Keeping up with the Joneses

In the foothills outside Provo, Utah, the mountains seem to pull everything outdoors. Doors stay open longer. Breakfast drifts into late morning. Kids disappear into the yard and come back muddy, carrying sticks, cardboard, half-finished drawings, or whatever else feels important.

Amanda and Cree Jones have built a life that seems to move naturally with that rhythm. Their home, a thoughtfully renovated mid-century tucked against the Wasatch Mountains, feels deeply considered in all the right ways. Bright punches of color sit against softer earth tones and the surrounding landscape, and everything, from the furniture to the artwork to the way the outdoor spaces connect, feels intentionally chosen.

Kids drift through the house completely absorbed in whatever they're doing. One sat at the piano, playing quietly, while another worked on a drawing spread across the cardboard packaging from one of their newly acquired Neighbor outdoor dining chairs. Outside, someone else swung back and forth beneath the trees while Cree collected some firewood on the deck.

There's almost always a little bit of motion somewhere.

And somehow, none of it disrupts the calm of the space. If anything, it gives the house its warmth.

“My creativity comes in waves,” Amanda told us. “So I just have to kind of follow it.”

Portrait of Amanda Jane Jones in a denim shirt, standing in front of a colorful mood board

Cree Jones sitting on an indoor bench by a window, hands clasped over his knees

Amanda mentioned at one point that they try hard to only buy things they really love, even if it means waiting years sometimes. You can feel that patience in the space. Outside, the deck fits into the hillside in a way that makes it feel like it's been there much longer than it actually has. It feels like an extension of their home. Cree built a lot of it himself over time, usually early in the morning before the kids woke up. Not in a romanticized DIY way either. More in the real version of it: doing what he could when he could, getting help from friends, involving the kids whenever possible.

At some point, Amanda laughed and called him “kind of like our family camp counselor,” which honestly explains a lot.

Amanda and Cree Jones smiling together, Amanda leaning into Cree's shoulder

A child seen from behind with sunglasses pushed up on their head, wearing a striped shirt

A child in a knit beanie covering their eyes with their hands in a playful gesture

A child in a baseball cap and puffy jacket looking off to the side

A stack of books and wrapping paper designs by Amanda Jane Jones, including Foxfire Living and I Used to Be a Design Student

Colorful mood board and prints pinned to the wall in Amanda Jane Jones's studio

The Jones family gathers around their dining table coloring together, with a yellow "Homebody" print hanging on the wall behind them

A framed Black Lives Matter poster and prints displayed on a wood-paneled wall

A stack of Amanda Jane Jones's "Yum Yummy Yuck" books on a shelf beside a bottle of Tubby Todd bubble bath and stacked Kinfolk magazines

Close-up of a round teak coffee table holding a bowl of apples and a small black canister, with a sherpa blanket draped nearby

A wall covered in rows of vintage black-and-white photobooth strips featuring family and friends

Amanda Jones laughs with her family while playing cards on the outdoor sectional, surrounded by autumn foliage

Amanda Jones leans in close with her family gathered around the dark Terra outdoor sectional on their deck

The kids clearly adore him. Not in a performative way. They just genuinely seem to like being around whatever he's doing, whether that's building a deck, organizing a camping trip, or dragging everybody on a four-mile hike to hot springs.

But what stood out just as much was how naturally that sense of warmth extended beyond their own family. While we were there, friends stopped by with their kids, and within minutes, everyone seemed folded into the rhythm of the house. The children moved easily alongside the adults—helping load food onto plates, joining conversations, drifting between the deck and their bikes, or perched in a treehouse while the adults gathered around the table, talking long after the food was gone. It didn't feel like a styled outdoor setup. It felt easy in a way that can't really be designed.

And that same feeling carries into the outdoor space itself.

“They don’t necessarily make you faster when they come out to help you,” Cree explains, “but it’s more like I wanted them to have the experience of learning how to do things and feeling like they had contributed to the project that was really important.”

Cree Jones assembling outdoor furniture with tools and cardboard packaging nearby

A cardboard box fort under construction on a concrete patio

A child wearing a cardboard box decorated like a robot face over their head

A child peeking out through a cutout window in a Neighbor branded box

A child helping assemble outdoor furniture alongside an adult

Their Terra Sectional anchors the deck in a way that feels both architectural and relaxed, paired with a built-in end table and a separate coffee table that quietly disappears into the rhythm of family life around them. Nearby, a pair of teak outdoor Adirondack chairs catches magic hour beneath the trees.

Nothing feels overly arranged. Cushions get stolen for forts. Dinner goes long, and everyone falls deep into a card game on the coffee table. They all inevitably stay outside much longer than anyone expected.

“Nobody’s going to care about the way we finish this more than we do.” –Cree

Here, the day doesn't need to be marked or managed. It arrives, lingers, and passes on its own terms. And when the light fades and the house calls everyone back inside, the backyard remains—unchanged, ready again tomorrow, exactly as it was.

That balance feels pretty representative of Amanda herself. As a designer, illustrator, activist, and author, she has a way of making her work feel thoughtful, approachable, important, and deeply personal all at once. There's a simplicity to it, but never in a cold or overly minimal way. It invites people in and empowers them. Their home carries that same energy. Things feel chosen carefully, with enough room left for real life to unfold around them.