I grew up in central North Carolina, just a few hours away from beaches or mountains. A considerable portion of my childhood summer days were spent in the Ozarks in Arkansas climbing the Mimosa tree in Uncle Berlie’s yard and eating biscuits and chocolate gravy for breakfast. I swam in spring-fed creeks, rode horses to church, and slept through (hellfire & brimstone) sermons. Another large portion of my childhood was spent sweating in tent revivals and church meetings in Florida, Tennessee, Alabama, and generally everywhere south of Ohio and east of Texas. I’m the preacher’s daughter. I know where yonder is and how much is in a mess of mustard greens, and Kentucky has provided me with a lifelong allegiance to bourbon and poetry. Read more
The Dead Mule School
Online since 1996. "No good Southern fiction, poetry, essays, cornbread, coon mule jumping competition, swamp dance or pig pickin' is complete without a dead mule..."