The Night the Industry Met the Redwoods
- Alisa Sieber
- Nov 6
- 6 min read
The rain had been steady all afternoon, the kind that softens the light and deepens the scent of the redwoods. By the time guests began to arrive, the grounds shimmered. Every leaf held its own small mirror of the evening sky. I stood beneath the covered porch, watching headlights curve up the drive, and thought: Of course it would rain the night the industry meets the redwoods.
People came anyway. Photographers, planners, musicians, florists, filmmakers, and friends who just wanted to feel what we're building here. They came with umbrellas and wine bottles, wrapped in scarves and laughter. It wasn't just a networking event. It felt like a collective exhale, a quiet yes to something we all crave: spaces that mean something. I had told everyone to come in their flannel. We don't have cell service at Chez Serendip, so the call was to arrive like a house party before the internet. The night did not disappoint.
Inside, the 1928 Salon glowed with (battery-operated) candlelight. The grazing table (olives, fruits, cheeses, hand-cut bread) stretched beneath a string of soft gold bulbs. Everything smelled like rain and rosemary.
The Story Beneath the Floorboards
When I welcomed everyone, I began with the house itself. Every story here starts with the land. We started off downstairs in our Carriage Room, I told them that in 1928, the original owners kept their horse and buggy here. By the 1960s, it had been converted into a listening room, walls lined with vinyl storage and a 1902 Steinway piano that still anchors the space. That piano belonged to the former owner's grandmother. It carries a century of song inside it, and everyone that has sat down to play on it has walked away inspired.
When Shawn and I first walked in when we were moving mountains to purchase the property, I felt it: this room wanted to be heard again. It wanted to hold music. What was once a stable for horses had become a stable for sound.
Now it's becoming the heart of what Chez Serendip is. A recording and gathering space supported by Universal Audio, where artists can live, record, and leave with something timeless. I told them this story because it explains everything: why we're here, why we open the doors, and why we believe art and hospitality can share the same roof.
We didn't buy this property to run a venue. We came to build a living ecosystem, one where residencies, events, and creative partnerships feed each other in a cycle of reciprocity. Every event here, even an industry night, becomes a chapter in that story.
Meeting the Makers
By the time we circled up inside the Carriage Room for introductions, the room felt alive. Voices overlapped. Laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of the old heater. One by one, people shared who they were, what they make, and something they've done that felt meaningful.
Sydney from BashWorks talked about her event décor (balloons, backdrops, photo booths) and how she wrapped her sister's wedding seat as maid of honor. Derek from Wilder Spacewalk Catering described building a satellite kitchen in the middle of the forest for a crypto team's retreat, turning the wilderness into a pop-up hotel. Karla Wade of Luxury Floral Designs told us about hand-crafting a moss and paper-mâché structure for a wedding at Roaring Camp. Natasha Lozanoff spoke about shooting on 35 mm and Super 8, the way film captures what digital can't: texture, imperfection, truth.
We had DJs and designers, caterers and florists, media producers and photographers. We had those who had built careers in the fast lanes of Los Angeles and San Francisco but returned to the coast because their hearts wanted slowness, connection, and meaning.
Tim and Giselle Jeghers of The Affinity Productions drove through the rain just to see what Chez Serendip was about. A leap of faith that mirrored my own when we began this project.
David Poznic, a long-time creative ally and special guest of the evening, brought a handful of his friends: a photographer, a musician, a filmmaker. All of them drawn by the same gravitational pull.
Artists of the House
Among the guests were our artists-in-residence: Ash, Will, and Abby. They have become part of the soul of Chez Serendip. Ash, a musician and educator, creates workshops and women's circles that weave together poetry, fertility awareness, and the art of giving and receiving. Will, a musician and community organizer, helps build our creative infrastructure, hosting gatherings and shaping the rhythm of this place. Abby tends to the land, animals, and herbal gardens, grounding our creative work in stewardship.
That night, they set up a tea station on the covered porch under the eaves, serving blends from Woven Herbs. Steam rose from the cups like incense, blending with the smell of rain and cedar.
Upstairs, the tea mingled with laughter as guests explored the house. Downstairs, the Carriage Room became a small amphitheater of sound.
Rain, Jazz, and Serendipity
When the lights dimmed and Ava, a local jazz artist I met months before at a concert in Santa Cruz, began to sing, everything shifted. Her voice (soft, soulful, tinged with Brazilian rhythm) filled the old wood and echoed through the beams.
David, who as it turns out is also a circus artist, began juggling lighted balls in time with the music. The reflections danced across the piano, across Ava's face, across the audience.
It was one of those moments that defies planning. When art simply happens because the right people are in the right place, saying yes to being together. The redwoods outside swayed; the fire cracked; the room pulsed with a rhythm that felt ancient and alive.
Someone whispered, "This doesn't feel like an event. It feels like a homecoming."
They were right.
Why We Gather
When I spoke again later that night, I told everyone that my goal isn't to build the busiest venue in Santa Cruz County. My goal is to build a sustainable ecosystem: a sanctuary where beauty and purpose sustain each other. Where the economy of art isn't extraction, but exchange.
That's why I created the Vendor Circle. Not as a marketing tool, but as a model of reciprocity. It's a way to honor the creative professionals who bring life to this property: planners, photographers, chefs, musicians, florists, healers, and builders. Every referral earns both commission and credit toward deeper collaboration. More importantly, it builds a shared economy, one rooted in trust, transparency, and collective growth.
Because collaboration is our currency.
The circle recognizes that everyone who steps onto this land contributes to its story. Whether it's a photographer capturing the light through the redwoods or a musician recording a song in the Carriage Room, every act of creation adds to the living archive of Chez Serendip.
The referral tiers, the commissions, the discounts: those are structure. But the soul of it is community. It's about redefining how we work together in this industry. Shifting from competition to collaboration, from scarcity to shared abundance.
The Afterglow
By the time the fire burned low and the last guests began to drift out into the wet night, I felt the same calm I did the first time I stepped onto this property. The sound of rain on the old roof. The hum of possibility in the air. The sense that something bigger than any one of us had begun to take shape.
Chez Serendip isn't just a venue. It's a living organism. Every event, every gathering like this, breathes new life into it.
As I walked through the empty Carriage Room, lights still flickering, the piano waiting, I thought of how the Judd family once hosted parties here a century ago. I like to think they'd smile to see it now. Full again, alive again. The sound of laughter and music echoing through the redwoods.
That's what we're doing here: listening for the echoes, and then adding our own.
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