Steph Simply

Cardinal Song and Snowstorm Memories

January 13, 2022January 14, 2022 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”–Maya Angelou

“Stethie, you should always feed the red birds when it snows. You want them to stay near you.”

Papaw spoke these words with his sincere eyes imploring mine on a snowy winter day. I was living with my grandmother and him during my first two years as an educator, and during this time, I came to realize what bird-lovers they both were, especially during the winter months.

When I prodded him to tell me more, I don’t remember his precise answer, but I do recall that he talked about the cardinal’s beauty and goodness, especially when compared to the Blue Jay– the species for which Papaw was NOT a fan. I am certain he gave me a more detailed explanation about the importance of cardinals, but like so many memories, only the basic understanding of his words remains with me.

A long image of 2016 snow, when my daughter would periodically go out with a yardstick to measure the snow’s depth.

I was reminded of this feeling on a recent January morning, the day after precipitation conspired with plunging temperatures to instigate a snow storm as the inches of fluffy white accrued. With the arrival of dusk, winter’s hush settled over the surrounding hills and valley in which I live, as our yard residents, the cardinals, chirped their familiar song of, “cheer, cheer, cheer,” wrapping my family and me with a serene sense of quietude. My mind floated with the flakes, and I began quickly flipping through the pages of snow days past.

Remembrances of my youth-self entering the backdoor of my childhood home after hours of playing in the snow. I would be ensconced inside layers of snowy, wet clothes, and my play-shoes were sucked into clear galoshes that would break me out into a sweat as I struggled to take them off. In rapid fire succession, my mind meandered from my own childhood snow days to more recent reminiscences of my daughter’s days in the snow.

One of the last times, I believe, my daughter “played” in the snow with friends during college.

Those seemingly not-so distant days of watching her teach our beloved dog, Rusty, how to pull her through the yard on a red sled, and the way she taught him to play “catch” with snowballs. Rusty would catch the snow, then proceed to eat it, slinging slobbering snow-froth with every shake of his head. Like the 8mm films my grandfather once proudly recorded and presented, my family memories reeled on . . .

Get the yardstick and measure again, that’s another inch more for sure.

Why haven’t they called school off yet?

Spoon under pillow, pajamas inside out and backwards;

It’s what they said to do for a guaranteed snow day tomorrow

Screams of delight with morning light; I’m really out for the whole day?

Dog tracks follow girl tracks, two pals capering about the sparkling white

Snow persons with carrot noses, button eyes, tree limb arms, and purple cap; “Can I have a scarf for it too?”

Sled rides down the neighbor’s hill, “Rusty, pull, boy, pull!”

Grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup, comfort food to warm a rumbly tummy.

Wet clothes in dryer; boots and damp dog by the fire until

Back outside she goes with a whoop and a holler, “Come on, Rusty! Come on, boy!”

Tail waggin’, he’s hobbles into action; wherever she roams, he’ll go

More hours spent, giggles and barks galore; “Oh, Rusty! You silly boy!”

Hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies for her, and plenty of kibble for him.

Get out the crockpot, and make some veggie soup; I hope we have saltines.

Steph, how ‘bout a glass of wine?

No, really, I shouldn’t.

Well, maybe just a glass that turns into two

Jigsaw puzzle covers one end of the table, making the edges first.

Scrabble tiles are intersecting lines; Are you sure that is a word?

May I stay up a little bit longer?

What about a movie? There’s a new one I hear.

Can we read two chapters tonight?

But we’re at a good part. How‘bout one more chapter, pleeease?

Covers piled high, snuggled up under chin; the day, like all good things, must end

Sigh! How swiftly the hands of time spin.

The next morning, I stood at the kitchen window, coffee mug in hand, watching large flakes drift down, observing my cardinal friends, and drinking in their sing-song calls. There are three cardinal couples living in different parts of our yard; they took up noticeable residence this past spring. They have yet to leave, and I can’t help but take comfort in their presence.

Gone are the days I look out the window and see my daughter playing in the snow. She has no interest now that she is the same age as I was when I lived with my grandparents. Nor does Rusty, her once faithful companion, romp and scamper in the snow; he has since passed on to heavenly yards of the great beyond. Still, I stand there a bit longer, and I can’t help but wonder what the coming years will bring. Certainly, the answers aren’t in the sentimental past. Nonetheless, the cardinals keep singing, in spite of the seasonal changes, serenading their song of gratitude. Perhaps, therein lies a profound melody of truth.

Life Must Be a Challenge

January 6, 2022January 5, 2022 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Life must be a challenge.”–Sri Swami Satchidananda

“Have a Happy New Year, and whatever goals you set for yourself this year, I hope you achieve them.”

The sales clerk handed me my bags as she spoke these words with a broad smile. I wished her a new year’s greeting before heading out into the swarming mall milieu. John, my husband, and I were in Cincinnati for a couple of days of relaxation between the Christmas and New Year’s holiday. We debated the merits of traveling as the Omicron variant seemed to be spreading like athlete’s foot in a high school locker room. In the end, we decided to take the proper precautions–as we have been doing these past couple of years–and head out for our planned excursion.

Back home, I was later reminded of that brief encounter with a sales clerk.

“Did you set any New Year’s resolutions for this year?” asked the young lady preparing to cut my hair on a recent January appointment .

This question led to an interesting discussion about whether or not to use the start of a new year as a reset button–a time to reflect and set new goals. The stylist was all for it as she described the way in which her three boys, her partner, and she had shared and recorded their goals for 2022 in a journal. She added that she wrote the goals down as points for review throughout the year, and they would serve the family as a final reflection on the eve of 2023. It seemed like such an intentional and thoughtful practice to have with her family.

Pondering this practice, I reflected on my own goal-setting practices. As I had explained to the stylist, my personality is such that I am constantly reviewing my own behaviors/habits. Any perceived “mistake” I make–whether real or self-imposed–I dwell upon, running and rerunning the incidents on repeat like insurance commercials during televised football games. I think about what I said/did wrong, or how I should have responded to a circumstance, in hopes of not repeating that behavior. Sometimes it works, but more often than not, I fail, making the same or similar mistakes. Ugh! It is a broken record of imperfection.

Perhaps that is why I am drawn to setting small, achievable goals throughout the year, such as training for a half-marathon, teaching myself a new cooking technique, or even my pursuit of weekly writing deadlines. These are typically structured goals, with steps from point A to point Z, and clearly delineated deadlines/outcomes. Then, it’s simply a matter of following through with each step, adjusting when there is a set-back, and continuing on, one step at a time, until crossing the finish line.

In the bigger picture of life, however, things aren’t always so cut-and-dry with step-by-step progress and a clear finish line. For example, when looking over these past two years of life with COVID, it seems one plan after another falls and one unattainable finish line falls to another. Just as I struggle with my own fallacies, shortcomings, and humanity, science likewise seems to struggle with virus variants far more complicated than my own list of self-imposed list short-comings.

All of these seemingly diverse thoughts came together when I reread the opening line of The Golden Present, a reference book to which I have repeatedly referred over a number of years. The author begins with the following thesis, “Life must be a challenge.” In those five words, I was reminded of one simple truth. If life is to be lived fully, then its challenges, from the personal to the global (and all levels in between), must be met, faced, and dealt with in some form.

From surviving the ice storm in 2021, that wreaked havoc on local power grids, to navigating the following days of ice melt and rain that lead to devastating flooding; and from learning to adapt, adjust, and safely navigate the “new normal” of life with COVID, to getting up way to early each morning and trying to be a better version of myself than I was the previous day, life in 2021 was certainly full of challenges. One look back at local, state, national, and global news headlines, and we see that every day, people around the world were faced with challenges far greater than any crisis I faced this year.

As I write, I am reminded of the wildfires that ravaged the west in the summer, the Florida condo collapse, Hurricane Ida inflicting destruction on Louisiana, social media’s documented toxic influence on youth mental health, tornados that swept through Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Tennessee and Arkansas. Even now, in the early days of 2022, headlines continue to demonstrate that life is indeed full of challenges, adversities, and difficulties. Even within my own work community, a beloved employee was recently severely injured when another vehicle ran a red-light–totaling this employee’s vehicle and putting this person in the hospital for months of recovery.

I could go on, but the point is this. I am alive and overall healthy. If you are reading this, you are alive–and I pray–healthy. Therefore, as 2023 progresses and the challenges start arriving–and you know they will persist–let us resolve to bravely face adversity while acknowledging that both the good and the bad are gifts of life. After all, as light can only be known by the presence of darkness, the exuberance of joyful moments can only be known due to struggling through time periods of frustration, and sometimes even despair.

We are on this earth for such a short time, let us be grateful for the moments–the good times, and the not-so-good times, when obstacles of all types get thrown our way. May we endeavor to fortify our faith in Divine Providence, believe in the power of hope, and may we cultivate love, or at the very least, patience and kindness for others–even those who see things differently from our own point of view. As the name of my reference book indicates, the present moment is golden, and it is a gift to be unwrapped daily.

Each day of life is waiting like a present under a tree to be unwrapped!

Besides, who wants a life that is easy? If life were simple, there’d be no stories to tell around dinner tables, much less work cooler gossip; and, there certainly would not be any fodder for writers who need the challenge of discovering a new story to tell each week in order to meet a weekly deadline!

Gluten-free Snickerdoodles (with vegan option)

December 30, 2021December 27, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Recipes

“Baking cookies is comforting, and cookies are the sweetest little bit of comfort food. . . .”--Sandra Lee

Years ago, back in the days of the VHS tape cassettes, when my daughter, Maddie, was quite young, she had her fair share of age-appropriate videos. These were special treats as her TV time was limited. John, my husband, and I are both educators, and we strongly believed then–and still do–that screen time should be limited, especially before the age of five years. Therefore, these videos were not watched daily, but rather saved for “special times,” such as holidays, sick days, and weekends.

One of her favorites was Barney: Night Before Christmas. It was 57 minutes of so much saccharine sweetness that John and I felt cavities forming, if not in our teeth, then in our minds! It used to drive us crazy with its terrible acting and poorly written script. Regardless, Maddie loved it, and she especially enjoyed singing along with the Barney closing jingle. I can still recall the way in which she would plead for her Dad and I to join her in singing it’s catchy refrain, followed by a group hug.

One line from this video, ultimately became–and still remains–a running joke in our family. Let me set the stage for you. Magically, a flawlessly dressed and styled girl wakes up to find snow has fallen just in time for Christmas Eve. Poof! Out of nowhere, a perfectly coiffed mom, garbed in stereotypical Christmas attire, emerges to hug her daughter at the window. As Mother and daughter turn away from the window, in walks the doting Dad carrying boxes of Christmas decorations,“just in time for Christmas Eve too!” Suddenly, Dad feigns hunger like Santa, so Mom suggests that she should bake cookies.

Ooo! Snickerdoodles cooling on a wire rack!

“Ooo–snickerdoodles?” says Dad, rubbing his hands together.

“Chocolate chip?” asks Daughter in a sing-song voice.

Mom smiles methodically in assent, as both parents make their way through the Christmas greeting card house and disappear behind a swinging door to presumably bake cookies. Twenty or so minutes later, both parents will reappear, no worse for the wear, carrying a large Christmas basket filled with piles of Instagram worthy cookies–had social media been around then.

The days of Maddie’s Barney obsession are long past; however, if I state that I am going to bake cookies, John, and/or Maddie, will both mimic the lines from the video. John especially loves to say, “Ooo–snickerdoodles?” and dramatically rub his hands together as if teaching a primary science lesson on friction. As inside family jokes go, it never gets old!

Therefore, this past Christmas week, I decided to be ironic and make those Barney dreams come true! I researched and cobbled together my own version of gluten-free snickerdoodle cookies! As an added twist, John inadvertently played the role of doting dad by scavenging stores for cream of tartar, the secret ingredient to these magical cookies, since it was out-of-stock at the store I most often frequent.

*Barney may have magic, but snickerdoodles have cream of tartar.*

My family and I recommend giving these cookies a try. At first glance, they may seem quintessentially Barney–simple and sweet. Unlike Barney, however, the cookies are not overly-sweet. Instead, they are soft, pliable, and slightly complex in flavor due to the combined tang of the cream of tartar and the spice of the cinnamon. Nonetheless, when you bake this recipe, don’t be surprised to discover that your home has been transformed into an idyllic world filled with singing dinosaurs, cued laughter, and a lovey-dovey theme song that won’t leave your head . . . “I love you, you love me . . . .

You get a cookie, and you get a cookie, and . . .

In the meantime, feel free to drop me a line anytime. Let me know your thoughts and/or suggestions. I always enjoy engaging with readers.

From my home to yours, I wish you sweet baking experiences!

A few of the tricks to making gluten-free, and vegan, snickerdoodles!

Gluten-free Snickerdoodles (with vegan option)

Ingredients for topping:

¼ cup sugar

2 teaspoons cinnamon

Ingredients for cookies:

1 cup softened butter (You can substitute vegan butter for this if desired.)

1 ½ cup sugar

2 large eggs (You can substitute with *flegg.)

1 tablespoon vinegar

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

3 cups all-purpose, gluten free flour

2 teaspoon cream of tartar

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

Directions:

If using flegg, mix first, and set aside.

Mix sugar and cinnamon together, and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Place parchment paper on a cookie sheet.

In a large mixing bowl, mix together butter and sugar until light and fluffy.

Mix in egg, vinegar, and vanilla, scraping down sides as needed, until creamed well.

Add in cream of tartar, baking soda, and salt until well blended.

Mix in flour, a cup at a time, until dough forms.

Using tablespoon, or cookie scoop, scoop out small amount of dough, and roll into balls

Roll each ball in cinnamon sugar mixture and place on the prepared cookie sheet.

If you prefer a flatter, crisper cookie, flatten each dough ball with a spoon, otherwise for fluffier, more soft cookies, leave as is.

Bake 8-12 minutes, depending upon how soft you prefer your cookies.

Allow cookies to cool 2-4 minutes on pan before removing to a cooling rack.

Store cookies in an airtight container.

*flegg=egg substitute: Per egg, mix 1 tablespoon ground flaxseed with 3 tablespoons water. Set in refrigerator 15-20 prior to mixing dough

Like a Prayer

December 23, 2021December 22, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or in the deep, deep woods and I’d look up into the sky—up—up—up—into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer.”–L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Green Gables

“Ms. Hill, don’t you like doing healthy stuff like hiking and running?”

The 6th grader looked at me with sincerity written across his face. He was in my homeroom, the group of students with whom I start and end the school day. By this point in the school year, I have come to know most of the students in this group fairly well, and this particular young man, in spite of his energetic youthfulness, has an uncommonly thoughtful side.

The group of boys with whom he was talking and joking around at the end of the day, all turned to look at me. I affirmed that I did indeed like both of those activities, but that I also enjoyed walking or simply being outside equally as much.

Nodding, seemingly with understanding, the same young man further inquired, prodding as to why I liked being outside. After pausing to gather my thoughts, I explained that it made me feel happy, at peace, and connected to God.

“So it’s kinda like a prayer, huh?”

Out of the mouths of babes, or in this case, a 6th grader . . .

Then, in typical middle-school fashion, the young man’s conversation quickly pivoted back to his buddies, so I returned to my routine end-of-the day tasks. However, his words remained with me. In fact, his words have often returned to me on a number of occasions for the past several weeks, especially during moments when I am out-of-doors.

Scanning through photos of my recent trip to the Blueridge Parkway as well as past out-of-doors experiences, it is clearly evident from the large number of nature-centric images that I relish time spent outside. From images of wispy cloud billows to leaf-scattered earthen trails; from layers of cerulean blue mountainous peaks to emerald green moss dressing up a boulder, and a great many variations in between, I have collected hundreds of images of Mother Earth. Nonetheless, my fondness of nature is so much more than taking photographs.

Time spent outside is like pouring soothing salve over my weathered soul. One deep inhalation of fresh air, and I can instantly feel more calm and grounded. In fact, I have an overall sense of vigor, not just in my body, but in my mind and soul when I am outside in the natural world. It is as if my whole being comes alive.

Therefore, it was no surprise for me to learn that numerous research bodies and scientific communities corroborate my personal experiences with nature. As I scanned through several research pieces published by well-respected groups such as the American Psychological Association, Yale School of the Environment, Harvard Health, and Scientific Reports, to name a few, there were some variations as to what defines “nature” and how long one needs to spend time in nature to reap the benefits; however, all pointed to the fact that spending time out-of-doors is overall beneficial to good health and mental well being. Some of the commonly cited perks of spending time in nature include: improved mood, increased cognitive and memory function, reduced stress levels, improved mental health, boosted immune system, and overall reduction of blood pressure and heart rates.

While I whole-heartedly appreciate and welcome ALL of those benefits, it has been my experience that there are also other, more ethereal, benefits of spending time in nature. I find that when I bear witness to the brilliant rise of the sun, gaze upward as sunlight dapples through a canopy of leafy green, or catch sight of sunbeams streaming across dark silhouettes of towering tree trunks, naked in their winter respite, I feel a sense of awe and wonder. The wide array of colors, lines, shapes, sizes, and the symmetry rivals great artists of our time–our world is a marvel!

The more I observe nature, the more curious and inquisitive I become. How did all of this happen? How do I, a person so small and insignificant in the face of all this wonder, fit into the grand scheme of the great I AM? How am I to comprehend Divine Providence and this wondrous creation called earth? I have no answers, nor do I feel a need for answers. Rather I am in a state of being–being appreciative and feeling adoration for the great playground that is nature. After all, we are called human beings.

Francis Bacon, often cited as the father of science and ironically attributed to have invented the essay form, is quoted as once stating that God wrote two books: The Scripture and “a second book called creation.” Time spent with the “second book” offers me tangible, first hand reminders of the greatness of our Creator. Standing in the presence of a lofty range of mountains, floating across a lakeshore rippling with life, strolling through the rhythmical edge of ocean tide waters, or simply jogging alongside streams and trees on an earthen park trail, my heart and soul are at ease. There are no timelines, no demands for my attention, no to-do lists, or looming deadlines. Instead, there is a softness that envelops my soul, a well-worn quilt of comfort, that is available to all.

I suppose my student said it best after all. Spending time in the majesty of nature opens my heart and mind, allowing me to feel as if I have been gathered into an embrace by a loved one happy to see me once more as God’s peace settles over me. My spirit is more serene, and I feel as if I am part of something larger than myself. Something so large, I cannot fathom it, but it is something like a prayer.

It’s Time to soar

December 16, 2021December 16, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Motherhood is an early retirement position. Your children do grow up.”–Colleen Parro

“Are you ready to go see Mommy? Are you ready to go home? We’re almost to the car, and then we can go home to Mommy. Daddy just has to buckle you in your car seat . . .”

I took the scene in with great fondness as my heart constricted and my vision grew temporarily fuzzy. The toddler was grinning, blinking tears from her eyes, as she took in the bright sun, while the wind ran its fingers through her fine, wispy hair. It was not an unusual exchange for me to witness since there is a daycare/preschool as part of the school setting at which I teach. However, on this particular day, the parent’s sing-song voice, as he interacted with this sweet-cheeked cherub, led to a momentary visit with the past . . .

Mommy, Mommy!

Embracing hugs

Turned into swings

Kisses, sweet

On rosy cheeks

Flaxen hair

Ponytailed by morning

Chaotic halo by day’s end

Indications of a good day

Paints and crayons

Scissors and glue

Look what I made

Just for you!

Meaningful lines

Defined shapes of purpose

There’s you and me

And that one is Daddy

Birthday parties

Dress up boxes

Can I go out to play?

Watch me climb the tree!

One more story please

This one is fun to read

Snuggled up under

Blankets of love

But my teacher says . . .

And my friend say . . .

And tomorrow we . . .

That mean boy is at it again!

Oceanside escapades

Aquariums and zoos

Museum adventures too

Why does summer never last?

Worried feelings

Broken heart

You just don’t understand!

Band Aids no longer mend the hurt

Look at this dress!

I passed the test!

How do you like my hair?

I’m heading out with friends

I once recall reading that we only borrow our children from God for a short period of time. It seems to me that this, indeed, may be true. Furthermore, I believe that children are like birds. They begin life as nestlings–totally dependent upon parents to provide their needs. During the first years, as our children learn to express their needs and gain mobility, juvenile feathers for flight first begin to appear.

With each transition from one stage of life to the next, more feathers are added, and soon enough, initial flight feathers materialize. As parents it is important not to cut those wings back, but to foster their growth in preparation for what will come. As children move into the fledgling phase, they remain with us a bit longer as they don’t yet have their full adult plumage. Instead, they take short test flights, here and there, away from the nest, dipping their toes in the waters of adult life as parents remain nearby offering support and care as needed. These test flights can sometimes be fraught with worrisome situations, concerns, and sometimes even a bit of danger as they awkwardly transition into independence. However, these life experiences, as hard as they can sometimes be, allow our children to develop flight strength in order to ultimately take flight from the nest.

“Oh, it’s delightful to have ambitions. I’m so glad I have such a lot. And there never seems to be any end to them–that’s the best of it. Just as soon as you attain one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still. It does make life so interesting.”–L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Green Gables

One day prior to writing this, and two weeks after noticing the sing-song father and daughter duo, Madelyn Clarice Hill walked across the stage to receive her college degree for which she had worked diligently to earn. Her wings may have been hidden under a ceremonial gown of black, but they were most certainly present and ready to take flight. Where her maiden voyage will take her, only she and life can determine. What I can say with confidence is that she is ready to fly; she is definitely ready to fly.

Soar my daughter, soar . . .

Greybeard Overlook and Douglas Falls–Stepping into Faith

December 9, 2021December 9, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Travels

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.–Marcel Proust

There are times in life when you have no idea where the path onto which you have stepped will lead. For example, if you have been married for a number of years, think back to the day you said, “I do.” When you examine the innumerable moments between the “I do” to the present day, it is sometimes astonishing the ways in which the life journey of a marriage meanders and leads. Even if you aren’t married, or haven’t been married long, once you hit a certain age of awareness, you begin to witness how very unpredictable life can be with all of its plot-twists, side paths, and meandering stops, starts, and–SURPRISE–unpredicted events.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, my husband, John, and I, spent a few days in the Black Mountain/Asheville area of North Carolina. Our intent was to take a break from the work routine and spend some time hiking through the picturesque Blue Ridge Mountains. We had researched a few hiking trail options we thought we would enjoy tackling, but we had also selected a couple back-up alternatives in case those didn’t work out.

We had hoped to hike to the top of Craggy Pinnacle, instead we ended up hiking the area around it.

Typically, another part of our travel habits is mindfully allowing time to relax and not adhering to a said schedule since our work life as school teachers is very schedule driven. Therefore, when traveling, we usually try not to rush through our mornings to get out of the door. Additionally, we both enjoy experiencing new dining venues as part of the fun during out-of-town expeditions. This often means that part of our relaxed morning is savoring a late morning meal (sort of a brunch). The downside to this habit, when hiking, is that it can cause us to arrive at a trailhead anywhere between the hours of 11:00 am and 2:00 when numerous other relaxed hikers are likewise arriving. This is why we’ve learned to have several hiking paths in mind for any given day as many trailheads have limited parking.

Other than one other couple, John and I encountered no one on this meandering part of the MTS trail.

There were two trails at the top of our list of preferred hiking experiences–one that led to Rattlesnake Lodge and another to the top of Craggy Pinnacle. Unfortunately, we were not able to hike either one. Instead, on one of the afternoons during our trip, we found ourselves at the closed-for-the-season Craggy Garden Visitor Center, with its ample parking area and scenic views, staring at a map of hiking trails that could all be accessed from the parking lot. We picked one that wasn’t part of our so-called list-for-the-day and headed off down the trail without conducting any research. Why not, right? After all, we had already successfully hiked one of the trails shown on the map on a previous trip; therefore, how much more difficult could another trail in the same area be?

John led the way during this uphill section

Stepping onto the trail, which was part of the 1,174 mile long Mountain to Sea Trail that crosses North Carolina, we saw a trail marker indicating that Greybeard Mountain Overlook was a “mere” 2.8 mile hike and Douglas Falls was only 3.6 miles away. Perfect! We had plenty of time, as it was early in the afternoon, and the mileage didn’t seem insurmountable–silly, unsuspecting fools that we were!

Without prior research, we were completely ignorant of the level of effort required on this section of the MTS trail. In hindsight, we would later learn this section of the MTS trail was rated at a difficulty level of 5, across a multitude of hiking platforms–on a scale of 1 to 5, with 1 being the easiest and 5 the most difficult. Plus, let’s be honest, John and I are definitely not spring chicks. While we both maintain overall good health, we are not near as young and fit as we once were. Nonetheless, we knew nothing of the trail’s ranking, so we persevered on, writing off the exacting switchbacks, arduous ascents, and demanding descents to our age–oblivious to the fact that the segment of MTS over which we hiked would challenge even the most fit.

Up and down, over and around, slipping and sliding, grasping and pulling, we made our way over the craggy, uneven, and mountainous terrain. We paused here and there to catch our breath and/or rest our legs–especially John’s right knee, which no longer has a meniscus thanks to an injury and requisite surgery a little over a year prior to the writing of this piece. In spite of it all, the quietude we experienced on this trail was serene and surreal, even when our hearts were often pounding in our ears! With each pause and rest, we would gaze all around at the wondrous mountain scenery and soak up the calmness that accompanies the whisperings of nature.

Nearly two hours later, we encountered a trail marker at a fork in the footpath informing us that Greybeard Overlook was still 1.1 miles away down one fork, and Douglas Falls was still more than 2 miles away along the other fork. What? Surely, this was not possible. Had we accidentally wandered off the trail, or were we really moving that slowly? Cloud cover, throughout our hike, had gradually been increasing, which meant that darkness would envelop the mountains sooner than the predicted 5:20 sunset. It was already after 3:00, we were deep into a cavernous crevasse, so we felt the safest choice was to turn around without reaching either destination.

I wavered. I wanted to see more. Therefore, John, used to my enduring curiosity and energy level, said he would wait while I explored ahead a bit more. While he sat down to rest on a large rock, I carried on to the Greybeard fork which began climbing once more. Continuing further along, the path became more wet and somewhat less rocky. I stepped through muck and oozing mud as small rivulets trickled along this part of the path. To my left, through statuesque trees, I spied those aegean tinged Blue Ridge Mountains, sentinels of the BRP, standing watch over it all. I wanted to continue further, but visions of being trapped in a rocky ravine overnight surrounded by bears and numerous other critters kept me from straying too much further up the path, perhaps only hiking a ¼ of a mile more!

Turning back without having reached our destination was heartbreaking at first. What was the point of hike without some sort of distinctive destination? Nonetheless, as we made our way back up, over, and around the formidable trail, John and I reflected upon the rewards of this trail’s experience–from the scenic views to the tranquil stillness and from the heart thumping ascents to the balance-demanding descents–we challenged our mind, body, and spirit in new and unpredictable ways. We hiked by faith, and our faith grew as God met us there on the mountain path. Isn’t that like life?

Life finds ways to force us out of our comfort zone in order to step out into the unknown. Through living, we experience mountain top high life events, endure darkened valley can’t-see-the-sun-for-days-on-end time-periods, and live through all manner of ups, downs, and unforeseeable meanderings. Life is not about the destination, but about gathering experiences. Furthermore, life is best met through faith, appreciation for all the Creator has given us, and a recognition that the great Sentinel stands watch over us, no matter the path we trod.

How blessed we are to live in a world with mountains, valleys, and an assortment of craggy paths!

South toward Grassy Branch–Traveling in the footsteps of those who have gone before us

December 2, 2021December 2, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Travels

Still round the corner, there may wait, a new road or a secret gate.–J. R. Tolkien

Hearts-pumping, legs moving, a brisk wind periodically scoured at our cheeks as John, my husband, and I began our hike into the autumnal colored woods just outside of Asheville, North Carolina. Porcelain blue skies interspersed with frothy, opaque clouds expanded above the deciduous tree line. To our left, as we made our way along the trail, was an expansive valley enclosed by the cerulean heights of the Blueridge Mountains–a 550 mile expanse of the Appalachian Mountains. To our right, and above our heads, was the Blueridge Ridge Parkway, but we were moving lower and lower into the gap further away from any sounds of traffic. I couldn’t help but smile.

Sunshines from porcelain blue skies as part of the path we hike was once an old wagon road to Rattlesnake Lodge.

Our hike had actually begun by parking in a small lot at Craven Gap and walking across the BRP. Fortunately, due to either the Thanksgiving holiday week or the chilly temperatures–although to John and me, the mid-40 fahrenheit range was perfect hiking temperature–the BRP wasn’t too busy, allowing us to safely cross. We followed the stoney steps down the beginning of the trail that eased our gradual descent into the ridge-hugging trail. Before taking a more serious turn and further drop, we crossed over a large log that had been allowed to remain across the path, but had been roughly hewed half-way down mid-way up its trunk to allow easier access across.

As we walked, my mind roamed, and my senses soaked up my surroundings: the occasional call of a bird, the scuffling of our feet along the path, the aromatic scent of damp earth, and the multi-hued assemblage of leaves in all shapes, colors, and sizes. I was reminded of the expression, forest bathing, often used by the health and wellness industry, to encourage people to spend more time in nature. Despite its marketing association, I was certainly benefiting from this scenic Blue Ridge immersion.

How many years had this tree stood as a witness to life?

John and I paused to admire an expansive trunk that had been a victim of ice, lightning, landslide, or other natural calamity. We admired the seemingly countless lines of growth circling the inside of the tree’s trunk. Its age had to be more than one hundred years old. Running my hands across those lines, I couldn’t help but wonder how many different lives this tree had touched. How many families, dogs, squirrels, birds, insects, and other creatures either traveled past this tree or even called it home? It felt as if I was touching a piece of unspoken history.

Walking deeper into the wooded crevasse, John pointed out another fallen tree. While it was much smaller in circumference than the previous downed tree, there was a unique start of what appeared to be a maple tree attempting to grow from its trunk. The leaves on it numbered less than 20, but they were changing into their fall coats of colors. What a marvelous example of life finding a way to continue even in the midst of decay.

Further down the path, we entered a darkened area lined with bare trees whose branches looked like works of twisted, wire art stretching out into wandering, curving lines. This part of the path was also carpeted with aromatic, long, thin, and tan pine needles, which was unlike any other part of the path. It felt as if we were entering a page out of a fantasy novel, and at any moment, elves, hobbits, dwarfs, or maybe even a unicorn, would enter onto the path in front of us and send us on a discovery quest.

Christmas green ferns sprouted here and there near large rocks sank deep into Mother Earth. Random leaves of striated emerald green emerged from piles of tawny leaves discarded from the bondage of their former trees. Moss, in shades of pistachio, pickles, and pears blanketed rocks and trunks of trees–live and fallen.

The headwaters of a spring flowing down the mountain.

Trickling headwaters of small, silver springs melodically spilled over rocks, debris, and other forest detritus on its way down the mountain. Oozing mud, slick and thick, filled gaps between rocks on the footpath crossing these singing waters. Sucking sounds slurped at the bottom of our hiking shoes. Above our heads the backup singing wind, provided three-part harmony, as the layers of air moved over us, rustling the tree branches, and echoing over the Grassy Creek Valley below.

Throughout the footpath, gem-stone colored leaves dotted the path with images of once per year beauty. Blackberry jam tinged stars, mustard-stained clusters, garnet and black tear drops, mahogany and green points, butterscotch lined with granola bristles–the hues seemingly painted on the leaves were as varied as the shapes of the leaves. It was as if God left a jigsaw puzzle scattered across the forest floor.

At one point along the pathway, John pointed to what appeared to be a game trail. This began a quiet discussion and subsequent ponderings of the first people who traversed this particular area. Had they been following game trails to make their way through the dense forest and rocky mountain side? What did the mountain look like for them? What challenges must they have faced in order to travel over and through such rugged terrain?

Later, when John and I made our way back to the home in which we were staying in Black Mountain, NC for a short getaway before Thanksgiving, I did a bit of research about the route we hiked. We had covered over five miles moving south towards Grassy Branch, as part of the 1,200 mile long Mountain to Sea Trail that stretches across North Carolina. This unique trail begins at Clingman’s Dome in the Great Smoky Mountains, and it ends at Jockey’s Ridge on the Outer Banks. Having visited both places on separate trips, years apart, I had to marvel at the trail’s length and diverse terrain.

However, there was more. A wide section of the path John and I hiked, according to early maps of the area, was part of an old road bed that appeared to be part of a bygone wagon road to Rattlesnake Lodge, a summer home built in 1904 by Dr. Chase Ambler for his family. Named for its infamous living room ceiling that was covered in rattlesnake skins, the home was eventually sold, and it is believed that the lodge was destroyed in the 1920s due to lightning strike. However, its remains can still be visited via another hiking trail–a footpath John and I hope to travel on another trip.

It is remarkable to think about all of those who had traversed those paths before us, and it is made further marvelous to consider those whose feet first touched its ground hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. Did those who originally made their way through the Blueridge Mountains have the same thoughts of appreciation and awe as John and I did as we hiked on that magnificent day in November? What were their thoughts, their experiences, and their intentions? What stories must that one path hold? How many more stories do those mountains and all the other paths keep secret?

There were others who blazed the way, and there will be more who follow us. Beyond all of that, however, is the Creator, the ultimate source of all creation. Perhaps, it is that ultimate commune–communing with nature, our ancestors, and our Creator, in addition to all the natural beauty, adornment, and seasonal dressing, that beckons me again and again into the forest, in mountains, onto wooded paths, or near peaceful bodies of water.

Gluten-free Apple Spice Muffins with Optional Walnut Topping

November 25, 2021November 25, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Recipes

“It’s unsettling to meet people who do not eat apples.”–Amiee Bender

I love apples. From tart to sweet, from bright green to crimson red, and all shades in between, as long as it is a crisp, juicy orb of an apple, I’m ready to slice it up and eat it up. Some of my favorite apples are Fuji, Granny Smith, Honeycrisp, Pink Crisp, and Pink Lady, to name a few, due to their crisp texture and bright taste. Whether eaten alone, smeared with a bit of peanut or almond butter, or chopped and tossed in a salad, apples are a mainstay of my family’s refrigerator.

Fall, in our neck of the woods, is apple season. Prices and selections of apples are at their prime. Additionally, new types of apples are marketed with more regularity, so this is the perfect time of year to explore new apple types. In fact, it was only a few years ago that Honeycrisp was considered “new,” and now it is one of my favorite types of apples.

I recall one of my friends, Jan, bringing a bag of sliced Honeycrisp apples to a Marshall University soccer game as a snack for our kids, who were both youth soccer players at the time, and the reason for our attendance at the game. These were well before the days of MU’s Veterans Memorial Soccer Complex; nonetheless, we all enjoyed the game, and the kids loved those yummy apple slices. Due to that experience, Honeycrisp apples entered into our family’s regular rotation of purchased apples.

Speaking of Jan, she and I were recently discussing Thanksgiving traditions and plans for this year. Jan described a favorite spice cake with nuts and cream cheese frosting that her aunt made when she was younger. As family lore often goes, this aunt shared her recipe at the request of numerous relatives, but all who made the recipe agreed that it never tasted as good as when the aunt made it. Jan mused if the aunt had “accidentally” left off an ingredient. (Which made me giggle because my sweet grandmother once confessed to doing that with one of her recipes!)

Photo by Visual Stories || Micheile on Pexels.com

Upon reflection of this story, and the added remembrance of our family’s introduction of Honeycrisp apples, that, a-hem, a seed of an idea was planted. Could I create an apple-spice muffin recipe without cream cheese frosting–for which many in my family will be saddened, I’m certain, but with partial nuts? (Some like nuts, some do not.) The answer is what follows below.

My recipe is gluten-free, but if you do not have to consume a gluten free diet as I do, then feel free to use regular all-purpose flour. Additionally, I kept the recipe plant-based and oil-free because it is easier on my sensitive digestive system. That said, if that is not your preference, replace ½ cup of applesauce, with ⅓ cup oil or melted butter instead. Additionally, 2 eggs can replace 2 “fleggs.” Oh, and why vinegar? It makes the batter more acidic which, in the end, makes the muffins (or cake) fluffy, yet still moist.

This recipe requires a bit more work than other recipes, but it is definitely worth the extra effort. Your kitchen will be filled with autumnal aromas as the muffins bake. Brew up a pot of coffee or your favorite tea, invite over a friend and/or family member, and swap stories while savoring these warm muffins. You never know what your conversation could inspire, or conspire!

Gluten-free Apple Spice Muffins with Optional Walnut Topping

Ingredients:

Optional topping

2 tablespoons butter (can substitute plant-based “butter”)

½ cup brown sugar

2 tablespoons of gluten-flour

½ cup chopped walnuts

½ teaspoon cinnamon

⅛ teaspoon salt

Muffins

2 apples, peeled, cored, and chopped (I used Honeycrisp, but feel free to choose another type!)

1 ½ cup gluten free all-purpose flour (Can use regular all-purpose flour.)

1 cup gluten free old fashioned, rolled oats

2 teaspoons cinnamon

½ teaspoon ginger

½ teaspoon allspice

½ teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup brown sugar

¼ cup sugar

½ cup apple sauce

2 fleggs* or eggs

½ cup milk (or plant based alternative) at room temperature

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Line muffin pan with parchment paper

If using topping, mix it together first and set in the fridge while mixing batter.

*If using “flegg” instead of eggs, stir together 2 tablespoons of ground flaxseed with 6 tablespoons of water, and set aside in the fridge for 15-30 minutes.

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, oats, cinnamon, ginger, clove, nutmeg, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

In another large mixing bowl, combine brown sugar, sugar, applesauce, fleggs (or eggs), milk, vinegar, and vanilla.

Add in flour-spice mixture and mix the batter 1-2 minutes until the batter begins to thicken.

Stir in apples.

Divide batter evenly among muffin cups.

Scatter with topping.

Tip: I cut the nut-topping recipe in half, and only topped half of the muffins. On the half without nut topping, I sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Finally, you can skip the nut-topping altogether, and/or stir in ½ cup chopped walnuts into batter when adding in chopped apples.

Bake for 25-30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Remove from the oven and allow muffins to cool in a pan set on a wire rack.

Serve warm.

Store any uneaten muffins in a storage container/bag in the fridge or freezer for up to two months.

**Updated option: When baking for those who may not like nuts, or simply can’t have them either, eliminate the nuts from the optional topping, or divide all of the topping recipe in half add simply add 1/4 cup walnuts to one half, and leave the other half of the topping, nut-free.

Mix one-two minutes until batter thickens.

Gently mix together apples and batter. Then divide among muffin cups.

If desired, sprinkle optional walnut topping over tops of muffin batter before baking.

Kitchen Table Secrets

November 19, 2021November 19, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Everybody is a story. When I was a child, people sat around kitchen tables and told their stories. We don’t do that so much anymore. Sitting around the table telling stories is not just a way of passing time. It is the way wisdom gets passed along. The stuff that helps us remember a life worth living.”–Rachel Naomi Remen

I saw her on the opposite side of the block, the woman with purple cord-like hair wound round her head like a hat. She walked along the sidewalk at the opposite end of me, and she carried what appeared to be a purple calico print backpack on her back. Talking uninhibitedly to herself in a syncopated, sing-song voice, she did an about face and turned toward a man as he stepped out of his car into the damp, cold morning air.

“Hey, Mr., wanna buy me some breakfast? Breakfast is good. Food is good. I like breakfast food.”

I could not hear his soft reply, but I heard her sadly chime a truncated response.

“Ok, ok. I am not bad. I am not bad. Just wanna sit at the kitchen table with Mamaw. Just wanna sit and eat at the table with Mamaw.”

The woman, from my distance, appeared to be not much older than my own 22 year old daughter, and emotions suddenly choked my throat and clouded my heart. I wanted to wrap my arms around, as if she were a small child, and take her back to her home–wherever that may be. In spite of this woman’s evident mental illness, she seemed to long for the comfort, safety, and shelter that we often find at the family kitchen table.

Kitchen table memories spooled out in my mind plain as thread, and some were just as colorful. Many were fond and warm pictures–snapshots of holidays past. Others were remembrances of various familial situations. I was adrift in a kaleidoscope of images; snippets of moments glided through my mind as leaves the colors of amber, crimson, and tangerine, freed from the bondage of a tree, take flight in autumn breezes. Impressions of full bellies, hot coffee, spirited–or sometimes intense–conversations, and purposeful work endeavors around one piece of furniture continued to tumble about . . .

Homework and games

Puzzles and paints

Posters and patterns to sew

Papers typed late into the night

Stacks of bills to pay

Budgets in need of balance

Dancing eyes sharing stories

Tears that break the heart

Conversations and disputes,

I think I need to leave the room

Set the table please

Platters of food to share

May I please be excused?

Not ’till you clean your plate

Spills that demand to be cleaned

Bubbled burps of Friday night soda

Mix well with pizza and chips

Quarter fines, ‘cause

Burping is rude

Peals of explosive laughter

Oh no, we’re in trouble now

May I please have some more . . .

What about waffles with peanut butter?

My friend is spending the night

Do I have to do her chores?

Pass the butter please

No, you can’t go out with your friends!

May I have another roll please?

Do you realize the seriousness of your actions?

Come in and sit a spell, friend

Did you hear about this?

Why, yes they say it’s true

Now, listen, you can’t believe everything you hear

Birthday cakes and cookies sprinkled

Presents wrapped with curls of shiny ribbon

Curlers set, braids woven

Talks of dreams and

Future plans filled with hope

Remember when?

No, it went like this.

Did she really throw a fork at Uncle?

Well, they were wrestling

Brothers nearly tore down the kitchen

Over the last piece of cake.

It’s your turn to clean the dishes

But I had to do that last week!

Remember to sweep under the table

Whispered late night conversations

Big changes coming soon

If only kitchen tables could talk

At the heart of a home, there is the kitchen table–a field of harvested memories and land for new seed to sow. It is my wish, as we gather, eat, converse, and work around our own kitchen tables, that we take time to not only nourish our bodies, but also savor the moments with one another, and form kitchen table memories and traditions worth sharing and passing on to future generations. May we remember those who have gone before us, and love the ones who remain. May we likewise take time to pray for those without homes, looking for a kitchen table at which they can sit and sip a cup of comfort. May those lost souls find some form of peace and solace, and may they one day be reunited, or united, with people who love and care for them.

My final prayer of hope is for the unknown young lady with wound cords of purple hair. May she be safe and well. May she no longer roam the streets alone, and may she make her way back to her Mamaw’s kitchen table. After all, she was once somebody’s baby girl.

Threading a Needle–Embracing Imperfection Wholly

November 11, 2021November 10, 2021 by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Spare me perfection. Give me instead the wholeness that comes from embracing the full reality of who I am, just as I am. —David Benner

*Here I am, photographed at home in a dress Mom sewed for me.*

As a child, my mother sewed a large portion of my clothes, especially my dresses. Of course, I took this talent for granted as a child. In fact, it wasn’t until I was in my early twenties, and shopping for so-called “professional” clothes to wear while student-teaching that I began to truly realize what a gift mom’s sewing had been for me.

It was my senior year at Ohio University, Athens campus. It was still the era of the quarter system across most Ohio universities throughout the state. This meant that I had a break from Thanksgiving through the beginning of January. Therefore, I used this time to work, and this year was no exception. However, since I knew I needed appropriate clothes for student-teaching, I landed a job at Lazarus (now Macy’s) at our local mall. My goal was to not only work, but also to take advantage of the employee discount and after-Christmas sales.

I am pictured far right with the high school group of special education students I taught inn 1987. Notice how oversized my store-bought clothes were!

I already knew that I needed to shop in the petite section of the women’s department as I was (and am) less than five feet in height, but what came as a shock to me is how long so-called “petite” sleeves and lengths of skirts, dresses, and pants were! Plus, according to manufacturer measurements, my body shape did not fit into a precise size category. Without belaboring the point too much, it was during these tear-filled hours spent in the Lazarus dressing room desperately trying to find a few items to fit my proportions that my appreciation for my mother’s tailoring grew.

Thinking back to Mom’s sewing, I can recall the efforts she would take to thread the needle–literally and figuratively–while sewing clothes for me. While she would begin each dress, skirt, or blouse made for me with a purchased pre-made pattern, she would also painstakingly take my measurements and alter the size of the pattern accordingly before cutting the cloth. Throughout the sewing process, she would pin the cloth first, ask me to put it on, adjust the proportions as needed, and then thread either the sewing machine needle or her own personal needle to stitch each piece together.

The dress my Mom stitched for me in honor of my college graduation.

In order to sew one complete dress for me, Mom was required to thread one of those needles repeatedly, perhaps even thousands of times. I can recall countless moments of watching Mom attempting to insert the thread through the eye of the needle. Thinking back on it, she had to ensure all of the fibers/strands of thread fit through the tiny eye together. If one strand did not go through, the needle was not properly threaded, and she had to try again. The thread had to go through the eye wholly to live up to the task required by Mom. In fact, in order to prevent a strand from sticking out, Mom would often wet the thread’s end and twist it tightly together. Both creator and creation had to be fully concentrated in order for all fibers to fit through the eye.

Reflecting upon this, I realized what powerful lessons were there in Mom’s sewing. On one hand, there is the lesson of flaws. Mom, the creator of my dresses, did not see me as flawed–not fitting some arbitrary manufacturer standards. Rather, she saw me as a whole–as the Creator sees each of us. Mom was able to take my unique dimensions and measurements in order to create a whole piece that fit one-of-a-kind me. Her fully, concentrated threads and efforts afforded me the opportunity to be adorned in perfectly fitting clothes, so that as a child, I could fully and wholly concentrate on my own efforts and energies into typical childhood endeavors.

My brother, Scott, and me in matching outfits sewed by our mom.
My brother, Scott, and me in matching outfits sewed by our mom.

On the other hand, Mom’s repeated endeavors to thread the needle also provides another lesson–one of our Creator, and the way in which we were designed to live. When Mom fashioned clothes for me, she had to take my so-called flawed measurements–measurements not taken into account by the pattern manufacturer. Additionally, she sometimes had to use fabric remnants, old thread, or even mismatched thread to sew various items of clothing for me. There were times her needle broke, her stitches were off, or a measurement was off. There were times I even watched Mom painstakingly pick out all of the stitches along one piece, and start all over. No matter the mistakes, accidents, mismatched thread, or sale-fabric, in the end, it wasn’t the flaws that I saw and wore, it was the whole–the entirety of the piece.

My grandparents and me photographed on the steps of their church. I am wearing a dress Mom sewed for me for Old-Fashion Days celebration.

That is how the Creator designed us to live–wholly. Humans are not perfect, nor were we meant to be perfect. Just as I am not “standard-sized,” our lives are not either. It is our imperfections, blemishes, and fallibility that make us perfectly human. By embracing ourselves as we are–flaws and limitations–we are able to find our strengths and uniquenesses. Furthermore, our mistakes, our errors, and our unfortunate times of sorrow all work together to create a richer and more wholehearted approach to life and to others–after all, how can we possess empathy for other humans if we live a “perfect” life.

It is only when we take time to bind our individual talents and gifts, along with our imperfections, that we are able to thread the eye of our lives. We were designed to be “non-standard.” How would any work site come together if we all had the same skill-set? In fact, how would any couple, family, team, town, and so forth, grow, develop, and thrive together if everyone were the same.

My brother, Scott, and me, once more in outfits stitched by our mom.

Life is not standard. No one person is standard. Each of us, however, is whole–wholly imperfect and Divinely designed to offer this world what no one else can offer. Let each of us embrace our differences, and embrace the differences of others too. As brown sugar, butter, flour, and chocolate chips individually come together in a hot oven to create delicious cookies, so too do the trials and fires of life bind us together. It is my lesson to learn and share that life is more beautifully adorned when we openly and humbly accept our imperfections and allow the Creator’s thread to bind us together in order to live our perfectly, imperfect designed lives.

Steph Simply

Yoga Classes

Cardinal Song and Snowstorm Memories

Life Must Be a Challenge

Gluten-free Snickerdoodles (with vegan option)

Like a Prayer

It’s Time to soar

Greybeard Overlook and Douglas Falls–Stepping into Faith

South toward Grassy Branch–Traveling in the footsteps of those who have gone before us

Gluten-free Apple Spice Muffins with Optional Walnut Topping

Kitchen Table Secrets

Threading a Needle–Embracing Imperfection Wholly

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