I am a long, tall Texan (yep, I’m a little over six-feet tall). I was born in Texas, anyway. We moved to Denver, Colorado when I was a wee little six-year-old and I grew up at the foot of the Rockies. Not a bad way to start out.
Growing up, my parents would put us on a plane each summer and send us out to west Tennessee to stay with my grandparents on their farm. At the time, I had no idea the impact those summers would have on my life. I remember well the fields of rolling white, fluffy cotton, chickens in the coop, pigs in the pen, and cows in the pasture. And corn. Corn as far as my little eyes could see. I even set the record in my family for eating twelve ears in one sitting. Yep, that’s right. I ain’t shy when it comes to corn.
Farm life, from a kid’s perspective, was pretty easy. We woke up each day to fresh scrambled eggs, bacon sizzled in an iron skillet, and a hot, fresh homemade biscuit on the side of the plate, smothered in homemade jam. My grandparents worked hard to make sure we were full at every meal.
We played all day with our cousins, caught lightning bugs, and went to Vacation Bible School each summer at the church that has sat on the same corner for over 100 years. Oh, and there was pie. Sweet, delicious, amazing, homemade pie. Oh, golly, how I love pie. My grandparents grew almost everything they ate and canned enough food to make the Ball jar factory work just a little harder.
For years, we continued the summer tradition. Now that I have kids I am more in awe of my grandparents for putting up with crazy grandkids all summer long. Seriously, how did they do it?
As I grew older, I learned how to sew (sort of), cook, and just fall in love with my family. My grandparents have gone on to Glory Land, but they left a legacy. A legacy that cannot be forgotten and keeps stirring inside of me.
It seems that in the past few years, this world has become so fast-paced and crazy, that I wanted something to slow our family down. Supper at the table, handmade quilts keeping my kids warm at night, and food in our tummies the way my grandparents made it.
The blessings of the South run deep in my blood. So, I hope you join me on this blog as I rediscover a life that needs to continue on in the southern tradition. I’m ready to find my way back home to what matters.