I moved away from here over twenty years ago vowing to never return. Believing there was nothing for me in rural Mississippi, I left for Chicago where I lived, married (Of course, I married a Southern man as any self respecting daughter of my parents would have done.) , worked, attended graduate school, and finally had a baby. I love Chicago and surrounding area -- diverse people, free days at the museums, Lincoln Park, jazz clubs, restaurants, free festivals and quasi-free festivals.
So why am I sitting on the porch of this hundred year old farmhouse which sits atop a red clay hill in Central Mississippi? Space -- space to stretch my legs without inhaling fumes, space to let my children roam without constant supervision, space to let my mind wander, and space to plant and harvest -- was the magnet that pulled me home.
Home - a place I realized I didn't know until I returned; a place I spurned and embraced at once-- was smaller than I realized and devoid of the diversity I had so cherished in Chicago. The grocery store has no produce, the library has few books, and the intellectual diversions are few and far between. Even so, I felt at home. Home is a place where your mind rests and you are capable of a singularity of focus.
Join me for a journey of truth, tradition, honor and fun; a journey through great and good books, through the gardening seasons, through the trials and celebrations of home schooling and country Southern living.