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We are absolutely unhinged about organization up here on the ridge. Not in a scary way—unless you count color-coded, alphabetized spice racks and a label maker named Sheila as scary. It’s partly just our aesthetic. We like things neat, tidy, and slightly terrifying to normal people. Also, as an ADHD girl, organization keeps my brain from short-circuiting every time I open a drawer. Chaos is cute until you can’t find your pants. But organization is

Some days, the idea of writing with “quiet humor” feels like a betrayal. On those days, I’d rather scream into the void, shake my fist at the heavens, and let my grief speak plainly. Today is one of those days. It’s the anniversary of my father-in-law’s death. He’s been gone a long time—decades, in fact. There have been plenty of years when I wasn’t outwardly or consciously affected, but every once in a while, the

If GH can stand for P as in hiccough If OUGH  can stand for O as in dough If PHTH can stand for T as in phthisis If EIGH can stand for A as in neighbor If TTE can stand for T as in gazette If EAU can stand for O as in plateau We should all start spelling potato as: GHOUGHPHTHEIGHTTEEAU

The TRR cottage has mostly wooden floors—elegant, yes, but also a passive-aggressive showcase for every dust bunny with a dream. That means we need to sweep daily. It’s not as if there’s a lot of debris to get rid of, but anything that’s there definitely shows up on our darker floors. I don’t mind the task. It really shouldn’t even take ten minutes, but let’s take a look at how it goes. I follow a

Life on the ridge is like living inside a never-ending episode of Extreme Makeover: Appalachian Edition.  We’ve chopped so many logs I’m starting to wonder if Hurricane Helene blew in a whole second forest we didn’t know about. I swear those trees are procreating in the night! On occasion, I venture from the cottage, past the part of the acreage we have designated as “yard” to find that just beyond the barn, Willie has cleared