grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Sunday Letter: 11.23.25

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Dear Sunday Letter friends,

This is a super short Sunday Letter. Various distractions, website issues, and general busyness sent me veering off track. You may even wonder why I interrupted your serene Sunday morning for so little content. To this I say—Happy Thanksgiving! The truth is I couldn’t let one of the best weeks of the year to pass without at least a nod and a wave. A reminder that sometimes less really is more. That even if your mashed potatoes are lumpy and you forget the cranberry sauce altogether, it will be okay.

Thanksgiving season reminds me to look around, take stock, and say thank you—for the people at my table, the memories tucked into old recipe cards, and the simple grace woven into ordinary days.

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Sunday Letter: November 9, 2025

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Hello Sunday Letter friends!

Let me start with a confession: since my last letter, I’ve eaten way too much Halloween candy. It wasn’t my fault exactly—we ended up with an embarrassing surplus of candy (a story for another time). Now every downstairs room has a bowl of chocolate calling my name. It’s like walking past a “FREE SUCCULENTS” sign and not taking one… or ignoring a box of books labeled “TAKE ONE.”

Impossible.

I could, in theory, box up the candy, tie it with string, and hide it high on the pantry shelf—just like Frog and Toad did with their cookies.

But as Toad pointed out, I could still climb up, untie the string, and eat the candy anyway. So maybe, like Frog, I should just give it away and be done with it.

Now that I’ve confessed, I feel better. Let’s move on to the real content of today’s Sunday Letter, which—believe it or not—has nothing to do with sugar, chocolate, or food.

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Sunday Letter: Oct 26, 2025

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Sunday Letter

Dear Sunday Letter readers,

Better late than never! I started writing this Sunday Letter on October 10 from beautiful Lake Norfork when the trees were just beginning to show their fall color. Boaters were few—mostly those fishing in quiet coves. Gone were the pontoons filled with spirited summer vacationers, music blasting. No jet skis. No hot dog roasts on the island. No cliff jumpers. Sitting around a warm fire after sunset felt cozy! (Not so much in steamy August.)

Every season contains magic, and at the time of my recent visit, the lake was wonderfully peaceful and quiet. It was about the herons trolling for supper and the hawks gliding on the cool breeze. It was about the fog lifting from the cove at dawn.

Sunday Letter

My grandparents always went to the lake on Christmas Day. Maybe I’ll go back this winter. Seeing the lake during a snowfall would be stunning. The thing is—the love of a particular place is one you always return to, sometimes in person and sometimes in your mind. Do you have a place like that?

Anyway, I finally finished this Sunday Letter five minutes ago, two weeks after starting it, and after traveling all over the state twice. I’m glad you are here!

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THANKS FOR READING!