10 Years of the Village: First Followers
After the adoption of our daughter in November 2015, the vision for a true “village” of support wouldn’t leave me. I couldn’t shake the sense that families navigating foster care needed more than good intentions — they needed accessible, tangible community.
I began researching resources in our local community and across the country. What I consistently found was a significant gap: at that time, there were little to no direct support services for foster and kinship caregivers. Most resources could only be accessed through CPS or child placement agencies. Having personally navigated the red tape, long periods of being stuck in limbo, and countless other barriers, it felt clear that caregivers needed a direct and easily accessible line of support — one not dependent on the complex system they were already overwhelmed by.
During my research, I discovered an organization in Southern California operating a model similar to what I envisioned. I spent hours on the phone with their founder, who generously walked me through how they were established and sustained. Encouraged, I began sharing the idea with local friends and others involved in foster care, sensing a shared desire to bridge some of these gaps.
April 2016: The Vision Moved From Idea to Action
A foster mom friend received a call for an emergency placement. I sent a simple group text to neighbors asking if they could help gather the items we knew this child would need. Within hours, everything was provided. I showed up at their door with dinner and essentials in hand.
It was a simple moment, but profoundly meaningful. That family had a tangible reminder that they were not navigating the whirlwind alone. I told the foster mom my goal was to make this kind of response the norm in our community. She shared that another foster mom friend had recently expressed the same desire.
As it turns out, that foster mom lived in my small community. We had even been licensed at the same time but had somehow never connected. What began as a text from a stranger became the first domino in what would grow into a movement.
The very next day after connecting with Ellen, I hunkered down at my computer and built a website and Facebook page in a day. I had been mulling over names and kept returning to one word: village. Isolation and disconnection were the problem. Community and connection were the solution. A village. Another foster mom friend, Carrie, hand-lettered our original logo (the same one we still use today), and I digitized it using a free app.
When considering images to fill the blank spaces on the website, I was reminded of captivating photos taken by my talented photographer friend, Joy Prouty, during one of her workshops. Our friend Carrie and her family modeled for the shoot just days before saying their final goodbyes to their precious foster daughter — a child they had loved since birth — while also surrounding her mother with support as she reached the finish line of reunification. During an emotional moment, Joy captured a powerful image of another photographer who paused the session, walked over to Carrie (whom she had just met), gently wiped her tears, and offered comfort.
This image represented the vision I had been longing to bring to life. Compassionate proximity to the caregivers in the midst of the storm. From this, our brand was born, and it continues to be shaped by the collection of images Joy has captured over the years of foster and adoptive families served through Foster Village.
Once the website and Facebook page went live, the response was immediate. People began dropping off donations on my porch by the carload. Dozens of neighbors reached out asking how they could help. It became clear we had tapped into something bigger than any of us anticipated.
And if I’m honest, I started to feel overwhelmed. I questioned whether I was equipped to lead what was quickly becoming an organized army of people eager to serve.
Just a few weeks later, at a local coffee shop, my husband Nick ran into a neighbor while catching up. He mentioned this new passion project and our growing awareness that sustainability and structure would be critical. That neighbor, Mary Jane Hetrick, shared her experience as a nonprofit consultant and offered to help us explore the feasibility of formalizing our rapidly growing passion project into a nonprofit organization. Mary Jane continues to serve as our Board President today.
From there, momentum continued to build. I connected with every local effort in the foster care space to identify where the gaps remained. A local Girl Scout organized a t-shirt fundraiser, raising our first $400. We met with our church leadership for guidance on involvement and support, and they committed $1,000 to cover our legal filing fees to officially become a nonprofit.
What started with one emergency placement and a group text grew into a movement — one first follower led to hundreds of others. And we were reminded that when a community is activated, isolation loses its grip.
Foster Village was never about building an organization. It was about belonging. It was about ensuring that every family caring for a vulnerable child has a tangible, reliable village surrounding them — not someday, not after multiple steps of red tape and barriers — but right when they need it most.
And it all began with a simple conviction:
No family should navigate foster care alone.
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