I’m most inspired by women I see out there being brave in the outdoors, and sometimes I have imposter syndrome about it. Truth is that I haven’t been climbing all that much in the past few years - due to injury, and work, and loss, and life… it just didn’t synch up for me. And I can be kind of hard on myself, but for 2023 I plan to get back out there, and continue to aspire to be like the women I look up to. Especially after this last little injury scare (thank you all for your kind messages)! But I got the green light from a PT to start climbing again! And I’m fucking ready.
Lets go girls 🤠👯♀️
✨NEW!!!✨ The Portal Collection ⚪️ hand beaded vintage chore coats!
I’m so excited about this project and it is an absolute labor of love! This jacket took me 70 hours to hand stitch thousands of glass beads onto leather than I then sewed onto this vintage dead stock painters coat from Germany! Finished with a small beaded detail on the front of the coat. Made with 100% Cotten herringbone twill 🤍 She’s such a dream I don’t know if I’ll be able to give her up!
I bought 5 more chore coats in different colors from France and Germany that I’ll be working on for the drop! Stay tuned for details about when these will be available for purchase! 💕💕
Thank you for all the birthday love!!! Spent it with my favorite boys in one of my favorite places 🌊❤️
This week has been batshit crazy with sales and birthdays and holidays but it’s been a sweet sweet ride 🎢❤️
As a thanks I’m running a good ol flash sale for today only!! ☀️🤗
Use code THANKFUL30 for 30% off all past collections!
And if you’re lookin to get your hands on some newer work use code BF2022 for 20% all the new new running through the weekend!
Thankful for this life and all of you ❤️
See you at May Day this weekend with our little booth helper ✨
It’s been such a sweet spring around here lately. Hoping to finish up some opal pieces to bring that I picked up in Tucson this year 🤞
Not back to work yet, but absolutely down for a field trip.
And so excited for this lineup and to see some friends play 🌞
6 months
The other day I was thinking about how quietly content I feel.
How my whole life has turned, almost imperceptibly,
the way green leaves turn toward light.
How everything now leans toward you.
Toward your naps and your milk and your soft dawn sounds.
Toward the weight of you in my arms,
the way your head finds that familiar hollow beneath my collarbone,
like a small animal returning to its den.
It feels devotional.
In the smallest ways.
My little bear.
My little bird.
Joor.
No one can prepare you for this.
No one can explain what it feels like
to love someone whose breath you count in the dark,
like waves folding themselves onto a shore.
Or how hard it is
to remain present,
to meet yourself again and again
in the clear, unblinking mirror of your child.
To feel your nervous system tethered to theirs,
like roots beneath the surface.
To understand, in your bones,
that your body is still their safest place.
I have never known
this weight of responsibility.
It rises sometimes to my throat,
not fear exactly,
but humility.
Who am I
to be trusted with a soul?
Before you, I thought devotion was grand gestures.
Storms.
Declarations shouted across distances.
Now I know it is this.
Rocking.
Whispering.
Watching.
Being here.
There are things I am not doing right now.
Places I am not going.
Ambitions resting like folded maps in a drawer.
Versions of myself paused mid sentence.
I do not know if She will ever come back.
And yet I would not trade this season for anything.
To orient my life around you.
To know that right now my work is steadiness.
Warmth.
Witness.
To be the ground beneath your small, determined becoming.
You have rearranged my priorities.
You have made my world smaller
and infinite.
My little bear.
My little bird.
I can feel this moment happening,
like light through trees at the end of day,
brief, golden, impossible to hold.
I have waited for this.
I will remember this.
So I am paying attention,
as best I can.
🤍
Four years ago today, on Christmas Day, my dear Opa passed unexpectedly while I was here in Hawai‘i. His name was Joor Bol.
Last year, on Opa’s birthday, we found out we were pregnant. We didn’t yet know who this baby would be, only that if they arrived safely, we already knew their name.
So it felt right to bring baby Joor back here for his first Christmas. To remember. To feel Opa’s spirit in this place, in the air, in the way time folds in on itself, and to feel the joy he carried still with us.
We are hunkered down today, our little one sick with noro. The scariest thing I’ve ever known is watching my baby be unwell. And still, there is so much tenderness here. Grief, love, and joy braided together. What was lost, what arrived, what remains.
Holding him beneath these trees, I feel the continuity. A name carried forward. A presence still felt.
Today I feel deep gratitude for this little one making it through the portal, and for the feeling that Opa is still with me, in the hard moments and in the good. I hope you’re having a sweet holiday with your loved ones, and if not, know that I am thinking of you too. Today can hold complexity and contradiction. I see you.
Merry Christmas from my heart to yours. ❤️🎄
Last call today at noon 🤍
These rings are small maps of places that hold us
carved contours of coastlines, valleys, and underwater depths
moments of land and sea translated into metal
I took these photos just hours before I went into labor
a threshold moment
capturing maps while standing on the edge of becoming
They’re ready to ship and available just for this brief window
a pause in maternity leave
a little offering before I step back again
After noon today, the maps close
and I won’t be back until spring 🌱
Find them on the site 💘
Three months of light. ✨
These weeks have felt both endless and brand new,
golden mornings, fog walks, small dances between naps.
I wrote something raw about this season, about the quiet labor of becoming, on Substack today.
Link in bio to read. 🌿
Here’s a quick recap of life lately, maybe I will get back to slangin jewels soon, but for now:
1. Sweetest sunrise with our glacier eyed boy🌅
2. Morning walks and sneak peek of our halloween lewk
3. Building family rituals (aka my husband is an incredible dancer) 🕺
4. Mom’s biggest fans 🏄♀️
5. The many faces of Joor ❤️
6. Please come through our garden 🍆
7. Light chaser 🪩
8. First tide kiss 🌊
9. + 10. I cant believe this was only 3 months ago (photo by @abbyclayden.jpg ) 🥹
I imagined your first sound a river breaking loose from ice. But only silence came cool grey, limp. I didn’t know to be afraid until I saw it in their eyes. Hands rushed in. I touched you once before they carried you away, my body still an open canyon.
The space between us widened an ocean in the dark, your small shape a dim lantern bobbing on black water.
A nurse lifted your arm, let it fall soft as a dead leaf. In that moment, I knew the shape of life without you a void without bottom. Somewhere, a voice: He has a heartbeat. Somewhere else: you gasped fragile, stubborn, pulling against the dark.
Your father held your hand while they worked thinking if you didn’t make it you would still know we were there.
Hours later, I found you in a nest of wires and narrow tubes a bird stunned in the grass. Eyes blue, darting, searching. A nurse said you could smell me and you calmed. You latched drinking as if the river had never almost taken you.
Weeks later, hospital glue still clings to my skin small proofs it really happened. I left my garden in one body and returned with two.
Now you are here warm on my chest your hair pale as hay. Blooming from that valley. We are still one tide. You and I will always know how narrow the crossing is. Your tenderness now tethered to this side. Cracked open so wide language cannot hold it. May time move like honey. May you grow into the world gently lifting from my palm to fly over the mountains not the violent tearing of before. This time, it will be soft. This time, we will rise together.
_____________________
For my new sun Joor Henry Bjorn Stubblefield ❤️ I’ve been holding this in my chest for weeks. These were the first hours of your life, the longest hours of mine.
Joor entered this world not moving or breathing and had to be resuscitated. We learned he had caught an infection in labor that left him too weak to breathe. We are so grateful for our incredible medical team that saved his life and cared for us in the days after. And we are so grateful he decided to stay with us. ❤️❤️
Joor Henry Bjorn Stubblefield
• born July 19, 2025
I left my garden in one body,
and returned with two.
There is more to say
a story of thunder . stillness .
and the first breath that cracked the night sky open.
We danced with death
and crossed through something deep and holy.
For now — we are here.
Alive . raw . changed .
In love.
📷 @abbyclayden.jpg
You are so loved already.
Come when you’re ready.
The world is waiting for you like a held breath.
The sweetest photos pt. 1 of this boy by @abbyclayden.jpg 💛
