Welcome…
This collection is more than words on a page. It’s a quilt of stories, poetry, and porch-talk stitched beside photographs of ridges, gardens, and firelight. Each piece rises from the same root—my life lived close to land, to spirit, and to kin. Some writings carry Granny sass, some hum like hymns, some whisper like wind through sweet everlasting. My photographs catch the medicine of place: a mountain shadow, a flower’s face, sparks rising into night. The poetry and prose are my way of holding what can’t be said plain. Together, these pieces form a living book—part memory, part miracle, all carried by love.
Granny Woman Roots
From Prairie to Pine…
Wisdom
The work I’m called to…
From the blog
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Part 14: How The Holler Stayed Alive
They built the fire in a rough circle, not tidy and not planned, just how people do when nobody’s in charge and everybody’s paying attention. Logs pulled from where they’d fallen. Stones dragged in with scraped knuckles and laughter when one rolled downhill like it had someplace better to be.Enna Mae watched from her rocker,…
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Part 13: When Poppy Stops Hearing And Starts Listening
They didn’t speak at first.That was the first thing Poppy noticed — how the silence didn’t feel awkward or heavy, just… held. Pocahontas Hale moved about the clearing like she’d already measured the space between them and found it right. She set a kettle near the coals, adjusted a log with her boot, brushed her…
Granny Woman 