My grandpa, Emanuel, came to America from Italy and brought seeds with him, and my family has saved seed from his arugula every season since, for more than a hundred years. What he knew about growing food was passed down by hand, and much of it now lives only in the memories of a few of us. Emanuel's Garden is a private website where the family can gather that knowledge, add to it and keep it for the next generation.
A garden book in the spirit of an old herbal: parchment pages, ink-and-wash drawings with Italian names in the captions, and plain, warm writing. A Journal holds stories and memories, an Almanac has an entry for each crop, flower, method and pest, Gardeners profiles honor the people, and a Calendar charts sowing and harvest month by month.
The archive had to last and be easy for every generation to use. It's a static site built with open-source tools, with every page kept as plain text, so it depends on no single company and costs very little to run. Family members edit from their phones through a simple editor.
I led the project as art director and lead strategist. I defined the purpose, the audience and the content model, set the visual direction and the voice, and made every call on features, privacy and cost. I reviewed every change before it went live. The code was written by Claude Code, an AI coding agent, under my direction.
I built the site on my Omarchy Linux workstation, with Claude Code a keystroke away, and worked with it the way I'd work with a development team: I brought the brief, the design and the decisions, and it brought the code. The site went live in days. When the animation needed tuning, we measured frame rates on real phones and laptops and fixed what slowed them down. To introduce the site to the family, I designed seed packets of Grandpa's arugula, with a QR code to the site, to hand out at our Christmas party.
A site like this once needed a team of designers, illustrators and developers, and a budget no family project could justify, so it would never have been built. AI changed that. It let me create something vitally important to my family: a record of what Grandpa knew, ready for the next generation to read, grow and add to.