Beyond the Anchor

I grew up in a family where humor wasn't reserved for celebrations. It showed up during our hardest seasons, around hospital beds, kitchen tables, and long road trips when we were exhausted and running on hope.

Many branches of my Norwegian family first arrived there. Some made it their home, others homesteaded to South Dakota, North Dakota, or places further north in Minnesota. Others I've lost track of entirely, scattered into the paper trail the way families do. But before any of that happened, before anyone claimed a homestead or built a barn, they all passed through St. Paul first.

Let me paint you a picture of my mom, since you already have one of my dad. Where he was high-octane and theatrical, filling every room until there was no air left in it, she was crafty, frugal, gentle, and possessed of a patience I still don't fully understand.

This year, as America marks its 250th anniversary, a milestone honoring a nation forged in sacrifice and hope, I cannot think of a more fitting moment to pull back the curtain on what I have been quietly working on behind the scenes.

Nine months ago, this process began at a place called Ohme Gardens, where my son dropped down on one knee in front of the "Moment in Time" waterfall. From that second on, my life has been pure chaos with a sprinkle of joy.

He crossed an ocean, broke prairie sod, dug for water by hand, and built a life on the North Dakota frontier. Meet Albert Buran, the real man behind one of the central characters in The Sunstone Path.

Cape Disappointment earned its name from treacherous waters and hidden sandbars, but for my family it became a place of campfires, history, and memories that found their way into The Unbreakable Anchor.

What exactly is a sunstone, and could Viking sailors really have used one to navigate beneath cloudy skies? The answer lies at the crossroads of history, science, and a story much closer to home.

A quiet reflection on remembrance, sacrifice, and the difference between honoring service and honoring the fallen.

Every family has one. The person who walks into a room and becomes the room. The one whose name alone, when dropped into a sentence, makes everyone lean in a little closer, because whatever comes next is going to be a story.

My grandmother rarely talked about her childhood. What I learned about where my family started in America came from stories overheard at the kitchen table: my dad and uncle trading memories while my grandmother’s musical laughter filled the room and my grandfather’s annoying chewing habits provided the soundtrack. The stories were always the same at their core: The endless drive from Marysville, Washington to Minot, North Dakota. Towering mountains and evergreen forests slowl

Most people have a general picture of military deployment. Phone calls with bad connections. Care packages. Video chats that freeze at the worst moment. They know it's hard. What most people don't know is that there is a corner of the military where none of that exists.

There is a version of RV life that exists on the internet, and then there is the version that actually happens to you.

Before the homesteads became legends. Before the old photographs faded. Before the names carved into fence posts were swallowed by grass and time, there was a Monday in May that looked something like this.

A prenatal diagnosis can feel like a verdict before the first breath is even taken. When doctors start handing you pamphlets focused on grim statistics, they are often sketching out a limited version of your child’s future. But what if they’re wrong?

AI has become one of the most debated topics in creative spaces, and for good reason. But somewhere between the extremes, there’s a quieter reality that doesn’t get talked about as often: how it’s actually being used by writers trying to tell meaningful stories. This isn’t a defense of AI, and it’s not a warning either. It’s simply an honest look at how I use it in my own work, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Regina is woven into all of that. She belongs to this place, even as the place keeps costing her. Regina is not a woman who talks about her feelings easily. She is the person her family turns to. Not because she volunteered, exactly, but because she is simply the one who shows up, and people learn, over time, that she will always show up.

Some places stay with you long after you leave them. Lake Wenatchee is one of those places for me. Nestled in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State, it’s where towering pines meet clear blue water and the world seems to quiet down for a while. Over the years, trips to Lake Wenatchee became more than just camping weekends; they became chapters in our family story.

People often ask writers why they write. Some will tell you it's about creativity. Others say it's about expression, or the simple joy of storytelling. For me, it's deeper than that. For me, it's an escape.