Today we’d like to introduce you to April Pevear.
Hi April, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
I grew up poor. My mother worked herself to the bone to help keep a roof over our heads, and from a very young age I understood what it meant to struggle, to stretch things, to survive, and to keep moving forward even when you were exhausted.
Later in life, I became a single mother myself. My son is 25 now and serves in the Navy, and I could not possibly be more proud of him. But there were years when things were very hard. At one point, my son and I shared a one-bedroom apartment while I worked endlessly trying to build stability for us both. Raising him taught me resilience, sacrifice, resourcefulness, and what it means to keep showing up for the people you love even when life feels impossibly heavy.
Throughout all of it, art and music were constants in my life.
They were glimmers.
They were how I processed things, how I healed, how I connected with people, and sometimes how I simply survived difficult chapters of my life. Creativity gave me a way to make meaning out of things that hurt. It gave me community. It gave me somewhere to put my heart when I didn’t know what else to do with it.
In 2018, I married the love of my life, Geoff. My son and grandfather walked me down the aisle in a forest surrounded by dear friends and family, and it remains one of the most beautiful moments of my life. Geoff and I met later in life, after much of the earlier strife had settled. He worked as a painter, and as a contractor, building and repairing things with his hands, while also spending decades immersed in music, art, conventions, festivals, and creative communities alongside me. Between the two of us, we’ve always been builders in one form or another.
Professionally, I spent many years working in healthcare operations and management. I was good at it. I helped hold systems together, solved problems, trained staff, troubleshot workflows, and tried to make difficult spaces function a little more compassionately for the people inside them. But over time, the thankless and high-pressure environments I found myself in started eroding my spirit.
In 2024, Geoff and I entered a contest for the Project Restore Grant. We actually made it to the finals. We weren’t selected in the end, but something about that experience changed me. For the first time, I could actually see this dream up close. It stopped feeling impossible. The Essex Community Development Corporation, who helped facilitate the project, continued encouraging me and stayed in touch even afterward.
But dreams can be expensive, and life is hard. So I kept going to work. I kept commuting. Day by day, month by month, I found myself driving up to 1.5 to 2 hours each way fighting traffic between Essex and Annapolis, trying to survive environments that no longer fit who I was becoming. It was soul crushing.
I started quietly looking for work closer to home while also slowly making plans for the business. Originally, the plan was for Geoff to run the cafe during the weekdays while I continued working another job and taught classes evenings and weekends. Even a few months ago, I still thought of Kestrel as my labor of love. A side project. A very large, very expensive side project.
But then life pivoted again. Events in mid-2025 had forced me to stop waiting for “someday” and finally ask myself what would happen if I actually bet on us. So we started the business. And somewhere along the way, Kestrel Cafe stopped becoming simply a business and became a place for people to breathe.
I trained in art therapy coaching and started combining my lifelong background in art and music with my lived experiences and trauma-informed approach to community care. I am not a therapist, and I don’t claim to be one. I’m a coach. A guide. A friendly voice. Someone who has survived difficult things and still found a way to keep creating softness in the world anyway.
I’m an SA survivor. I’ve experienced poverty and domestic abuse. I know what it feels like to claw your way through pain refusing to disappear. That deeply shaped the way I approach community.
At Kestrel, we don’t pretend pain doesn’t exist. We hold it. We turn it over carefully. We examine it honestly and then ask: “Okay. Where do we go from here?”
Sometimes healing does not begin with answers. Sometimes it begins with finally feeling safe enough to exhale.
Kestrel Cafe is not a cafe in the traditional sense. We’re not a restaurant. We’re serving experiences. Creativity. Community. Connection. People come here to make art, attend classes, listen to music, join clubs, write, craft, laugh, share stories, and exist around other people without judgment.
One of my favorite parts of all of this has been the incredible artists I’ve gotten to work with. Our walls are filled with artwork from talented local creators, many of whom have spent years honing their craft in convention spaces, festivals, and independent art communities. Watching people stop, connect with a piece, meet the artist behind it, and realize they’re surrounded by creativity has been one of the most rewarding parts of building this space.
Somewhere along the way, Kestrel organically became something bigger than we originally imagined. We’ve watched strangers become friends. We’ve watched nervous artists sell their first pieces. We’ve watched isolated people slowly become part of a community again. We’ve had people tell us this was the first place they felt safe being openly queer, openly creative, openly weird, or openly vulnerable.
That means more to me than I can properly put into words.
I truly believe we are here to lift each other up. To love one another. To help each other carry difficult things when we can.
Because sometimes the first step through pain is simply having someone beside you who can say:
“I’ve been there too. Here, take my hand. I’ll help you find your first steps forward.”
Alright, so let’s dig a little deeper into the story – has it been an easy path overall and if not, what were the challenges you’ve had to overcome?
It definitely has not been a smooth road. One of the biggest challenges has simply been helping people discover us and understand the kind of space we’re trying to create. Kestrel is a place where people can come work on projects, make art, write, craft, listen to music, join clubs, take classes, or simply exist around other humans without pressure. Sometimes people just need a place to bring their sketchbook, sewing project, yarn, laptop, or current hyperfixation and have a body double while they work. That kind of community-centered creative space is deeply needed, but it is also a little unconventional, so helping people understand what we offer here has taken time.
The other major challenge has been sustainability and accessibility.
Because I grew up in scarcity, I know what it feels like to be excluded because of dollar signs. I know what it feels like to want community, art, music, or healing experiences and simply not be able to afford access to them. From the beginning, it was incredibly important to Geoff and I that Kestrel Cafe remain welcoming and accessible to people from all walks of life.
But at the same time, running a physical space is expensive. Rent, utilities, materials, supplies, supporting artists, hosting workshops, and simply keeping the lights on all come with very real costs.
So there is a constant balancing act between:
“How do we keep this space affordable and inclusive while also making sure it survives?”
That can be emotionally difficult sometimes.
Another challenge was that originally, this was supposed to be a side venture while I continued working another full-time job. But life pivoted, the business grew faster than expected, and the job market became increasingly difficult. Suddenly this thing we created with love needed much more of my time, energy, and attention than we originally planned for.
That transition was scary. There are still moments where I wonder if we are completely out of our minds for attempting this.
But then I watch strangers become friends at our tables. I watch artists gain confidence. I watch people exhale for the first time all day when they walk through our doors. When every other person who walks through our door calls this place cozy, when someone tells us they feel safe here, in those moments, it reminds us exactly why we built this in the first place.
As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
I think what sets me apart most is that I never approached creativity as something separate from healing, community, or survival. For me, art has always been deeply human. It has never just been about making something pretty. It has been about connection, expression, and giving people somewhere to put feelings that are too large to carry quietly.
Creatively, I work across a lot of mediums. I’ve spent years involved in music, performance, fiber arts, machine embroidery, convention art culture, storytelling, writing, crafting, event creation, and community centered creative experiences. I also trained in art therapy coaching, which shaped the way I approach workshops and community programming at Kestrel Cafe.
One of the things I’m most proud of is that we’ve created a space where creativity feels accessible instead of intimidating.
People come into Kestrel and make their first painting in years. To pick up something they ‘used to do’ and to rediscover the joy of it. They learn embroidery. They write songs and poetry. They pick up a paintbrush after grief and take the pain inside of them and put it to canvas. They bring in unfinished projects they were too ashamed to touch because life got hard, and then they sit at our tables and they complete those projects along side us. That matters to us deeply.
I’m also incredibly proud of the artists we showcase. Our walls are filled with talented local creators, many from convention and independent art communities, and getting to help connect artists with new audiences has been one of the greatest joys of this journey.
As for what I’m known for, honestly? Probably creating spaces where people feel safe enough to be themselves.
I’m not interested in exclusivity or gatekeeping creativity. I don’t think art belongs only to people who already feel talented or polished. I think creativity belongs to everyone. Sometimes people just need permission, encouragement, or a soft place to start again. I think that philosophy is woven into everything we do at Kestrel Cafe.
At the end of the day, I’m proudest of the community itself. The friendships that have formed here. The vulnerable conversations. The tears shed and the laughter that followed. The people who tell us they finally feel like they belong somewhere. That has always mattered more to us than simply owning a business.
Who else deserves credit in your story?
Oh goodness. So many people deserve credit for helping bring Kestrel to life.
First and foremost, my husband Geoff. There is absolutely no version of this story without him. He believed in this dream even when it felt terrifying and impractical and impossibly large. He helped physically build the space, paint walls, move furniture, troubleshoot problems, create music, host events, encourage me when I doubted myself, and hold me together through the overwhelming parts of entrepreneurship. We are very different people in many ways, but we balance each other beautifully, and Kestrel carries both of our fingerprints everywhere you look.
My son deserves immense credit too, simply for being one of the greatest motivations in my life. Becoming a mother shaped me profoundly. Watching him grow into the kind, capable man he is today reminds me constantly why creating softer and safer community spaces matters.
My friend Jen, who is a pre-k teacher, has also been wonderful. She helps us with our early learning Art Exploration classes and brings such warmth, patience, creativity, and joy into those spaces.
My mother, who has spent a lifetime showing up for people, and now she is still kind enough to come sit and watch the shop so I can run errands or handle things that need doing. Those quiet acts of support matter more than people realize when you are trying to build something from the ground up.
The Essex Community Development Corporation has also been incredibly supportive and uplifting throughout this process. From the Project Restore Grant journey onward, they have continued encouraging me, offering advice, helping connect me with resources and people, and genuinely wanting to see small businesses like ours succeed. That kind of community support means the world when you are trying to build something from scratch.
My band, Pirates for Sail, and the broader pirate community deserve so much love too. When I told people I was really doing this, the support was immediate and overwhelming. The local pirate groups and creative communities rallied around us in ways I still find emotional to think about. Those communities have spent years teaching me about found family, creativity, resilience, storytelling, and joy.
I also have to mention Yoga Mouth Studios down the road for being some of our loudest and brightest cheerleaders. Having neighboring businesses genuinely root for your success instead of treating you like competition is such a beautiful thing.
Our landlords for seeing the vision and wanting us here in the first place. And our neighbors in the building have been incredibly kind and supportive.
My artists deserve enormous credit. They took a chance on a brand new business and trusted me with their work before we had really established ourselves. They helped fill these walls with color, imagination, vulnerability, and life, and many of them have continued growing alongside us as Kestrel has evolved. I will never stop being grateful for that trust.
Honestly though, the artists, musicians, crafters, performers, teachers, and community members who have chosen to believe in us have been the very heartbeat of this place. So many talented people took a chance on a strange little community arts space before we had truly proven ourselves. They trusted us with their art, their classes, their performances, their stories, and pieces of their hearts. That trust is not something I take lightly.
And in some ways, credit even goes to the people whose actions helped me realize how badly I wanted a kinder world. Without experiencing hardness, cruelty, exclusion, and pain, I do not know if I would have searched so fiercely for something gentler. Something better.
Kestrel was never built by one person alone. It was built collectively, piece by piece, through love, trust, creativity, resilience, and people continuing to show up for one another.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.kestrelcafe.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kestrelcafeart/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61578833750959
