The Land Spoke. I Listened.

I was dead set on building a modern cabin village in nature. There was just one problem — I had no land.

So each day for months, I scoured Zillow. Nothing. I scrolled every nook and cranny of neighbors’ properties on google earth, and tried my hardest to buy what wasn’t for sale. Nothing.

But early on the morning of March 5th, 2021, still lying in bed, I opened my phone and saw a brand-new listing.

Just seven minutes from home.

I’d driven past this place dozens of times — and never thought a single thing of it. Just a thick wall of trees from the road.

But the listing had a drone shot, and there, hidden in the trees, was a small pond.

An hour later, I was shaking hands with the listing agent.

We pulled on mud boots and ventured into the thicket.

A photo from Day 1…

There was an old rotting barn crumbling into bushes. Gentle, rolling terrain, and then — the pond. Muddy, lifeless, and scattered with dead trees. But something about it caught me.

I could see it.

Glass-fronted, sharp-pitch cabins nestled in the trees, reflecting off the water, soft lights glowing.

The pond — as it was

I had chills.

I tried my hardest to play it cool. I didn’t want the realtor to know what was going on inside my heart — or head.

The land was speaking to me, loud and clear.

This was it. My search was over. I was under contract by that afternoon.

Over the next few days, I wandered every square foot of the five acres slowly. No distractions — just an open mind, listening.

The vision flowed.

Seven cabins, generously spaced, each one tucked into its own space shaped by the terrain, the views, and with plenty of privacy. Four at water’s edge, three up along the creek. Every spot had its own feeling.

Three priceless, towering Live Oak trees, each centuries old, anchored the property.

The name was obvious: Live Oak Lake.

The dream — realized

The land spoke, and we listened.

It may sound crazy, but it works, and it’s how some of the most beautiful projects take shape and come to life. The ones that are full of life, that have a soul.

Here are a few prompts if you want help materializing this:

1. Walk A LOT. Before plans, permits, budgets. Morning, midday, evening. After rain. In silence—no phone.
2. Watch light and shadow. The soul of a place is reveled in its changing light. Track sunrise/sunset over days. Where does golden hour linger or reflect off water or stone?
3. Follow the water. Study drainage, seasonal creeks. Use it as a design feature, not a problem to be solved (bonus: water attracts wildlife and invites reflection — literal and emotional).
4. Design around the oldest things. Identify and preserve the unique elements that give the land its character: old trees, stone outcrops, heirloom plants.
5. Respect the topography. Work and flow with contours rather than against them.
6. Sit and listen. You don’t fully know land until you stop moving. Sit and listen. Take notes. Ask: What does this place want to be? What story can I uncover — not impose?
7. Frame the views. See the most compelling long and short-range views. What could be. Use pathways, windows, structures to frame them — like art.
8. Feel the spirit of the place. Don’t impose. Steward the land. Let it be the star of the show — not you.

Let’s redefine the meaning of the old real estate adage “highest and best use” to mean beauty, timelessness—not just financial return. It will follow. Trust me.

Hope this helps, and as always, please consider forwarding to a friend who might also enjoy it.

Have a great week!