One of the Good Ones
A Father's Day Letter
On this Father’s Day, I wanted to write a love letter—to the father of my children. To one of the good ones.
Mark and I met when we were eleven. He had a mop of fiery red hair and impossibly blue eyes—and somehow, he saw me. Not the version I pretended to be. Me.
At the same age, he visited Jackson Hole, Wyoming, climbed the tallest butte he could find, and stood there, absorbing the view. Somehow, he knew then this place was part of his future.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that kind of knowing lately. The power of vision—of choosing a life and quietly, steadily building it. The kind of man who does that—not for anyone else’s approval, but because it’s who he is.
A recent conversation about Vertical Harvest stuck with me. The investor said:
“Our society undervalues the power of will. The power of love. We prioritize return on investment, but not the return of a life well lived.”
That line echoed through my head during the five-hour drive to Salt Lake City, on my way to another milestone meeting for our farm in Maine. As the miles passed, I thought about the man I built my life with. The father of my children. The person who’s taught me more about love and will than anyone.
Mark has always understood those are the true measures.
He knew it when he convinced me—me, who swore I’d grow old in New York City—to move to Jackson. In that leap I discovered community. And found my way back to myself.
Food brought us together. His mom wasn’t much of a cook, but Mark—Mark understands nourishment. To slow down, stir, season. To love through a plate of something warm. We have made meals together more times than I could possibly count. His signature Sully’s chicken parm? People quietly hope for a repeat. I’d share the recipe, but only with his blessing.
As you’ve probably gotten the idea, this entrepreneurial ride has been brutal lately. Last week hit hard. Some nights I came home hollow, with no words, and eyes brimming with tears.
He knows.
He doesn’t demand explanations. He cooks. He listens. He shows up.
Our son said he learned generosity from his father. What a gift, to grow up seeing love practiced daily, in small, steady ways. Mark has been that constant, that grounding force. He belongs in the mountains—and in some way, they belong to him. He’s shown us what wild peace can do for the soul.
Yes, he can be stubborn. His moods swing. But his strength—quiet, unwavering—remains. It’s a steady foundation.
I’ve had a lifetime of that love. What a gift.
Together we built a family on will and love. His will brought us here. His will held us firm when I walked through my own dark moments. His will raised two extraordinary humans.
And then there’s the power of love. To stand by me when I take the kinds of risks most people run from. To love our children unconditionally—especially in the hardest moments, when they needed it most. When they knew it was real.
He never wavered. He never looked away. He just kept showing up.
Today, as we talk about what it means to raise good men in this world—men who are grounded, open, and true—I look at our son, and I know he’ll be an incredible father one day. He’s vulnerable. He’s curious. He knows what will can do. And most of all, he knows how to love.
So here’s to the fathers out there—raising the sons we desperately need. Who see possibility, let others shine, are vulnerable enough to be challenged, and strong enough to hold the line. Who are steady and stoic, quiet foundations for all of us.
Thank you.
The future—however uncertain—is brighter because of you.
Grilled Lamb Chops with Spring Pea Pesto
A mountain‑men feast: generous, tender, full of flavor.
Ingredients
8 lamb rib chops
2 Tbsp olive oil
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
For the pesto
2 cups micro pea shoots
⅓ cup pine nuts or walnuts
2 garlic cloves
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan
½ cup olive oil
Juice of ½ lemon
Salt to taste
Instructions
Pesto first: Pulse pea shoots, pine nuts, garlic, cheese. Drizzle in olive oil while pulsing. Add lemon juice, season with salt, set aside.
Prep the lamb: Pat dry, rub with oil, salt, pepper. Rest 30 min at room temp.
Grill: Over medium‑high heat, 3–4 min per side for medium‑rare. Rest 5 min.
Serve: Top with pesto and red veined sorrel micros. Pair with roasted veggies or a crisp green salad.