Roadhouse Ranch

My Story:

Hallween, year 2020. During the five years since my move from Chicago I continued to make a living from home by learning dozens of new skills and adapting to a market very different from what I was accustomed to. When you have kids, no family, no childcare, and no money you have to think outside of the box to put food on the table. The demand for cloth diapers dwindled and we had to start over again.

My charity organization was formed out of necessity in 2013 when my first child was only 4 weeks old. I was in an abusive marriage and my husband refused to work. I took what little (very little) money I had and bought a sewing machine to make cloth diapers and clothes for my daughter. I couldn’t afford disposable diapers or wipes. I was seeking food pantries and clothing donations. We were struggling then too. So I took a big risk...

With baby on breast, I taught myself to sew and became pretty good at it. In fact, other parents began to commission me to make diapers and clothes for their children as well. Not spending money on “sposies” was saving me around $150 a month. Hundreds of people became aware of the benefit as well. Within two months, the working poor mothers and fathers of Chicago were adopting a sustainability culture. After one year I calculated the difference in my budget since switching to washable diapers and wipes. I had saved an extra $2500 that year!

I joined several cloth diapering groups online and created an online co-op for reusable childcare products so parents everywhere could reap the financial and health benefits of washable diapers, “unpaper” towels, and cloth wipes. The need for sustainability and growing interest in reusable green products in the downtown Chicago area where I lived at the time was undeniable. The market and demand for my products grew rapidly. Within two years my all-natural, organic, and Fair Trade certified diapers were a trademarked brand “Beware Of Baby” patented diaper pattern. The company was called “The Aberdeen Exchange”, named after my baby and the fair exchange of goods and knowledge.

I divorced shortly thereafter and moved back to St. Louis. My company disintegrated and I lost all tangible belongings and inventory I earned up to that point. As my child grew older, her doctor and I discovered she had a learning disability. She needed more and more attention every year. Although I was happy and safe on my own, finally free from my abuser, the duties of motherhood prevailed.

My second child came along August 2017 during the solar eclipse. I could no longer operate my business as my family outgrew our two bedroom apartment quickly.

In April 2019, I moved my small family into a 130-year-old farmhouse in Worden, IL. We couldn’t pay rent after the first month. I lost my position as a columnist at Real Producers Magazine and relieved of my licensed caregiver role with two companies due to the demand of parenthood, lack of resources, and responsibility of caring for animals, building shelters, and fixing up a house that should have been condemned made me penniless.

Someone who vacationed at the farm, also operating as a BNB, jailbroke my phone, hijacked my security system, and stole important legal documents from my office. No help arrived after reporting the landlord and other criminals for four months. Then, we were locked out after our ceiling caved in from water leaking from an air conditioning unit that had been pushed in during a robbery and never repaired. Whatever wasn’t locked inside was put out in the rain, in a barn, picked through by drifters.

The businesses I built. My life, my memories. Disappeared. I felt like the last solder standing on the battlefield in a cloud of red that used to be my comrades and family. I am compelled to aid the marginalized, be the voice for all people, and prevent anyone from suffering loss or abuse like my family endured.

I am building everything by myself. A bad spaghetti western; blood, sweat, tears, and bare hands. Painstakingly. Driven by an insatiable need to create something for everyone by a force I can’t explain.

Design, pattern, and stitch every piece of clothing. Each neck gaiter has to be seamless, masks are always CDC compliant. Thrift store jackets & loud dresses reimagined and brought to back to life. Musty railroad ties and splintered wood, discarded PVC & brass pipe fittings. A few barrels full of contractors’ slat wall leftovers and carpet remnants.

I’m here, standing at ground zero. I have a 100-year-old hammer, a bucket of square-head tacks I salvaged from my late grandfather’s welding shop, more than three decades shuttered. Standing among odds and ends, bits and pieces of nothing. Like a bronze-aged puzzle. I remind myself each time I swing that hammer, everything comes together if you put forth the effort. Even with rusty nails and scavenged discards from a railway graveyard, I can build my future and bring my vision to life in a bigger way than I could have ever imagined.  The cabinets, displays, shelving, sewing station and countertops, staggered boxes and coffee tables made of wooden crates, clothing racks and cleverly disguised discarded furniture and factory parts turned into merchandising displays accentuated by the rickety ladders and warehouse spotlights. My first storefront isn’t how I imagined it would be at all. This place is bigger than me or any one of us.

It embodies the Roadhouse Ranch mission. Adapt, believe, and persevere.

I’m codi. I run a nonprofit corporation that gives the community tools and resources for sustainability, creates a climate for inclusivity, social equality, and growth in the community. We aim to bridge the socioeconomic gap by bringing communities together for the greater good.