Behind the Books
Where it all began.
I was one of those classic “horse girls.” We couldn’t afford a horse, but that didn’t stop me. I collected horse figurines, devoured every book and magazine I could find, and dreamed about galloping across open fields. I even had a huge sketch book where I was constantly refining my dream barn. Horses were my whole world.
But over time, that love expanded. I started noticing more of the world around me: birds in the backyard, slugs on the sidewalk, and box turtles crossing the road. My mom nurtured that curiosity. She taught me the names of the birds and plants we saw on walks and never flinched when I brought home something slimy or strange.
Thanks to her, I grew up believing it was normal to wonder about everything. My love for horses was just the beginning. Soon, I was obsessed with whales—especially killer whales—and curious about every animal I came across. That early fascination with nature never faded. It simply grew.
Finding my way in science.
When I started college, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted: to become a marine biologist and study whales. I had been fascinated by orcas for years. But science, as it turns out, is full of surprises. When the professor who ran my university’s marine biology program retired the semester before I started, I knew my plans were going to change.
Thankfully, a couple of incredible professors opened my eyes to new worlds, especially ornithology and herpetology. I also landed internships at a wildlife rehabilitation center and a big cat sanctuary. That’s when I began to see things differently. I realized how intelligent, complex, and diverse so many species are. Suddenly, it wasn’t just about whales anymore. I found myself drawn to birds, especially raptors.
Then, just as I was preparing to pursue a career focused on birds, I was offered a graduate research opportunity studying fruit bats in the Philippines. I said yes. That project, along with a bat research group I helped lead in southeastern Arizona, sparked a deep and lasting love for bats. As part of my research in the Philippines, I co-authored a peer-reviewed scientific paper, one of the proudest milestones of my academic career.
Birds and bats: the two true groups of flying vertebrates. They stole my heart and still inspire my work to this day.
Adventures in the field.
After earning my master’s degree, I stayed at my university to teach biology courses for a few years. But eventually, I felt the pull back into the field—the places where science gets muddy, windswept, and wild.
I took a job managing wildlife at an Air Force base in Florida, working with a specially trained dog to prevent bird and animal collisions with military aircraft. Later, I became a veterinary assistant in Atlanta, gaining hands-on experience caring for domestic animals.
Then came Alaska. I trained as a fisheries observer, working aboard commercial fishing vessels in the Bering Sea and the Gulf of Alaska. My role was to collect biological data and samples for NOAA scientists. The work was hard, cold, and incredibly rewarding. I never knew what sea creatures I might see next. On the best days, I even got up-close views of the whales I’d once dreamed of studying. I’ve been lucky enough to observe nearly a dozen different species of whales and porpoises while out at sea.
Every job brought me closer to animals—from airfields to ocean decks—and taught me to look more closely, listen more carefully, and never stop asking questions.
After years of teaching, traveling, and working in the field, life brought me somewhere quieter—but no less wild.
I met my husband, became a mother, and now live with my family on a boat tucked along a quiet river in Oregon. Every day, we’re surrounded by nature. We watch the seasons change from our windows, listen for the calls of geese and osprey, and search for feathers and fancy rocks along the riverbank.
Three ducks—two males and a female—have claimed our marina as home. They know we’re the family with snacks and they waddle right up to our dock, quacking for treats. My daughter adores them, and their regular visits are just one of the many small joys of river life.
These slower days have given me the space to tell stories—ones rooted in the animals I’ve studied, the places I’ve worked, and the small moments I share with my daughter. My books are filled with real things: the hush of a foggy dock, the glint of a carp beneath still water, the wonder of watching something wild take flight.
Writing and illustrating children’s books lets me keep doing what I’ve always loved—helping others fall in love with the natural world.
