July 4th, 2026

Today, 250 years ago, a group of people did something that took otherworldly courage.

They signed their names to a dream — knowing it could cost them everything.

One of those signatures was my 3x great uncle, John Hancock. You’ve probably seen it. He wrote it so big that King George could read it without his spectacles.

That’s family legend, anyway. What I know for certain is this: I grew up reading his family Bible on my grandma’s coffee table. A table I still have to this day. (Photo attached) 

Legacy has a way of staying close.

Today, our nation’s president will be in North Dakota’s backyard.

The Badlands — where my father grew up, where my grandma taught school, where the land teaches you that beauty and hardship live side by side.

The Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library opens today. Then he heads to Mount Rushmore.

And my family? We’ll be nearby, soaking in the fireworks, the fanfare, the bigness of this moment — surrounded by grandkids and gratitude.

It’s a party. And we intend to enjoy it with all the trimmings. 

But somewhere between the hot dogs and the sparklers, we’ll be talking about courage.

Not the battlefield kind. The kitchen table kind. 

The kind it takes to look at how things have always been done and say: I think there’s a better way.

Here’s a story I don’t tell often enough.

Years ago, I was a young farm mom in Western North Dakota. The mice were relentless. And when I walked down the pest control aisle looking for help, here’s what I found:

98% kill. 98% poison.

That’s not a typo. Ninety-eight percent of the options were designed to poison something to death — in the same homes where our kids crawl on the floors and our pets eat off the ground.

Something in me said: This can’t be the only way.

I had no money. No influence. No social media — this was before all that. I was one mom, in Western North Dakota barely scraping by, with a stubborn streak and a question that wouldn’t leave me alone.

David vs. Goliath doesn’t begin to cover it.

Yet, even as a terrified introvert, I made my voice heard. I invented Fresh Cab — the world’s first bio-based, no-kill rodent repellent to gain a Fed. EPA registration. Built a company called EarthKind. Changed a category.

I say this because I wasn’t special in any way, but because I was tenacious enough to get in the ring- and try. 

That’s the gift of this country: Opportunity to do what you can, with what you have, wherever you are. 

The opportunity to see a problem everyone else accepts and say: What if we did it differently?

The opportunity, as a woman, to live in the full expression of my heart and soul, serving the world with my God-given gifts.

I don’t take that lightly. Especially with the gravity I feel today at our Nations 250th. 

So here’s what I want you to know:

You have that same opportunity.

Maybe you’re not inventing a product. Maybe you’re raising kids, or leading a team, or trying to figure out what’s next. Maybe you’re tired of systems that don’t work and you’re wondering if your voice even matters.

It does.

One mom in Western North Dakota proved that.

And if I can help you cultivate your courage — to choose what gives life, to build something that matters, to make your voice heard in whatever arena you’re standing in — that’s exactly what I intend to do.

That’s what Peace Over Poisons™ is really about.

Choosing the harder, braver, more life-giving path — even when 98% of the world is doing it the other way.

Today, I’m celebrating the legacy I stand on, the legacy we all stand on. 

Fireworks with the family. Grandkids running around. The Badlands in the background and 250 years of imperfect, audacious, courageous history underneath our feet.

We’re celebrating Uncle John, who signed his name so big it became a legend.

We’re celebrating my grandma, who taught school in the Chateau DuMores in Medora and kept his Bible on her coffee table you see pictured with a young me (thanks GPT!) 

We’re celebrating every person who ever looked at the way things were and dared to imagine how they could be.

And lastly, I’m celebrating you — reading this, wherever you are — because you have that same spark inside you.

The question is: What will you do with it?

Happy birthday, America. 🇺🇸

Here’s to the next 250 years of courage.