I come from a long line of feisty Southern women—women with wit and wisdom, faith and strength. My maternal great-grandmother, "Little Mama" Wyatt, had nine children. Nine. (That's her with "Big Daddy" below.) All anybody can tell me about her is that “Little Mama read a lot.” Well, I guess so, after birthing nine kids. Among the nine was my grandmother, "Grandme."
Grandme had eight kids herself—three daughters and five sons—who were required to bring their whole families to her house for regular visits. What I remember about those days is a lot of laughter and storytelling, women in the kitchen and men on the front porch, cousins all over the place . . . and food.
I’m what you might call a late bloomer, domestically speaking. In my twenties and thirties, I was all about the career and didn’t get an inkling of nesting syndrome till I bought my first house at 35. That’s really when it started—a growing desire to plant my own tomatoes, fry my own chicken, and gather our circle of women around my own kitchen table. It’s a journey. And I have a lot to learn. But Mama's willing to teach me. So let’s fire up the coffee pot and get started.