From the Rugged West to Southern Fairways: How My Roots Shaped Magnolia League

Preface: Magnolia League took a step back earlier this year. After the birth of my son, losing everything in Hurricane Helene floods, and other significant life changes–I needed to step away, gain clarity, reconnect and heal old wounds. This time included a profound journey of self-compassion, deeper connection, and discovery at a week-long program in rural Tennessee (removed from phones, tech, and distractions). I came back feeling whole. This culminated decades of hard-earned growth that restored my spiritual health and reminded me I'm never alone–giving me the courage to write this unflinching personal story. So thank you for all your feedback, support, and patience–I hope something in this piece connects with you.  

 

I Am Haunted By The Waters

The cool water rushed around my boots as I cast my line into the Deschutes River under a canopy of warm summer light. Fly fishing in Oregon is as much ritual as a sport, and the Deschutes is one of its sacred grounds. Fed by snowmelt from the Cascade Mountains, a cold and clear flow attracts prized Steelhead and Rainbow Trout–which, in turn, attracts anglers from all over the world. 

Standing in that river 10 years ago, surrounded by untamed Northwest beauty and childhood friends, was the last time I returned to Oregon. Memories of growing up out West are colored in bittersweet nostalgia and heartbreak. There’s pain reconciling the parts of a place you love with the wounds it left behind. Alongside the rugged natural beauty and friends laughing by campfire, are scars from isolation, family dysfunction, and complex trauma. Loving a place, even when it hurts you, is an act of courage. Honoring its beauty while confronting its flaws.

Healing came not from escaping my past but from embracing it; learning to heal through connection. Just as a river flows through diverse terrain, converging disparate elements into a steady stream that forges new paths over time. Merging the opposing worlds of my origins—the rugged West, refined East Coast, and Southern warmth—allowed me to find wholeness, purpose, and carve a unique path forward. That journey, though deeply personal, became the foundation of Magnolia League: a brand rooted in connection, craftsmanship, and authentic storytelling. A deep appreciation for nature, outdoor adventure, and the sporting life. 

This is my story. For much my life–owning the people, places, and experiences that shaped me meant being silenced or shamed. So it's the first time I’ve written about it publicly. It took years of hard-earned growth to get here. And today I honor the struggle, celebrate the growth, and own a story that reflects not just where I came from–but who I’ve fought to become. It’s been a reminder that the story’s only yours to live and die with, and the path to healing is honesty…not vanity. 

Introduction: Growing Up Between Worlds  

My mother came from a well-established East Coast family in New Jersey. My father was from a rural farm community in the Heartland. I grew up in a rugged, remote part of the Pacific Northwest in Oregon. Formative memories and extended family in the South also shaped me in a big way–which became more important as I entered adulthood.

Each place carved me in meaningful ways. People always want to put you into a box, but your identity does not have to be defined by a single place, culture, or group of people. Embracing duality and crafting a unique identity takes endurance, but offers rare and valuable gifts.

Explore how these diverse worlds shaped me, influenced Magnolia League, and intertwined in unexpected ways–with lessons I’ve learned along the way:

• Rugged Beginnings - The West: how an alternative upbringing in rural Oregon cultivated a love for nature and the outdoors; while overcoming obstacles built resilience.
• Family Legacy - The East: how my family’s deep roots, pioneering business, and storied history in New Jersey provided belonging, inspiration, and anchoring values.
• Connecting a Lifetime - The South: weaving significant memories, relationships, and life experiences together to find love, belonging, and home in Atlanta; the larger South.
• How My Journey Shaped Magnolia League: how my personal story informs our brand ethos, products, and community made up of diverse backgrounds–connected in shared values and passions.  

My journey starts deep in the woods out West…

Hippies, Cowboys, & Rugged Beauty: The West

I can still feel the rhythm of casting a line into the Deschutes River. The thrill of bringing a 6-pack to Wildwood Falls and jumping off Dorena Drop’s 100 foot cliff. I remember working the land and two-a-days, the honesty of sweat and sore muscles; the camaraderie forged in shared struggle. 

I loved the untamed beauty growing up in the country out West. The imposing mountains, grand rivers, and towering Douglas Firs. The unique blend of hippies, cowboys, and independent thinkers (“we’re all here…because we’re not all there”). My family lived in a small, cabin-like house in the woods. For a time, we lived off the land–growing our own vegetables, hunting deer, and chopping logs for the winter (a wood burning stove was our one heat source). Conditions were spartan, but I learned you don’t need much to get by. 

Our TV had one channel, so the only entertainment was going outside–to play sports or explore the wilderness. Living in the shadow of Nike and the University of Oregon bred a culture where sports were everything. My high school sent three players to the NFL while growing up. Local legends like Steve Prefontaine, Danny Ainge, Justin Herbert, & Ashton Eaton provided inspiration. In addition, the whole state was a playground for outdoor adventure. You could ski, fish world-class trout streams, or see the Pacific within an hour; so appreciating nature was deeply ingrained in me.

Sports, nature, and their positive ripple effects have always played a foundational role in my life. So I instilled this virtue in Magnolia League. Our products are made with regenerative wild plants and designed for an active lifestyle spent outside. We give back to organizations that open the playing field to opportunity, and are proud members of 1% for the Planet. 

My parents ran far away from their East Coast roots of family, tradition, and success–choosing a different path. But their journey became a story of avoidance rather than growth and adventure. They sought rugged simplicity but carried unresolved pain; pain that festered quietly in isolation of the remote woods and numbing booze. But I also see the good. My mom was a film major who instilled creativity and storytelling in me. She did the best she could and facilitated good memories, though held back by traumas of her own. My dad was a mechanic who instilled a blue-collar work ethic and love for country music that stayed with me even though he opted out of my life a long time ago.   

Loving a place, even when it’s hurt you, requires making peace with the parts (and people) you cannot change. Leaving Oregon wasn’t a rejection—it was survival. Heartbreaking survival I wish wasn’t required. But, unlike my parents, I ran to something…not away from something. I ran where I found purpose, belonging, and my authentic self–blending the ruggedness of my upbringing with the refined traditions of my family’s Eastern and Southern legacies.

 

Legacy, Tradition, & Family Business: The East Coast 

My family’s legacy in New Jersey represented stability, tradition, and gave me a sense of identity. My great-great grandfather founded Red Devil, Inc. An American Heritage tool manufacturing company, family owned for over 150 years, that pioneered the industry. They created revolutionary tools, were among the first to embrace aviation in business, and designed what became the modern wooden golf tee. 

Bernardsville, NJ was a world that couldn’t be more different than my life in Oregon. Inclusion in the Social Register, debutante balls, and leisurely afternoons at Somerset Hills Country Club. Boarding schools and Ivy League legacies. Long-standing traditions, far-reaching social connections, and blue blood heritage.

As a kid, this juxtaposition of wildly contrasting worlds created confusion and conflict. Now I see that my family back East provided a vital counterbalance: 

• Sense of Stability, Identity, and Pride Amid The Chaos: my family’s status and storied history instilled a sense of belonging to something larger–a lineage of achievement and broader legacy that served as a stabilizing force. 
• Power of Relationships: whether sitting with relatives who shared history and stories, or seeing how traditions brought people together, I saw firsthand that true strength & belonging lies in connection. These values became a cornerstone of my life, while adding valuable social capital & cultural wealth.
• Inspiration for What’s Possible and Guidance: even from afar, seeing my family back East several times a year offered a roadmap for what's possible with vision, hard work, and courage. They provided crucial emotional and cultural anchors, giving me a “a seat at the table” that opened doors. 

But there was plenty of darkness behind that perfectly manicured lawn. A historic fire that took my great grandmother. Alcohol abuse permeated across generations. Family business disputes led to bitterness, resentment, and lasting divides. After three generations, the wealth and status dwindled. Conflict went unresolved, emotions undiscussed, and mirroring Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher – small cracks in the walls widened until the house crumbled to the ground. I saw the house collapse during my lifetime. 

With the walls collapsing in the East, and no foundation out West, I turned South. There, I sought to combine formative early memories and family legacy with the creation of something new.

 

A Lifetime of Connection: The South 

The Savannah River always felt like a gateway to the South. Growing up, my family often gathered in Savannah. My mom and I would walk along its syrupy winding waters, which mirrored the traditions and graceful hospitality of my great aunt’s lowcountry boils. We’d listen to street musicians and remark at the dripping Spanish moss as we walked along the river. Then we’d stop at Waffle House on our drive up the Savannah River, to Augusta, where we’d spend a few extra days visiting my uncle. He taught me about The Masters and I played golf for the first time.

Years later, I’m 30 and back in Augusta for the 2019 Masters. I’d been going for a few years through the generosity of a close childhood friend from Oregon, whose talent coincidentally led to manning the clubhouse at Augusta National Golf Club. The fantastic woman who became my wife was also there, having the good fortune of family tickets. The South’s most storied event was now a gathering of some of the closest people in my life. People from Oregon to Georgia and different phases of life. A lifetime.

This year happened to be a special year. People thought Tiger wouldn’t win another major. So it felt magical as he crept closer and closer. The atmosphere was electric as they teed off early Sunday morning with storms ahead. I’d just read The Legend of Bagger Vance, the story of a man reclaiming his spirituality and authentic self (or “swing”). I saw it in Tiger. And I felt it being there in this special place that brought together where I came from, the person I became, and what I loved.

Later that night, as we strolled along the Savannah River, I was reminded of the gateway it was for me as a kid. Those childhood visits to Savannah and Augusta eventually led me to Nashville at age 18, where Vanderbilt became a turning point. College wasn’t just about education; it was a season of growth that shaped me in every way. I forged deep relationships with people who changed my life. It gave me a seat at the table, a foundation for my future, and another bridge to family roots.

In school, I grew close with my cousin from New Jersey, who felt like the older sister I never had during the two years we overlapped. Then there was Cousin Charlot, a third-generation Commodore I’d never met before, a fantastic woman who welcomed me with open arms. She was a gifted storyteller who shared family stories I’d never heard, especially about my grandfather, who passed away when I was young. Through her stories and love, I felt I belonged to something bigger than myself. She taught me what family means. We honored Charlot's legacy by passing on her native Kentucky family name, Clay, to our son.

Those years at Vanderbilt weren’t just about finding myself; they were about rediscovering the people and places that built the foundation of who I’ve become.

After graduating, I flowed with the Tennessee River west into Alabama, where I attended business school after doing a TFA-like program in Mississippi. Bama’s warm embrace helped me smooth out some rough edges and grow close with some amazing people. Tuscaloosa was a capstone experience that solidified an adopted home in the South.

Now, back at The Masters in 2019, I felt the Savannah River and these formative experiences pulling me back. Work brought me to Chicago but, at that moment, I resolved to get married and return to a place that always felt like home.

Steadily building and nurturing ties to Atlanta for over 20 years cultivated a lifetime of connection in a single place–making it a natural place to raise my family and call home. Atlanta’s blend of ambition, progress, and creativity–without losing its core values–mirrors the duality of my own background. It was the culmination of a vision that began 20 years ago, when my sister showed me the city. Driving along the rolling, green-breasted lawns of Buckhead it planted a seed; a life I could start to imagine but seemed impossible at the time. Now she's gone, but the dream is alive. 

How you play your cards, not the cards you’re dealt, is what matters and how a man should be assessed. When George Bush Sr. first ran for Senator in Texas, he was criticized by opponents for being a non-native. He replied, “I’m a Texan by choice, not by chance.” For me, the South was not just a place I chose, but which, in many ways, chose me back.