Behind the Brand

Surfari Collection: Born from Blisters, Beauty, and a Boat Named Regret (kidding… kind of).

I was born in a hippie commune in Marblemount, Washington — yep, one of those places. No electricity, no Netflix, just a bunch of free-spirited humans living off the land, vibing together, and probably smelling very… natural. My mom eventually decided maybe raising kids without, you know, basic infrastructure wasn’t the dream, so she packed us up and moved us to the magical coastal town of Santa Cruz, California.

There she met my dad, and I grew up in a VERY large family. Like… the kind of large where family gatherings look like small festivals.

Our family vacations were not “hotel with a pool” situations. Oh no. We did two full weeks of camping deep in the Desolation Wilderness every summer. No showers. No toilets. Just a mountain lake so cold it slapped the attitude right out of you. We spent our days swimming, riding bikes around the lake, scaling massive granite boulders, and going on overnight hikes we loved to hate.

And every night, we’d flop down onto cold, unforgiving granite — that somehow made the best bed in the world — stare up at the sky, and watch shooting stars burn through the dark.

This was also where my dad introduced us to the strangest trail snack known to humankind: kipper snacks and crackers. I was convinced it would be disgusting… and then I became obsessed. (If you know, you know.)

Fast-forward to adulthood: I had my own family, and naturally, I wanted to continue the tradition of “peaceful nature with just a sprinkle of suffering.” While camping in Yosemite, we decided — because we were delusional — to hike Half Dome.

I thought, How hard could it be?
So there we were…
Jeans. T-shirt. One bottle of water.
Basically the wardrobe of someone who does not survive a nature documentary.

Half Dome laughed at us.
It was blazing hot. Then it snowed. Then rained. Then fogged. Then sunny again.
Every season in one hike.

My daughter, about 12 or 13, and I struggled up every switchback like we were being personally attacked. Meanwhile, my 10-year-old son was sprinting ahead of us, then back down, then up again — like an unleashed golden retriever with zero regard for gravity.

But we did it. We reached the top. And it was spectacular.
My son even tried climbing the cables — which were down because it was October — and nearly sent me straight to the afterlife. I made him come back down immediately, dramatically, aggressively mom-style.

We kept hiking. Big Sur, local trails, cold nights in too-thin sleeping bags — all the things that bind a family together through shared “fun-but-also-this-kinda-sucks” outdoor memories.

That’s the thing about hiking:
It’s the best worst experience you’ll ever have.
It breaks you, then heals you, then makes you want to do it again for reasons no one can medically explain.

My store might feel like a mix of coastal and campy vibes — because that’s exactly who I am. A Santa Cruz beach girl raised by mountains, lakes, and the kind of hikes that leave you questioning your life choices.

And now? I’m back to raising little ones again — twins, with a 20+ year age gap from my older kids. Yes, I know. Yes… I’m tired. No, we don’t talk about it.

I started this store to share my love for nature, the outdoors, adventure, sarcasm, nostalgia — and honestly, to help my family afford life in this beautiful, expensive town we refuse to leave.

If my designs make you smile, laugh, reminisce, or want to lace up your boots (or stay firmly on the couch — no judgment), then my job here is done.

Thanks for being here.
Thanks for supporting my little corner of the world.
And thanks for letting me turn my wild, weird, wonderful life into wearable art. 🌲🌊✨

Welcome to Surfari. We’re here for the love, the hate, and all the muddy memories in between.