Dear Sunday Letter readers:
The beginning of spring is such a wild time of year. It reminds me of the old wooden roller coaster—the Pippin—we loved to ride at the Mid-South Fair in Memphis. Thrilling and a little rickety, the whole thing trembling as we climbed higher and higher before plunging down—hair flying, stomachs dropping.
Within five days, our Fayetteville temperatures swung from 19 degrees to 90. Some of the tulips have simply given up, I think. Others are giving it everything they’ve got, and I admire the effort. It would be a shame to miss tulip season entirely.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best: Our life is March weather—savage and serene in one hour.
There’s so much truth in that.
Still Painting…
You might remember from my last Sunday Letter (02.22.26) that my husband and I decided to paint the interior of our house. We started the first week of February, and the finish line is… out there somewhere.
Not to brag, but we even figured out how to paint around the ceiling air vents and light fixture high above the stairs.
We’ve learned a few things about our house and ourselves:
- The white paint on the bathroom trim is not the same white used anywhere else.
- Painting around a ceiling vent on the second story above the stairwell requires both courage and creativity.
- Painting is significantly harder when you wear trifocals.
Still, we are getting there…
How to survive a near tornado.
Since my last letter, I’ve made a road trip to the farm, taught an all-day publishing class at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Educational Center, and met with a wonderful group of women in Lonoke to discuss The Third Act of Theo Gruene. What an honor.
Between events, my sister and I spent time at the Bat Cave. (If you need a Bat Cave refresher, click here.) As is typical for early spring in Mississippi County, we also spent several hours hunkered down while a storm raged around us. Around here, spring means a potential tornado or three. Preparation is everything.
That particular Sunday night, we took shelter in our tiny childhood bedroom with the following essentials: our iPhones, cookies, a chocolate bar, coats and purses, a bottle of wine, a half-eaten container of blackberries, a family-sized box of Wheat Thins, a jug of water, dental floss, and lip balm.
We briefly considered buying bicycle helmets at Walmart—just in case the roof caved in—but the thought of another trip to the Osceola Walmart convinced us to roll the dice.
As anyone in the South knows, where you hunker down matters. Our childhood bedroom—now nicknamed the Enchanted Room—is the safest spot in the house. Thanks to a 1970s addition, it has no windows or exterior walls. It’s filled with dolls, toys, and tea sets from our childhood and from our own children. I’m fairly certain those objects serve as protective charms. (Though in the wrong circumstances, they could become projectiles. No place is perfect.)
When the storm hit, the wind roared like a freight train.
The lights flickered twice and then went out. Our candles provided the perfect glow for our impromptu charcuterie and séance. (Haha, we did not have a séance, though it was discussed.)
An hour later, still without power, we debated the merits of relocating to the nearby Holiday Inn once the storm passed. The weatherman had warned of plunging temperatures, and we have reached the stage of life where we appreciate a little comfort.
So we waited.
The storm passed, as storms do.
Miraculously, the electricity returned just in time for the final minutes of the Oscars. The front door alarm panel began its ear-splitting beeping. The ceiling held firm above our helmet-less heads.
We’d survived another Mississippi County storm. Because sometimes, preparing for the worst keeps the worst at bay.
Robin’s Nest
I recently worked with my fellow Master Gardener friends at the Headquarters House, where we rediscovered a robin’s nest tucked into the clematis vines.
We knew it was there—we found it two years ago—but the robin had moved on, and the clematis needed a haircut.
A few things people may not realize about robin nests:
- They contain a distinct layer of mud, shaped by the female pressing it into place with her breast—almost like pottery.
- Robins often nest close to people—on porch lights, window ledges, and gutters.
- A single robin may raise two or even three broods in a season, building a new nest each time to avoid parasites and ensure structural integrity.
- Their signature blue eggs likely help parents quickly recognize their own clutch.
Birds are survivors when it comes to our violent spring weather. They sense changes in barometric pressure long before we do and take shelter—or simply fly somewhere safer. Oh so smart!
I saw a Bluebird!
I spotted a bluebird in our neighborhood yesterday, and that one small sighting made my whole week.
I tried to convince him to follow me home, to visit our feeders. Maybe he’ll stop by today.
Things Momma Says:
My beauty shop is just around the corner. I could walk there—if I could walk.
***
Thanks for reading this new Sunday Letter.
Today is Palm Sunday, marking the beginning of Holy Week for many Christian traditions.
My wish for you is a peaceful week—during a season that feels anything but.
Spend time in nature. Read a good book. Talk to the birds. Turn off the news (but stay wisely informed).
Life is good—even when it storms.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Thanks for entertainment, information, and memories. I cannot imagine being able to go “back home” to my childhood room whenever I chose. Yes, I have been through a few Mississippi County storms/tornadoes, but they seem to have followed me to Marion County. Thanks for giving us something else to read in this stormy time.