ISSUE NO. 19 | Nov. 8, 2026
A Little Wildness. A Lot of Creative Freedom.
On nonconformity, the landscapes of our lives, and the beauty of doing things differently.
There was this lovely chat today, sitting in our favorite bakery (formerly my parents' antique shop), the White Rabbit Bakery in Aurora, Oregon. Please go. You'll love it.
I was flanked by two of my favorite cousins, both with beautiful, shining silver hair. Of the clan, and specifically the first cousins, I'm #45 of 48. Pamela, #21, to my left, and Alisa, #16, to my right.
There was striking silver hair and stories. (I'm officially no longer dying my hair because of this hair legacy, thank you.)
We talked about the landscapes of our lives when we were younger, when our parents were actively parenting (oh my), and our current experiences in the garden of our lives.
Pamela is awaiting her next grandchild any minute now. Alisa is grieving the loss of Murph (our family priest) and recovering from organizing funeral Mass and celebration-of-life gigs via public committee (IYKYK).
And woven throughout our catching up were flowers, gardens, and plants.
We walked the town of Aurora, where I've been fortunate enough to design some of the public spaces. We zoomed in on plants, textures, and flowers, then zoomed out to life, seasons, and what it means to be designing our human experience.
Designing the landscapes of our human lives.
It's a subject I've been thinking about for nearly 30 years.
My life and design style haven't always been an easy peg.
Friends teased me in my twenties that they would never enter my new addresses in pen in their address books (because, yes, I'm of the paper address book generation).
I've had my own struggles, even 29 years into this path, with my lack of conformity or sameness on the expected life path. Whether within the generational family system, my career, mothering at 49, or the design industry.
I grew up in a time of domestication to be a "good girl." A don't-rock-the-boat type. Don't ruffle feathers. Follow the leader. With a generous helping of Catholic guilt and some rather stiff patriarchal leanings.
This is definitely one of those IYKYK signals.
And yet, somewhere along the way, I began to understand something. This is the rise of Red Bird.
My lack of conformity wasn't something to correct. It was something to cultivate.
There's a reason Red Bird is, well, Red Bird.
As Don Mamone writes, "In conformity, we're choosing safety. In choosing authenticity, we're choosing freedom."
I think there's something rather extraordinary about allowing ourselves (and our gardens and floral creations) to be a little less domesticated, and something more wild. (See shining silver hair reference above.)
Not for the sake of being different. Not to be contrary or make a statement.
But to become more fully ourselves, welcoming all the parts of ourselves back.
Because I believe this is one of the great, often overlooked secrets to authentic creativity, aka "designing": giving ourselves permission to stop trying to fit in and out.
When we loosen our grip on what we're supposed to do, how things are supposed to look, and what everyone else seems to be doing, we open a different channel of expression. A sacred one.
Ideas arrive. Possibilities emerge. We begin to see things that weren't visible when we were busy following the rules. (Yes, this is where I wildly wave my arms, making gestures of what's possible.)
This is true in life. And it's certainly true in design.
If we've ever had the chance to dance the design gig together, whether as designer and client or as colleagues, I'm so very grateful for the opportunity to choose creative freedom and sign our collaborations together in the name of authenticity.
To generate ideas that come, in part, from the soul. Ideas that emerge because of how we talk about the landscapes of our human being-ness, what matters to us, and how we want to experience our lives with nature as our muse, godmother, and medium.
As I perch on my 30th year of Red Bird, I'm distinctly, disruptively aware of just how powerful making space authentically can be.
Through a garden design.
A public park renovation.
A healing garden master plan.
An arrangement of locally grown flowers.
The entire concept of Red Bird, and my mission, rests on discovering, creating, teasing out, and talking through our active participation in making sanctuary.
Not simply making something beautiful.
Making something meaningful.
A space that reflects who we are, what we value, and how we want to live.
A tip of the hat to my therapist for last week's share: "Love is spacious."
How nonconforming is that?
And in design terms, what would it be like for you to spend time in spaces that were created out of love?
Love is space-I-us.
I rather love that.
As you consider the next pencil stroke in your human-life-ing design, I invite you to think about those who have rallied around you in your discovery of distinct creative expression.
Think of the people who made room for your ideas, your experiments, your unusual combinations, your particular way of seeing.
Think of the spaces filled with love because you - all the parts of you - showed up and expressed your nature.
Not one defined or depicted by AI or the magazines (yes, I still look at them. You too?).
Not dictated by some neighborhood HOA, a how-to video, or the latest design trend.
But the spaces where your love for YOU, and your distinct style, became known.
Where you felt permission to be the author of your own surroundings.
So how do we begin?
How do we move from what we think we should like to what genuinely speaks to us?
I've got a few tricks tucked into my well-worn sleeves.
Start by noticing.
What draws your eye when nobody is telling you what to look at? What colors, textures, flowers, forms, and combinations make you pause? What do you love that perhaps doesn't fit neatly into a design category?
Look at your own story. The places you've loved. The gardens you remember. The flowers that mean something to you. The experiences you want more of in your everyday life.
Notice the difference between what you genuinely love and what you've learned to admire because someone else says it's beautiful.
And experiment with the spirit of wonder.
Give yourself a little pocket of creative freedom. A planting combination that surprises you. An arrangement that isn't quite symmetrical. A color you wouldn't normally choose. A corner of your garden that gets to be a little wild.
You don't have to redesign your entire life to begin expressing it differently.
You just have to make a little room - a little space.
This is part of the work we do together through Sanctuary Design: discovering what matters to you, understanding the relationship between nature, place, beauty, and human experience, and translating that into spaces that feel unmistakably yours.
Not a copy. Not a formula. Not another version of what everyone else is doing.
A little distinct disruption, perhaps.
And a whole lot of creative freedom - channeled and transcribed. Sacred.
If you're curious about what this might look like in your own garden, outdoor sanctuary, or even your relationship with flowers, I'd love to talk.
Perhaps it's time to explore Sanctuary Design Coaching, join a creative workshop, or invite a little more wildness into your life through a seasonal delivery of Red Bird Florals.
Let's begin with a conversation.
→ Book a Sanctuary Discovery Call
Because the most extraordinary spaces don't begin with a trend or a planting plan.
They begin with the freedom to imagine what is possible when you allow yourself to be fully, beautifully, lovingly, wildly you.
Hello Red Bird, thanks for being here.
Annie Red Bird
Founder, Red Bird & Co. & The Red Bird Way
P. S. Sanctuary needs both rhythm and wildness: structure so the nervous system can settle, wildness so the soul can breathe.
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