I’ve been putting off starting this blog for about three years now.
Every time I’d sit down to write the first post, I’d convince myself I had nothing interesting to say. Who wants to hear about a Kentucky mom making banana bread and pulling weeds? The internet is already so loud — why add to the noise?
But then my grandmother passed, and Tom and I moved into her farmhouse with the kids, and something shifted.
This house holds so much. Forty years of her life pressed into the walls like dried flowers in a book. The kitchen windowsill where she kept her African violets. The squeaky third step she never fixed because “it lets you know someone’s coming.” The garden beds she tended until the very end, now overgrown but waiting.
I’ve been spending a lot of time out there, clearing and planting. Emma helps sometimes — she’s six and very serious about earthworms. Thomas Jr. mostly wants to know when we’re going inside, which is fair. He’s ten and still adjusting to the move — the WiFi out here is “unacceptable,” apparently.
And somewhere between the digging and the thinking, I realized: maybe I do have something to say. Not advice, exactly. Just… observations. The small beauties and struggles of trying to live simply in a world that moves so fast.
So here I am. A forty-something woman in Bardstown, Kentucky, writing from her grandmother’s kitchen table about dirt and bread and the way morning light looks on my daughter’s hair.
I hope you’ll stick around. 🌿