Pull up a chair, pour a cup, and sit a while
Why I Wrote The November Stranger
Standing at My Own Crossroads I've lived my entire life in the foothills of the Virginia Blue Ridge. This land raised me, shaped me as a person, and taught me to see magic in the everyday. I'm talking about the kind of magic that lives in morning mist over the mountains, in the first green shoots of spring, in a pot of soup simmering on the stove. For over twenty-five years, I've practiced kitchen herbalism, studying the old ways, and learning everything I could about my ancestors and the traditions of my people. This all started when I was a ...