A home bakery with no website at all, and then ten pages of one.
Ava Knipp bakes vintage buttercream cakes out of her own kitchen in Miamisburg, Ohio. Until this year her entire web presence was an Instagram account.
You get Joseph Deep — not a call center. The assistant answers at 2am; I answer the phone.
Prefer email?Joey@deepdevelopmentanddesign.com
What was actually there
Nothing. No website, no domain, no listing — one Instagram account and a phone number on a business card. Every order started as a direct message, every price question was answered by hand, and anyone searching for a cake in Miamisburg found somebody else. The first version we built was a single page, on purpose, to see whether the look was right before anything larger was made.
One page became ten of them.
Same look, kept deliberately — the whole point was to add pages without the site starting to feel like a different one. Switch the width to see how it holds on a phone, which is where nearly every cake order actually starts.
Captured
Shown at about a quarter size — open the real site to read it.
↑ The wordmark is a cut-out of her own hand lettering, not a typeface chosen to look like it. Every cake in the photographs is one she baked.
This is a frozen capture from 25 August 2026, not a live window — so it shows what we delivered. See Mamaw Knipp's Bakery as it is today →
What we built
Ten pages, one order form, and one place where every fact about the business is written down — so a price can never be right on one page and wrong on another.
A page per thing she sells. Cakes, cupcakes, cookies and the Cookie Club, weddings, gallery, prices, delivery, her own story and the order page — instead of one page trying to be all of them.
One order form that every button on the site fills in. Click "ask about a wedding cake" and the form already knows that is what you meant. There is one form to maintain, not ten.
One source of truth for every fact, with each block marked as confirmed by her or not, so nothing plausible-sounding can quietly become something she never said.
A gallery filter with no JavaScript in it. Radio buttons and sibling selectors, so it works before the page has finished loading and it cannot break.
Her real prices, in the page and in the structured data, which is what an assistant has to quote when somebody asks it what a birthday cake costs in Miamisburg.
How it got made
Extracted, not designed
Every color came off her two business cards and her logo. The hand lettering, the signature and the little drawing of Mamaw rolling dough were cut out of photographs of the real things. Nothing on the site is a font pretending to be her handwriting.
Her photographs, not stock
The first build used four stock photographs because she had none of her cookies. She sent her own, including family photographs going back to her grandmother, and every borrowed image came out. There is no stock left anywhere on the site.
Nothing invented to fill a gap
She had not set prices, so the site said so plainly rather than guessing. When she sent them, they went in as written. Three things still have no number and carry a question instead of a price — which is the honest state, not a missing one.
Homemade is a design decision, not an excuse
Torn brush edges instead of straight section joins, recipe-card ruling, a warm cold-press paper tooth. All of it drawn in code rather than downloaded — so it belongs to her and it weighs almost nothing.
The services behind it
Taking every order by message?
If every order starts with someone asking you the price, the website is doing none of the work. Tell us what you make and we will show you what it would take.