The Space Between Dreams: Building a Life Worth Loving on the Mountain
Nov 8, 2025
The wind whispers through Idyllwild at night, a sound that Jenn has come to treasure over seventeen years of mountain living. "When I'm laying in bed and my mind's quiet, it feels like I'm being blessed with change," she says, her voice soft with reverence. For this creative soul who co-owns two beloved stores in the Fort—Ephemera, bursting with vintage treasures, and Midnite Moon, a haven for vinyl lovers—the mountain wind has become a metaphor for the constant evolution she embraces in life.
But Jenn's path to this mountain sanctuary began far from here, in the sprawling urban landscape of Los Angeles, where she was born and raised in Torrance. At thirty-one, she and her husband Sam made what seemed like a straightforward decision: move to Idyllwild to finish an album away from the city's chaos. As The Morning Birds, they were riding the wave of their musical dreams, ready to write, record, and tour.
Life, however, had other plans.
"Two weeks after we moved here, we found out we were having a baby," Jenn recalls. The timing couldn't have been more unexpected. They'd signed a lease for a house they'd found on Craigslist after just one day of viewing, having never been to Idyllwild before. Sam had a friend who had gone to high school here, a violist working on their record. who connected them to this small mountain town. "Instead of writing an album and touring, which is what we had planned, we're like, 'Now what do we do?'"
What they did was adapt, improvise, and ultimately build something neither had imagined. Jenn, trained as a makeup artist, spent months driving down to Los Angeles while pregnant, working until her ninth month. Three months after giving birth, she was back on the road, and six weeks postpartum, The Morning Birds opened for Trevor Hall at the Mint in Los Angeles. "That was not easy," she admits with a laugh that acknowledges the understatement.
When touring with a newborn proved impossible, Jenn and Sam pivoted again, launching a music publicity firm that thrived for twelve years. Yet the creative spark that brought them to the mountains never dimmed. Jenn had managed a record store as a teenager and always dreamed of opening her own, which is why Ephemera, opened six or seven years ago, includes records among its colorful vintage offerings.
Then came Midnite Moon, born almost two and a half years ago from pure intuition. "When the space opened up and we were like, 'We're gonna take it,' the way Midnight Moon looks just came into my head instantly. I knew exactly what it was gonna look like," she says. "I knew it was meant to be."
The store became unexpected lifeline during the pandemic, when many businesses struggled to survive. For Jenn and Sam, COVID brought their busiest period ever. "Every Monday through Sunday, every single day was like the best Saturday we've ever had," Jenn remembers. People seeking escape from the world's chaos found solace in Ephemera's vintage treasures.
That three-year surge built a following that sustains them today: Ephemera boasts nearly 18,000 social media followers, while Midnite Moon just crossed the important 1,000-follower threshold.
Yet success in business hasn't meant smooth sailing in small-town life. Jenn speaks with careful honesty about the challenges of building authentic friendships in Idyllwild. "I didn't grow up in snow," she begins, recounting early winters navigating a steep driveway while pregnant without four-wheel drive. But the physical challenges proved easier than the social ones.
Today, her circle is intentionally small—two to three close friends she trusts completely, most met through the shops. One was born on the same day as Jenn. "We get along thick as thieves," she smiles. This selectivity isn't snobbery but self-preservation learned through hard experience. "I'm almost fifty years old," she says. "At this point in my life, my heart, my love, my creativity and what I have to offer people is valuable."
She doesn't drink anymore—two and a half years sober—which further limits social opportunities in a town where bars dominate nightlife. Sobriety brought clarity about the kind of life she wants: "Getting to fifty, I don't want drama in my life. I just want mellow, easy."
Instead of bar nights, Jenn finds joy in simple pleasures: tending her lush garden that she's cultivated since buying their house in 2015, caring for fifty houseplants, and watching sunsets from her deck. The garden, in particular, feels like an extension of her soul. "I planted every plant in the front yard. It was just dirt," she says. "When I walk up my pathway, I'm surrounded by my plant love."
She loves Fall because it "feels like the world is starting to go into meditation." Sweater weather is her happy place. "Hats, scarves, jackets. It's the best time for fashion."
Raising their now-fifteen-year-old son Isaiah as a homeschooled child in a small town presented its own challenges. Limited social options for teenagers weigh on her. "He's got like three friends, maybe two," she says. "There's nothing to do. He just plays video games." She wishes Idyllwild had more youth clubs beyond Boy Scouts and sports—actual social spaces for kids. But who has time to organize them? "I don't have any idea," she shrugs.
Despite frustrations, Jenn has found profound lessons in this mountain community. As an Aries who thrives on change and reinvention, she refuses to idealize the past. "There's a lot of people that are like, 'Oh, it used to be so nice up here.' I'm like, open your eyes and open your heart instead of living in the past, because doing that is only going to bring misery."
This philosophy extends to everything: watching Isaiah grow into a teenager, accepting the town's evolution, embracing each season of life. "I'm not that mom that's like, 'Oh God, I wish my son was still little.' I enjoyed that time. Now there's this time and I'm enjoying it instead of wishing I was back there."
Her definition of success reflects years of inner work: "Success is where every aspect of your life reflects your love." It's a goal she's actively pursuing, not a destination reached. The path involves constant excavation of the limiting beliefs and fears that hold her back. "You find those little parts inside of you that aren't happy or that are still there that are saying don't do that, or you can't do this," she explains. "When you become aware of them, then you can take them out and let them go. And then the light opens up a little bit more."
The night Sam walked into that birthday party seventeen years ago, Jenn heard a voice whisper in her ear: "Soulmate tonight." She laughed it off—she knew everyone at the party. Then Sam arrived, and everything turned white, his figure surrounded by a glowing aura. "You've got to be kidding me," she remembers thinking. "This is the silliest thing ever."
But their partnership has proved anything but silly. Through businesses, parenthood, relocations, and the daily negotiations of creative collaboration, they've learned to support each other's individual strengths. "The more that we relax into allowing each other to just be ourselves, the more success that we have," Jenn says. Sam instigates creation; Jenn refines it. It's a dance of trust and complementary gifts.
The creative drive that brought her to Idyllwild still pulses strong. "If I had my druthers, I would like to create the business, set the system up, come up with a creative idea for the business, and have employees doing everything else while I move onto the next business or idea or film or music," she explains. "I just want to be constantly doing something different and creating. I don't like the managerial part of it."
She's working toward that vision, training employees who can manage the stores so she and Sam can travel more. Something the businesses have prevented. "If I didn't have the businesses, I would not be here anymore," she confesses. But she loves them too much to leave. They were supposed to go to Europe in March 2020. Nineteen days carefully planned through Paris, southern France, and Spain. The pandemic canceled everything. "I'm still a little angry about it," she laughs.
Her greatest wish, both for Idyllwild and humanity at large, centers on self-love. "I believe you can't give of yourself one hundred percent, selflessly, with love and kindness, fully present, unless you love yourself," she says with conviction. "It's fake if you don't. You're trying to make yourself feel good. But when you love yourself, you're happy, so therefore you're spreading happiness. I love myself, so therefore I can love another person."
As the mountain wind picks up outside her bedroom window each night, Jenn listens for what it brings: change, freshness, possibility. She's built a life here from unexpected beginnings, transformed disappointment into wisdom, and created spaces where others can find treasures both vintage and vinyl. Her journey from Los Angeles dreamer to Idyllwild business owner hasn't followed any script she'd imagined. But standing in her garden, surrounded by the plants she's nurtured and the life she's intentionally cultivated, Jenn has found something more valuable than any plan: herself.