cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I’d booked a room of my own for a week at a lodge on the outskirts of Cosby, Tennessee—a town too sleepy to care if you call it the middle of nowhere. Set just off a creek where horses grazed freely on miles of green meadow, the lodge I’d chosen had a wraparound deck, a…
Read More
Jumpy. That’s how I felt—like a skittish deer who thought she could make a break for the other side of the freeway, changed her mind at the very last second, and leapt back from the road to narrowly avoid a semi truck.
Read More