I’m a small-town girl loving life on the farm. Our little homestead sits in a beautiful glacial valley in the northeast corner of Indiana. We raised four sons here and now that they’ve gone out into the world, we look forward to rare visits from all four at once.
My passion is stories, yours and mine. In this age of sharing snippets of our lives on social media, I fear we’ve lost sight of the value and power found in sitting with stories from our lives, the ones we’re living and the ones we’ve carried with us from the past. When we sit with them, all their colors and meanings, their depth and life-changing potential, rise to the surface. While it’s true that not every story has a happy ending, when handled with care and respect, we may uncover the gifts buried in them, even in the pain.
I grew up in a little stone house at the edge of a small Midwestern town. Years before we moved there, a previous owner covered his simple wood frame house with big rocks of all shapes and sizes. Set together with mortar, like bricks, the stones transformed a plain square structure into a unique, fanciful cottage with curved archways and an attached grape arbor. Growing up in that stone house fueled my childhood daydreams and offered the perfect setting for a little girl’s vivid imagination.
I wrote stories, poetry and plays and dreamed of one day of writing books like the ones that captivated me. Instead, what I grew up to write was “the news”. I took a job as a reporter at our local newspaper the summer after my freshman year at college. I loved the atmosphere of the newsroom and the people I worked alongside. Instead of going back to college, I stayed in the newsroom and got the best hands-on education possible. Before long, I was not just a typist, I was a reporter. My favorite assignments involved interviewing and writing about interesting individuals in our community.
I was telling stories!
I worked off-and-on for the newspaper, managed a flower shop and took an office job in our local school corporation until we had our third son. I then “retired” to home school our children. Over the next 20 years, most of my creative energies went toward teaching my own children and other homeschooled kids how to write. Now that our sons are young adults (and several are writers), I’ve returned to writing stories.
That’s my writing cabin in the photo above. I’ve named it Selah, a biblical term which means “to pause and reflect”. My husband had it built from logs we’d been storing in our barns. It’s a small space with no running water or electricity, but it sits at the edge of a pond within a short walk of our house. On a warm day, the cabin’s porch is my favorite place to write. This summer, the pond and cabin were also the site of a family wedding.
We’ll be sharing stories here — mine and yours — because sharing them is a sacred act. Our stories are our legacy.
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