About Me

 

My life has been a series of bad choices, made with the best intentions, amid unforgiving circumstances. I married young, hoping to create the stability I never had growing up. That led me into a religious cult that prioritized having as many children as possible, regardless of poverty or health concerns. I had eight pregnancies and five live births, despite severe complications that left lasting damage. Now, I live with debilitating osteoarthritis, requiring a cane, walker, or wheelchair depending on the day. After years in an unsupportive marriage, I divorced in 2022.

 

Me and my Bobby Mcgee

 

My current partner and I met before I was ever married. We were very close platonic friends for years before I ended contact with him due to my cult influence. We reconnected around the time I left the cult, and a series of bizarre events eventually ended in us moving in together in 2021. My husband and I had agreed to practice ethical non-monogamy, and though the intended polycule didn’t turn out as expected, it is still a philosophy I hold. Bobby McGee and I are deeply in love and joyously compatible, but I will never again make the mistake of hinging everything on a romantic relationship.

 

After my divorce, we tried to build a sustainable life together, but between the pandemic, job loss, and rising costs, my worsening disabilities and some health problems he experienced as well, we struggled. Ultimately, I had to send my kids to live with their father in another state, where he had family support and stable housing. Losing daily life with them has been the hardest thing I’ve ever faced.

 

In 2023, Bobby McGee and I moved to Florida, hoping for a lower cost of living and better job prospects. Instead, we faced extreme hardship, losing nearly everything—our belongings, our vehicle, and access to healthcare. In October 2024, a close friend offered us a way out: a place to camp on their land in Virginia in exchange for helping build a sustainable, community-focused homestead. Now, we’re here, and life is finally improving. Bobby McGee is clearing land and taking odd jobs. I’m conducting an ecological survey and working to restore biodiversity. I have Medicaid and SNAP, and my disability case is in appeals. But we still struggle and barely scrape by.

 

Bobby McGee is the most kind and ethical man I've ever met. He treats me with great care and patience amid all my limitations and constant whining. He is strong, capable, and does more for us than should reasonably be expected of anyone. Not to mention, he's funny, smart, and deliciously passionate.

 

The Pups

 

Us wandering and broken souls seem to find each other. Our 2 rescue dogs are along for the adventure. We got Cleatus before the move to Florida, before it was clear we would end up unhoused. Adopted him from a shelter where he had been surrendered twice and was on the list to move to the kill shelter if he had another failed adoption. He's a Great Dane mix—big, energetic, and a lot of dog to handle. In hindsight, probably not the best pick for my limitations, but his shelter manners fooled us, and we couldn't take him back to death row. He gets into his share of trouble from time to time, but overall, he's a great dog. Not a mean bone in his body, but he has protected me in some sketchy situations with his intimidating presence.

 

Rowdy came to us at the end of 2023. A friend of ours, a lifelong traveler/vagabond, had picked him up as a stray on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. He intended to keep him as a traveling companion but struggled to care for him with his lifestyle. I volunteered to dog-sit, which was a great arrangement for me too because Rowdy kept Cleatus occupied, and they both got lots of exercise.

 

Unfortunately, I had to end contact with this friend due to abusive behavior caused, I believe, by addiction relapse and mental illness. I gave him a 3-week deadline to come pick up the dog, which he failed to meet, so I took responsibility and arranged for his shots and sterilization. Rowdy is a very sweet soul with a zest for life, but he struggles, as many former strays do, with a lot of fear and angst. He's very attached to his people and his dog bro but nervous around new people. He's made great progress, though, and I think one day he'll accept his lot as a pampered pet and let the trauma heal.

 

The wild formative years

 

As a child, I was obsessed with wilderness survival—probably looking for an escape from a volatile home life. I devoured books by authors like Gary Paulsen, studied military survival guides, and memorized wild edible field guides. Long road trips would turn into scouting missions, my eyes scanning the landscape for hidden caves or crevices that might shelter me if I ever had to disappear into the wild. I spent many an unsupervised day in the greenbelt around wherever we were living, practicing shelter building, fire starting, and flint napping.

In seventh grade, I discovered a bizarre passion for taxonomy. While my classmates groaned through classification charts, I was captivated. Ms. Lesmister, our life science teacher's presentation was dry, droning on as we copied outlines from her overhead projector. But something about the Latin names, the simplification of the intricate order of life, sang to me. I spent my free time studying species, binging nature documentaries, and rattling off trivia in class, while Steve Irwin became my hero. For the first time, I saw science as an art form—a way to tell the story of the living world.

 

When I settled into domestic life, my passion for nature became a hobby, yet still one I felt was important. I’ve always had a prepper mindset, understanding that knowledge of the land could mean survival. So when food insecurity hit my young family, I threw myself into mastering one thing: wild edible plants.

 

I read every book I could get my hands on, connected with experts, and spent hours outside, learning from nature. Once I could confidently identify a dozen or so plants to safely feed my family, I started teaching small foraging classes. I figured I wasn’t an expert, but I could lead a half-hour walk sharing what I did know. That was something.

 

It took off. I found an incredible community of like-minded people, and as my popularity grew, so did my knowledge. I have a remarkable ability to absorb and apply information quickly when my brain is properly engaged—but it doesn’t happen on command, and I haven’t quite figured out how to make it work on cue. Blessings and curses come from this complex machinery in our skulls.

 

In the early 2010s, I had my 15 minutes of fame in Richmond, Virginia. It was a whirlwind era of growth, learning, and connection that shaped me in ways I’ll carry forever.

 

The Weight of Everything

 

That was also the time of my stair-step pregnancies. My body was in a constant state of often simultaneous pregnancy, breastfeeding, and childcare, all while managing a household and enduring the cult’s relentless demands. Still, I had to be outside. I needed nature therapy.

 

So I taught my kids as I learned, led foraging walks, and educated anyone willing to listen. It soothed the pressure to be a selfless mother. I struggled to justify doing something just for me, at least I was doing this for others, too. Even when I stole away for solo hikes, I felt better returning with food or medicine I had found growing wild.

 

But as my health deteriorated and the weight of everything mounted, I started losing my ability to meet obligations. Since my days running River City Wild Foods, I’ve only taught sporadically, in informal settings. Still, my own education and practice has never stopped. I observe, identify, and study constantly—no longer just for edible plants, but for every biological detail in my surroundings. I may no longer be able to hike miles through rugged terrain to chase the season’s choice mushrooms, but I am the kind of person who will stare at every highway median, delighting in the weeds pushing through the concrete. And there's a similar joy there too, even if to a lesser degree. 

 

Going from a gym rat, seasoned outdoorswoman, and "supermom" to being disabled, homeless, and separated from my kids has been one of the hardest blows of my life. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s how to find joy in any circumstance.

 

Living as we do now—with my physical limitations, with all the hardships—is undeniably difficult. But being here, surrounded by life, doing what I love, is what keeps me going. Observing, cataloging, and—when ethical—interacting with nature is my job? Fuck yeah, I'll take that deal!

 

I’ll be okay. And if sharing this journey brings you some kind of joy, too, then that makes me even better.

 

Wildvagabond’s Mission Statement

 

You can call me Wild. I am deeply passionate about nature, sustainable living, and understanding how we interact with our fellow humans—and why. For over 15 years, I have obsessively studied, practiced, and taught foraging, ecological observation, and primitive survival skills. I’ve learned directly from nature itself, as well as from the recorded passion of those who love it as I do.

Now, amid the greatest hardships I’ve ever faced, I am both blessed and challenged to put those skills into practice.

I have been given an opportunity for reciprocal stewardship over a beautiful piece of Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. My goal is not only to survive and thrive personally but to observe, encourage, and nurture the biodiversity and health of the land and all the incredible beings that call it home. I want to explore and share sustainable and alternative living strategies within a broken and oppressive system.

I am homeless, disabled, and struggling day to day. I survive on the kindness of those who still see my value. I have tried every available avenue for support, yet I am continuously let down by institutions that were never truly designed to help people like me. Systems that grow more useless, and even harmful, with the passing years. So, I am turning to something far more intuitive and sustainable: community, agorism, and direct exchange.

 

What I Have to Offer

 

Content that Inspires and Informs

• Videos, essays, photos, and updates from the wilderness and beyond—infused with my own personal brand of humor and philosophy.

Personalized Knowledge Sharing

• Plant identification, foraging guidance, and sustainable living advice.

• In-person scouting and instruction for those nearby.

• Recipes and culinary inspiration—from camp cooking and struggle meals to wild-crafted masterpieces and the pure joy of eating.

Handmade & Wildcrafted Items

Created with care and offered based on material abundance and my personal capacity. Some examples include:

• Foraged Foods: Dried herbs, fruits, nuts, mushrooms; jams, jellies, preserves, butters, and pickles.

• Handmade Functional Items: Crafted from foraged, salvaged, or easily acquired materials—blending functionality with art. (Dishcloths, rugs, baskets, and totes made from plarn, cotton yarn, or wild-harvested vines and grasses. As I create items to meet my own needs, I will share examples of what is possible.)

More personal (wink) Personalized Content & Interaction

• Adult content available case by case and by direct sale only. This may include pictures, videos, or live chat.

 

What Your Support Funds

 

Essentials & Quality of Life

• Food, fuel, tools, and supplies to build and sustain my infrastructure and development.

Resources & Technology to Improve Documentation & Sharing

• Better and more versatile recording equipment, supporting technology, live feeds, and ways to bring you closer to the wild with me.

Education & Skill Building

• My continuous education in areas relevant to this work—primarily tech and A/V skills, which I do not naturally possess and am learning as I go.

 

Reciprocity, Charity, and Mutual Aid

 

I have never charged for my educational services, and I’m not putting them behind a paywall now. Whether or not you can or want to donate, I am always here to geek out about nature, lend a hand where I’m able, and share common interests.

Charity is a beautiful thing—one that has blessed me over and over, both as a giver and receiver. But this isn’t charity; it’s reciprocity.

If my efforts and passions speak to you—if my skills can serve you—let’s support and uplift each other in ways that make sense.

You can contribute directly through CashApp, or purchase something from my Amazon Wishlist.

 In return, I will share what I have to offer—whether that’s knowledge, handcrafted goods, a personalized experience, or just a glimpse of the wild beauty from the world I love. Also, expect stupid cute puppy photobombs.

Let’s build something outside the system.

Something real.

Something ours.

 

Contact me at wildvagabond973@proton.me