Weeds are signals.
The art of noticing what’s trying to get your attention.
Years ago, I flew to Montana to tell a story.
I was leading the creative team at CAVA then, and we were profiling Timeless Seeds, an organic pulse & heirloom grain brand led by David Oien, who had been planting lentils long before “regenerative” was the buzzword.
At the time, it felt like another assignment. A beautiful one, yes. A thought-provoking one, sure (who knew lentils did this crazy thing called fixing nitrogen?).
It was an amazing chance to visit Montana. Hike Glacier. Create a beautiful story with colleagues. But I didn’t yet realize what it was planting in me.
Now, nearly a decade later, I see it. That trip wasn’t just a story about lentils. It was the beginning of the story I’m living now, about soil, systems, care, and the power of words to rebuild the ground beneath us.
Because weeds… and people… and their stories… work like that.
They pop up where something’s out of balance, where there’s energy, disturbance, possibility. (In fact, this renegade energy was David’s legacy for decades, as I’m rereading in this book, Lentil Underground.)
Weeds aren’t annoyances. They’re signals.
(Er… let’s be honest, maybe they’re both 🤪)
This premise—and this pilgrimage to Montana—was on my mind at NY Climate Week, where everyone (everyone!) was talking about the urgency of storytelling. I listened to farmers, founders, investors, and activists all trying to find the words for the same thing: not merely how to scale care, but how to communicate it.
Sure, sometimes these story-shepherds (signal carriers) have the loudest voices. But often, they’re the quiet, thoughtful, consistent, wild, weird ones.
And in a week full of noise and urgency, a few voices stood out like beacons—signals of what’s possible when conviction meets care.
Sarela Herrada of SIMPLi, who reminded us that food is both nourishment and activism (all while beautifully carrying her third pregnancy!)
Tom McDougall of 4P Foods, whose story of nearly losing his 2-year-old this year, and the resulting urgency he feels around his mission, completely silenced the room
Nicole Scott of the Glynwood Center for Regional Food and Farming, who shared about the vast sum () that the org raised to support their Hudson Valley community amidst USDA grant cancellations this year
Mary Purdy of the Nutrient Density Initiative, who whispered of feminine wisdom and remembering while we were waiting in the bathroom line between panels
And though I didn’t hear her speak firsthand, Jane Goodall hovered over the week for me, too. A quiet signal carrier with an exceptional legacy, who in her final days, invited us all to have courage.
Jane’s life’s work is a reminder that paying attention, with patience and respect, can be a form of radical change.
That’s what I’m holding this season: To slow down enough to notice what’s trying to get my attention. To trace the patterns, the people, the weeds that keep reappearing. And finally, to name them, listen to them, and share them.
Because “weeds”—the sticky, the surprising, the stories that won’t let go—aren’t random.
They’re data. They’re direction. And they’re the roots of what comes next.
In the Weeds
An embodied storytelling prompt: Boundaries of Belonging
We talk a lot about voice in brand and storytelling work. But clarity often comes not from speaking louder, but from creating quiet.
Boundaries are how we hear ourselves. They filter the noise and help us sense the real signals. They create belonging, allowing the right people to recognize themselves in your story, and freeing you from performing for the wrong crowd.
Prompt:
Take a quiet moment. Grab a sticky note or a fresh page. Write down:
→ 1–3 types of people, groups, or mindsets that your story is not meant to serve
Pro tip: Get vulnerable and honest here - try not to default to the “obvious” ones. Instead, who are the folks you’re often tempted by or find yourself proving to, but that deep down, you know aren’t right…
Then pause. What shifts in your body when you see those words on paper? Relief? Tension? Fear? Curiosity?
Reflection:
→ How does naming this boundary change how you feel about sharing your story?
→ What clarity or freedom does it give you to tell your truth more boldly?
→ What might you do differently if you trusted that your story doesn’t have to resonate with everyone?
Optional Ritual:
🌀 Release - Rip up the note and let go of the pull to please or explain.
🌿 Remember - Keep it visible (on the wall by your desk!) as a reminder that your story belongs where it’s most alive.
✨ If you’d like to explore this more deeply, here are a few bonus boundary resources:
(My OOO templates and “No” shortcuts for creative founders and brand builders)
The best storytelling doesn’t come from saying more. It comes from creating space to notice the signals.
Off the Ground
I launched this newsletter with an idea—that the best brands, campaigns, stories are like weeds. They’re deep-rooted and pervasive. Each month, I’ll share one of those brands. Not the beautiful, shiny, one-hit ones. Instead, the ones that keep making big, important decisions every day. The slow and steady ones. The regenerative ones. The sticky ones.
Ojaswe
At Newtopia this summer, I met Ash Glover-Ganapathiraju, founder of Ojaswe. As we talked, she mentioned that she was part of the first cohort of Climate Farm School, an organization I’ve admired since meeting its executive director, Laney Siegner, months ago at the Regenerative Viticulture Intensive from The Vineyards at Dodon.
It was a small thread… but in that moment, I noticed the signal. The way ideas, people, and practices begin to weave together when you’re paying attention.
Ojaswe is a regenerative food company reimagining what it means to eat in a warming world. Their products—savory chickpea pancake mixes inspired by South Asian chilla—are deceptively simple, but the strategy behind them is anything but.
Ojaswe stands out for:
✔️ Regenerating without extraction
From compostable packaging to deep-rooted relationships with climate-friendly farmers, Ojaswe builds with care. Ash pays growers fairly, prioritizes reciprocity, and flips the usual question, “What do I want to sell?” Instead, she asks, “What do farmers already have to offer? How can I create a market to meet them?”
✔️ Rooting culture in community
A trained plant-based chef, Ash draws from her South Asian and Pacific Northwest heritage to create food that’s both nourishing and connective. At its heart is the Sikhi concept of Sarbat da Bhalla—wellness and prosperity for all—reminding us that regeneration isn’t just ecological. It’s cultural, relational, and spiritual.
✔️ Growing with intention
Bootstrapped and building steadily, Ojaswe is exploring food-service and live cooking as authentic ways to reach people, navigating the truly complex web that comes with coordinating scale and soul.
Honorable mention:
Farm in Broome | I also want to spotlight Steven Marion of Farm in Broome, an emerging agrotourism space in the Catskills that invites people to slow down, listen, and rediscover joy, community, and land. His story is a reminder that sometimes the most radical act is doing less, not more. And doing it now, while you still can.
Growing Pains & Growth Spurts
Recent ups & downs from blending my livelihood with my life
This September, I wrapped The Sunshine Circle—a small but mighty group of women founders who gathered to listen, reflect, and hear their stories more clearly as we navigated the shift from summer into fall.
We talked about weeds and evergreen stories and storytelling systems and boundaries. And mostly, we talked about how sometimes the most profound growth happens when you’re simply witnessed.
Holding that space reminded me: this is what storytelling is for. Not just selling, but seeing.
If a group space like this feels warm and compelling, please shoot me a note. I’d love to keep you in mind for future iterations.
And as we head into fall, I’m playing with an upcoming timely series called Scary Stories—a space (on LinkedIn, most likely…) to share the stories that haunt us until we let them out. Because sometimes the loudest noise in our own heads… or in the dark nooks of our businesses and brands… is a story waiting to be told.
And when we release it, it becomes a signal for someone else.
Stay tuned. 🌙
Scattered Seeds
Last but not least, an assortment of recent intrigues
On My Bedside Table: Parable of the Talents - Octavia Butler
In My Ears: Unlocking the Sister Wound: Freeing Our Daughters, Mothers, and Every Woman After Us - The Spiritual Hustler
On My Mind: Something that’s emerging… quietly, gradually… Regeneration is remembering. It’s feminine wisdom. It’s care. These are the throughlines. That’s the thread.
In My Journal: Take space. Take up space.
Ready to grow without losing your roots?
I'm a brand strategist and storyteller helping heart-led women founders shape and share new paradigms with (and for) Mother Earth. If you’re working on something at the intersection of food, climate, and care, here are a few ways to grow forward:
☀️ Reserve a free Sunshine Session to start growing in the right direction, whether it’s finding your voice, re-centering your story, or deciding what to prioritize next
🔗 Connect on LinkedIn, where I share musings on heart-led branding, working motherhood, and regenerative ecosystems
🌱 Join the waitlist for the next iteration of Root & Rise, brand strategy experiences for heart-led women founders building with intention and care
📚 Read my favorite books from folks trying to make the world a little more livable, equitable, and beautiful for all of us
🧭 Explore my website, where you’ll find capabilities and capacity (WIP TBH)
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