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It was such an unexpected find. I’d assumed the archives might hold the court papers representing the estate settlement of Willie’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather—but I certainly hadn’t expected to see the individual receipts that made up the settlement. Line after line, page after page: “XXX to XXX for XXX,” followed by tiny slips of paper bearing the signatures of those who had received their share of the inheritance. There was even a receipt for the coffin,

For quite literally decades we assumed we’d end up in a storybook log cabin high on a misty mountainside, miles from civilization, where bears roamed free and Amazon deliveries feared to tread. We would be pioneers. Modern, but pioneers nonetheless. But when the time actually came and we started touring log home models, we discovered something nobody tells you: they’re dark. I’m not talking “moody lighting” dark. I’m talking “I just stepped into a Hobbit

Apparently, we don’t actually use the word “cipher” correctly around these parts. Willie has always used it to mean “really thinking something through,” and I—being the supportive and linguistically flexible partner that I am—just assumed it was a Southern or maybe Appalachian cousin of ponder. It’s not. Turns out “cipher” officially means putting something into code or working through intense arithmetic. I suppose that math part explains how we ended up with our particular version.

The weather has turned. Technically, it still hits 80 during the day, but overnight and early mornings are now living solidly in the 50s. At Two Rocker Ridge, that means it’s officially “mornings on the front porch” season. Even before breakfast, we head outside to marvel at the leaves doing their annual costume change. Sometimes, we just sit in quiet communion with nature… and sometimes, nature just stares back at us and wonders why two

So, a couple of months ago, I got myself a new bread machine. I wore out my last one, but in my defense, that was thirty years ago—back when shoulder pads were big, hair was bigger, and I could eat half a loaf of bread without my jeans filing a protest. I decided to return to breadmaking after reading a few labels on store-bought loaves and realizing there seemed to be everything in that bread