I was just a little girl when I first fell in love with the sparkle of gemstones—not because of their shine, but because of what they meant to my father.

My earliest memories are of him coming home from trips to faraway cities, his leather duffle bag filled with velvet pouches, each one holding a story wrapped in gold and silver. He called his business The Prospector, and to me, he was exactly that—a treasure hunter, an artist, and a dreamer all in one. He had a fire in his eyes every time he talked about his latest find. Jewelry, to him, wasn’t just a business. It was soul work.

As I grew older, so did he. The shine of the business began to fade as the years wore on. He told us he’d sold everything, let go of his inventory, and quietly stepped back from the work he once lived for. And like many things in life, The Prospector quietly slipped into memory.

Then, earlier this year, my father passed away. And in the bittersweet haze of loss, I stumbled upon something he never mentioned—boxes of pieces he never sold. Rings still holding the warmth of his hands. Necklaces tangled with time. Stones that still glowed with his passion. It was like opening a vault of love, hidden away not for profit, but for me.

That’s when Prospector’s Daughter was born.

This business isn’t just mine. It’s his legacy, carried forward through my hands. Each piece I sell is a conversation between generations. A reminder that beauty, like love, never really dies—it just waits patiently to be rediscovered.

So when you wear something from Prospector’s Daughter, you’re wearing a piece of that story. A father’s dream. A daughter’s promise. And the belief that some treasures aren’t found—they’re inherited, carried in the heart, and passed on with purpose.