Welcome…
This collection is more than words on a page. It’s a quilt of stories, poetry, and porch-talk stitched beside photographs of ridges, gardens, and firelight. Each piece rises from the same root—my life lived close to land, to spirit, and to kin. Some writings carry Granny sass, some hum like hymns, some whisper like wind through sweet everlasting. My photographs catch the medicine of place: a mountain shadow, a flower’s face, sparks rising into night. The poetry and prose are my way of holding what can’t be said plain. Together, these pieces form a living book—part memory, part miracle, all carried by love.
Granny Woman Roots
From Prairie to Pine…
From the blog
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Don’t Be Afraid of the Broken Pieces
There has been part of me afraid to share what I write these days. So I’ve been keeping it locked away. A poem. A song. A complete ranting. The guttural cry from deep in my soul forming words typed in notes hidden into my phone. Something about another day with another loss fresh on hearts…
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Mountain Medicine Woman Music
Mountain Medicine Woman wasn’t something I set out to become. I have been writing stories for years about the things I know: mountains and gardens, hospice and death, childhood wounds and healing, faith and doubt, women finding their own voices, and the strange holiness tucked inside ordinary life. Then one night, I discovered some of…
