Four kids, three towns, one family that refuses to lose touch.

We grew up together — through a few different houses and at least as many towns — and somehow ended up building lives eight hundred miles apart as adults: a Black Hills town wrapped in pine and snowmelt, a Virginia suburb humming along I-95, and a high-desert valley where the Colorado River cuts past vineyards and red rock. Different climates, different zip codes, wildly different Tuesday mornings. And yet.

This site is our way of pretending the miles are a little shorter than they are. Somewhere along the way, "we should visit more" became a real commitment — once a year, sometimes closer to two, but always eventually. In between, there are phone calls that start with weather reports and end an hour later on something completely unrelated, group texts with terrible photos, and the same stories retold so many times they've basically become family scripture.

Our parents aren't here to keep the four of us circling back to each other the way parents tend to do — so we've decided to do it on purpose instead. We have been together a few of the last summers, and it was good - the kind of good that comes with a few surprises along the way, including a fresh new start for one branch of the family that we're still thanking God for.

We don't take any of this for granted. Different towns, different seasons of life, and still — somehow — we keep finding our way back to each other. We see God's hand in the timing of our visits, in second chances, in the ordinary faithfulness of a phone call that didn't have to happen but did.

Pick a tab. See where we've landed. We don't know exactly when we'll all be together again — but we never really do, and it always seems to happen anyway.