If you meet Madison, be prepared — she digs deeper than most are willing to go, asking the questions everyone else sidesteps, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Métis to the core, she has a soft spot for the weird, overlooked corners of the natural world — insects, soil, spirit — the places most people don’t even think to look. Scorpio to the bone, she chases truth like it owes her money. Her writing lives in a liminal space between science and storytelling, where facts start to feel and feelings start to think. She’ll tell you she blames her grandfather for that — the man could spin a story so vividly it rearranged the air.

Her work on insect micro habitats has been published locally, provincially, and federally — in a way that blend academic rigor with something a little feral. She is currently doing her honours Conservation Biology and a specialization in regenerative agriculture, soil is literally her domain. But she’s not just interested in studying the land — she’s interested in listening to it. If she’s doing her job right, you’ll walk away a little unsettled, a little more awake, because curiosity isn’t something to be measured; it’s something that bites back.

When Madi isn’t writing, she’s brewing kombucha strong enough to scare whatever gods are left, fermenting whatever she can get her hands on, or pretending to meditate (mostly thinking about bugs). Most days she is hemmed with the natural world and the people she loves in it. She plays eight instruments and shares her home with ten Old World tarantulas — no, she doesn’t hold them, and yes, they’re judging you.