ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
Before pigweed and meth took root in our county, before tractors became smarter than people, when each town had a cotton gin and a courthouse square, vibrant and spirited, we were young.
Back then.
Before text messaging and likes and follows, before helicopter moms became a hovering, annoying thing, when farm-to-table meant suppertime—eat what’s served and don’t dare whine—we were kids.Continue Reading
This weekend marks our first lake trip of the year. Our first official trip of summer, not that summer is here yet (but you know what I mean). Now that Momma and Staci are both living in Fayetteville, we are much closer to Lake Norfork. And we can go for long weekends. That was practically impossible to do when we lived in Texas.
So we’ll kick off lake season the way we did when we were all living together on the farm, when Staci and I were kids, before college and marriage and family and careers. We’ll spend the weekend doing many of those same things we always do when we go to the lake. Lake girls are like that.Continue Reading
I love our kitchen. The longer we live in this house, the more deeply I believe it is one of my favorite places anywhere. I love it not only for its expansive windows that look out over our backyard (the space where we spend most of our free time), but also because it’s the room that holds so much tradition. If a house has a soul, its core is rooted in the kitchen.
Don’t you agree?
I thought about this recently as we prepared our Easter meal. We kept it simple this year, deciding on ribs with all the trimmings. Yes, it may have been more typical of a 4th of July picnic, but no one seemed to mind. Our kitchen comes with no rules, other than that one rule standard for all southern kitchens—we don’t want anyone to leave hungry.Continue Reading
