (or funny) as it looks in the movies. But the rent was $265 a month, and I made just over minimum wage working the reception desk at a doctor's office. The best thing about that apartment (besides the rock bottom rent) was a wall in the kitchen, to the right of the refrigerator and left of the stove. I've always collected favorite quotes, in notebooks and on scraps of paper in folders, so I decided to cover that wall with words. I wrote out dozens of them—close to 100, I'd say—and taped them to that wall, floor to ceiling. In the...



North. A compass point. A star that guides. The truest of true. The magnetic pull toward which we orient ourselves in our physical space, in our emotional space.

And around here, it’s the signpost to which so many of our thoughts are tethered. If you’ve read Our Story, you know that our minds are set on moving north to Montana someday.

There’s no telling how often our unspoken thoughts turn northward to imagine how life will look there. How it all looks right now, in these in-between days (and months and years) between now and that day when what we’ve been planning becomes something real.

For now, we think of a wraparound porch on a cabin that hasn’t yet been built. A meadow up the hill where elk will wander through. A path down to a cool stream with a name we don’t know yet. There are trout in it, though, and the shadows of trees reflect on its ever-moving surface. A red canoe turned upside down on the banks, waiting. The scent of woodsmoke in the air.