A Life Shaped by Land. Inside a Home where Purpose, Place & Beauty Coexist.
"The Quiet Beauty of Home” is a conversation series that explores the soul of a space. Where beauty is rooted in meaning, and design is guided by values, not trends. Each interview offers a glimpse into how someone creates, lives in, and cares for their home with intention. We hope these stories inspire you to slow down, look closer to notice what matters, and honor the quiet details that make a space feel truly yours.
We’d like to introduce you to Lisa Mattson, a California native and creative director for luxury and social good brands who now calls the untamed land near McClure Pass, Colorado, home. Thirty miles from the nearest store, surrounded by heritage ranches, rescued animals, and the wild itself, Lisa is building a life shaped by rhythm, relationship, and a deep sense of place. Her days move with the pace of the land and are set by the herd, the weather, and the slow unfolding of seasons. Inside her home, beauty lives in the details of natural textures, storied objects, and the imperfections that come from a life well-lived. It’s the kind of space where a ranch dog might wander through mid-conversation, or a curious sheep might nose its way into the kitchen to say hello. It's a place that is unfussy, alive, and full of soul.
Let's begin with an introduction. Can you share a little about yourself — what you do, where you live, and what "home" looks like for you right now?
I'm a California girl who is following her childhood dream of becoming a horse girl. Now I live on 50 acres at McClure Pass, about an hour outside Aspen, one of Colorado's most stunning mountain passes. Nestled between two heritage ranches and BLM land, I'm essentially living in the wild, 30 miles from the nearest store.
I consult for luxury and social good brands, but out here, my days follow a different rhythm, one set by the land and the horses and animals I've rescued over the years. Home is a simple house that's taught me about collaboration: between what I imagined and what this place needed to be.
How would you describe the feeling of your home?
Beautifully Undone. When you live on a ranch with animals, you have to surrender to what the day brings. There's magic and connection that comes from living with a herd—and there's also the reality that I'm forever covered in hay and dust, that I'll likely never have a clean shirt, that I perpetually smell slightly of horses, and that I may end up with a goat on the kitchen table if I forget to close the door behind me.
My to-do list is longer than it ever was in my corporate days, and yet most days, even the hard ones, are filled with so much purpose. The feeling of this home is one of acceptance: beauty doesn't require perfection or control. It shows up in the mess, in the work, in the honest reality of a life lived alongside animals and land.
If you had to name three core values that guide the way you live, what would they be?
Live intentionally, find connection, and prioritize joy.
Intentionality because I realized that every choice, what I bring into my home, how I spend my time, what I commit to, is shaping who I'm becoming.
Connection means slowing down enough to be present, which usually means doing far less than my taskmaster brain insists I can fit into a day. The richness is in the moments with the animals, with the land, with the seasons, not in checking off tasks.
And joy, not happiness, which comes and goes, but the quiet satisfaction of living in tune with what matters. Joy is what stays even on the hard days.
How do those values show up in your home?
Connection, functionality, and intentionality show up in every choice I make here. Part of what makes a space beautiful to me is when it creates ease and comfort through how well it works. The items in my home aren't precious in the untouchable sense; they're meaningful because of who made them or because they can survive the reality of life out here with the animals and the weather.
You also see it heavily in the textiles in my home. They add depth, texture, and interest. I'm drawn to natural fibers and hides that bring warmth to the space.
Is there a daily ritual or moment in your home that brings you peace, inspiration, or a sense of rhythm?
I start every morning at my large timber coffee table. It holds books and objects that shift with my interests and the seasons—it's become an archaeological log of where I am at any given moment. Some things are reminders of what matters most. Some are new interests I want to make time to explore. Others are pieces of nature that caught my eye on a recent walk. Coming back to this table throughout the day is how I check in with myself. It's a ritual of presence.
What does "home" mean to you, beyond four walls?
Home is a practice, not a place. It's the daily rhythms that root me—caring for the animals, tending the land, choosing what stays and what moves on. I have learned that home isn't what you own; it's how you live. It's meaningful because it's where I get to practice my values every single day, where the structure of my life aligns with what actually matters to me.
When it comes to caring for your home, what practices feel most nourishing to you?
Tidying and organizing feel most nourishing to me. There's something meditative about putting things in their place, as if to say, this is where you belong, and sorting through what's still needed and what's ready to move along as life changes. It helps me get present, feel connected, and clear my brain.
This is especially true at the change of seasons. When I shift from sun hats to warm gloves, from lighter blankets to heavier ones, it's not just practical, it's how I sync my own rhythm with the land's. The act of rearranging my space helps me step into what the season is asking of me.
What are some of the most meaningful objects in your home?
I have the metal horseshoes I took off Dakota when he first arrived, stacked at my entry table, where I take off my shoes each day. They are a reminder that we sometimes just need a fresh environment to find our way. Dakota was a horse surrendered to me from a working cattle ranch just north of here. He was too sensitive and didn't have the full skill set to be a "Ranch Horse." He was full of anxiety and tentative around humans. He was lucky to land at a ranch that recognized he still had value and brought him here, where he has learned about the horse-human connection and the importance of mutual support amongst a herd. Dakota has also been the inspiration for a creative project, "Horses as the Canvas of the Soul."
When you bring something new into your home, how do you decide it belongs?
I'm drawn to indigenous traditions around objects, the idea that each item is its own being, worthy of honor for the beauty and purpose it holds. When we value something deeply and it no longer serves us, passing it along allows it to fulfill its purpose for someone else. Holding onto it when it's not needed means holding it back from what it's meant to do.
How has your relationship with home changed over time?
I used to think a beautiful home meant having everything in order, under control, looking a certain way. Rebuilding here, living with animals, being 30 miles from the nearest anything, this home has taught me that beauty and chaos can coexist. In fact, they have to.
The lesson is about surrender and partnership. I can have my vision, but the land gets a vote. The weather gets a vote. The goats definitely get a vote. Home has taught me that the most beautiful spaces emerge when you're willing to work with what is, rather than trying to impose what you think should be.
What book, poem, or piece of writing has shaped the way you think about home or slow living?
"A Pattern Language" by Christopher Alexander has been foundational for me.
Though it is a design book, it feels more like a philosophy book when I read it. Christopher Alexander observed that the places we find most beautiful and meaningful aren't created by architects or designers working in isolation. They're created by the people who actually live in them, over time, through use and relationship. Think of an old European village, a well-worn garden, or a kitchen that's been cooked in for decades—these places have soul because they've been shaped by real life and real relationships.
It is a wonderful guide and reminder that we are all qualified to create beautiful spaces. That our life and relationships are the only guides we need to design.
If your home could whisper one word to describe how it holds you, what would it say?
Tend. It's both what I do for the home and what the home does for me. So many days this place has cared for me by creating peace and safety, just as I've had to tend to its needs each season. There's mutual care in tending.
Follow more of her ranching life @lisamattson
Images courtesy of Lisa Mattson