
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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Fly Your Rage Flags
I tried to end my life when I was nine years old. I’m not even sure I knew that’s what I was trying to do. I took half a bottle of aspirin. The aspirin sat on a high shelf in the pantry. It was what we took for pain. I had pain. So, in my…
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Part 17: The Daughter of Widows
By morning, the crows were gone. Every one of them. Not a feather on a fencepost. Not a shadow in a tree. Not a single black wing cutting across the sky.Now you’d think that would’ve brought relief.It didn’t.It unsettled folks worse.The holler felt empty in the way a house feels empty after company leaves. Not…