I didn’t set out to create a blog.
I set out to find a way to live again.
Northern Gypsy Living is a quiet place on the internet.
A record of life after loss, of rebuilding, of learning how to exist in a world that no longer feels the same.
It is not a space of answers.
It is a space of process.
I live in a historic 1891 building in a small Michigan town.
My late husband and I bought this building in 2018, after spending fifteen years in New Mexico. It was meant to be something we built together; a place for work, for life, for everything we were creating side by side.
Now, it holds a different kind of story.
In April of 2026, I lost my husband.
My husband struggled in ways I couldn’t always share, and losing him reshaped everything about how I move through the world.
There isn’t a clean way to explain what that changes.
There isn’t a version of life that simply resumes.
There is only what comes after.
When I first stood inside this building, I thought I was restoring something old;
wood, plaster, history.
I didn’t know I would one day be restoring myself inside it.
My life now is slower.
More intentional.
More aware of the weight and meaning of small things.
A cup of coffee in the morning light.
A stack of books beside the bed.
Objects collected not for perfection, but for the lives they’ve already lived.
There was a time when my life looked different.
It was shared. Built together. Rooted in love, creativity, and a quiet understanding of what we were making.
That life still exists in the work of my hands.
I am the founder of Atelier 1891, a leather goods studio rooted in craftsmanship, legacy, and the belief that objects made slowly can carry meaning. It began as something we built together, shaped by both of us; by his eye for detail, his skill, and the quiet way he approached making.
Today, it continues as part of that story.
Not as something separate from loss,
but as something that holds it.
Northern Gypsy Living is where I write about that.
About grief, and what it means to carry it.
About home, and what it means to create one again.
About books, objects, spaces, and the small rituals that make a life feel like your own.
It is a life shaped between two landscapes:
The desert: where I spent fifteen years, learning resilience, openness, and how to stand in the heat of things.
The north: where I am learning stillness, rootedness, and how to stay.
If you’ve ever found yourself between who you were and who you are becoming,
you already understand this space.
You don’t need to rush here.
You don’t need to have answers.
You’re allowed to take your time.
I’m glad you’re here.
—Mandy
About Mandy 