Category: Perspective

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The House That Steel Built: Lessons in Grit from Edgar and Miss Allie Smith’s Front Porch

Allie Murray Smith

This morning I am sitting on the front porch of a historic home in Plains, Georgia known as Mother Allie’s House . Rain is falling softly and the birds are singing. Everything is peaceful and beautiful – and I am grateful for the opportunity to be here. This is the home where former First Lady of the United States, Rosalynn Carter, was raised along with her three siblings. Today, it is a beautifully preserved rental guest home/VRBO, lovingly and meticulously put together by the family to deeply reflect the warmth and history of someone I have discovered to be an absolutely remarkable woman – Mrs. Frances Allethea (Murray) Smith – affectionately known to many as “Miss Allie”.

​The family has generously placed many wonderful books about the Smith and Carter families in this house, making it easy to learn during your stay about the history of this home and the people who lived here.

By all accounts, Miss Allie’s early life was filled with the warmth of a happy childhood. Born just south of Plains on Christmas Eve, 1905, she was the deeply cherished daughter of John William “Captain” Murray and Rosa Nettie Wise Murray. Before Allie was born, her parents suffered a devastating heartbreak when their only son tragically passed away before reaching his first birthday. After that profound loss, Allie grew up essentially as an only child on the family farm. Knowing the sorrow her parents carried surely made them dote on her even more, pouring their love, protective attention, and family resources into their only daughter.

​In 1924, after Allie graduated from Plains High School, her parents did something truly extraordinary for a rural farming family: they sent her to college. To understand how vast that ambition was, you have to realize that during that era, less than 5% of all Americans held a college degree. It was a time when a woman’s opportunities were drastically limited, but Allie’s family obviously deeply valued the intellect of their daughter. She moved to Milledgeville to attend the Georgia State College for Women. There, she earned a degree in teaching, specializing in home economics, and graduated with her diploma on June 7, 1926.

​Less than two weeks later, on June 20, 1926, she married her sweetheart, Wilburn Edgar Smith, who was nine years her senior. Theirs was a rare, lifelong romance that had begun years earlier. Later in life, Allie would frequently tell her children that Edgar was the only man for her, and that she could never love another—a promise of absolute devotion she kept for the rest of her days.

​Historical records and Rosalynn Carter’s own memoirs reveal that Edgar Smith’s passion for education was rooted in his own deferred dreams. Edgar was an incredibly intelligent man, but because his own family needed him to work, he never had the opportunity to go to college himself. He spent his life surrounded by books, reading voraciously, and watching the world change. Because he couldn’t pursue higher education, he made it a mission of his life that each of his children would.

​To build a secure life for his new bride and the four children that soon followed—Eleanor Rosalynn, William Jerrold, Murray Lee, and Lillian Allethea—he became a true jack-of-all-trades. He was an avid farmer, a clerk at a local store, and a school bus driver. Most notably, he stepped up to meet the demands of the changing times by owning and operating the very first auto mechanic and repair shop in Sumter County….just down the street from where I’m sitting now. He was the man who kept the rural community moving forward, fixing the temperamental engines of early automobiles and maintaining the tractors that were revolutionizing modern farming. Beyond his manual labor and entrepreneurial drive, Edgar was a deeply respected civic leader, actively shaping the town’s future as an elected member of the Plains Town Council.

​Through genius and sacrifice, Edgar used his multiple jobs to quietly build a college fund for his children, methodically purchasing U.S. Savings Bonds and funneling every spare penny from his mechanic shop into a sacred, untouchable account. I am amazed that he was so forward thinking – that he valued education so much that he saved (during hard times) to send his children to college. Can you imagine?

​In 1928, when their eldest daughter Rosalynn was just a sixteen-month-old toddler, Edgar and Allie moved the family into a house on South Bond Street – the same house where I am spending the week. Together, they built a life here on a foundation of community service, visionary hard work, and family devotion…and looked forward to a long life together.

​However, in the late 1930s, Edgar fell terribly ill with leukemia – and at that time there were no effective treatments. For over a year, the family watched his health decline, comforted by local neighbors like Miss Lillian Carter—Jimmy Carter’s mother—who visited daily as a registered nurse to administer his routine medical injections. On October 22, 1940, Edgar passed away at home at the young age of 44.

​At just 35 years old, Miss Allie was suddenly a grieving widow with four young children and no job to support them. When you look at the ages of her children at the time of her husband’s death, the sheer weight of her new reality is staggering: Rosalynn was 13, Jerry was 11, Murray was 8 (turning eight on the exact day his father died), and Allethea was 3. In the immediate aftermath, a heartbroken Miss Allie penned a line that laid bare her grief:

“I miss him and I don’t know what I will do without him.”

​When Edgar died, he managed to leave behind a small inheritance and savings account for his family. But as Howard Norton details in Rosalynn, A Portrait, Rosalynn recalled that her mother fiercely resolved never to touch a single cent of that inheritance. She was determined to bring up and educate her children entirely through her own efforts, keeping Edgar’s sacred college fund intact. What a determined lady.

​The blows kept coming. Less than a year after losing her husband, Allie’s mother, Rosa, passed away at age 60. Suddenly, Allie was not only raising four small children alone, but her aging, grieving father, “Captain” Murray, came to live with them in the house. It is almost impossible to imagine how terrifyingly hard it must have been for her. For fourteen years, she had lived a sheltered life centered around being a protected homemaker. Now, she had to navigate intense, compounding family grief while carrying the sole financial survival and care of six people on her shoulders. I am sleeping in Miss Allie’s bedroom this week – and when I lay down at night I have been thinking about the weight of responsibility she must have felt – yet all of the stories I hear from others about her are stories of her love, her faith, her strength, and her joy. What a remarkable lady.

​To make a living, Miss Allie started taking in sewing. She didn’t just mend clothes; she took on master-level tailoring. She crafted beautiful, intricate wedding dresses—which quickly became one of her highly sought-after specialties—and she even tackled the incredibly difficult task of making tailored men’s suits and heavy overcoats from scratch. Ladies from the community valued her work. When they found a dress somewhere that they admired, she could study it and then make it for them. There are several examples of her work here in the house – and they are absolutely beautiful.

​One steady, dependable source of income came from the family farm – which she rented out instead of selling. However, even though she needed that cash to keep the household running, she insisted on funneling every single penny of that rent money straight into the untouchable savings for her children’s college funds.

​She took other work to support her family – working in the school cafeteria and as a grocery store clerk. After a few years, she took the federal civil service examination, passed it, and was awarded a position as an assistant to the postmaster at the local post office in Plains. It became a defining pillar of her life. She clocked in at 7:00 AM every single morning for 29 years, walking to work from this very house. She loved her job and the daily connection it gave her to the townspeople. When she reached the mandatory federal retirement age of 70, she was still sharp, energetic, and fully capable of working. She fought passionately against leaving, but federal regulations forced her to step down against her will—an experience that deeply saddened her.

​(In an incredible and wonderful twist of history, that mandatory retirement rule wouldn’t stand forever. Her son-in-law, President Jimmy Carter, signed the Age Discrimination in Employment Act Amendments into law, raising and eventually eliminating mandatory retirement ages for federal employees.)

​Even after her forced retirement, Allie refused to slow down, taking a part-time job at a local flower shop just to keep busy. Her younger son Murray beautifully remembered that while the family was technically poor, “she forgot to tell us.” No matter how hard things got, Murray recalled always getting exactly what he needed, whether it was a new pair of basketball shoes or a baseball glove. She encouraged her children to work early; Murray delivered papers, delivered groceries, clerked in the local store, and worked behind the soda fountain at the drug store before he was even 12 years old.

​In the book Rosalynn, A Portrait, the future First Lady reflected on the painful time when the family was dealing with the loss of her father, sharing a memory that would shape her forever:

​”We depended on mother for everything after father died. And that’s when I saw my mother develop into a strong, independent person, assuming full responsibility for the family and asking no help or charity from anyone. That made a deep impression on me. I’m sure it turned out to be a permanent influence.”

​In a beautiful personal tribute written later in life (found in the book Mother Allie’s Recipes), Rosalynn expanded on that legacy:

​”My mother was a wonderful role model for me. She was always there when I needed her; she had confidence in me and encouraged me in whatever I tried to do; and she taught me by her example… I watched her take charge, and do what she had to do. Those early experiences helped prepare me to accept my own challenges and do the best I could with them.”

​But Allie didn’t just provide food, clothes, and tuition—she anchored her children in something much deeper. Her son, Murray Lee Smith (named after Mother Allie’s maiden name), noted that his mother’s personal demonstration of Christianity in her life, combined with her insistence that her children go to Sunday school, church, and study the Bible regularly, gave them all a spiritual bedrock that never faltered. As Murray beautifully penned,

“We grew up seeing Christ through mother. She was a wonderful person and the greatest mother in the world.”

​As a single parent, Miss Allie had to serve as both mother and father to her children. Rather than ruling with an iron fist, she raised her children with intelligence and example. Her oldest son Jerry recalled how his mother uniquely used psychology on them when they started dating. Unlike the parents of almost all their peers, Miss Allie famously refused to lay down a strict, rigid curfew. Instead, she chose a tactic that was far more powerful and impactful. As Jerry remembered:

​”…Mother repeatedly impressed on us that she had tried all our lives to teach us what is right and what is wrong, and that if we hadn’t learned that by then, she had failed as a mother. Well, after a quiet lecture like that, when we all went out with our dates we were determined that we would do the right thing so mother would not feel that she had failed and we almost always got home at a reasonable hour.”

​In his own heartfelt note (found in the book Mother Allie’s Recipes), Jerry shared just how unbreakable that bond remained into adulthood:

​”Mother was my best friend. She cannot be replaced. Even though I had moved far away, married and had children of my own, she remained my best friend. She was always there in my times of need. A telephone call was all it took. Every decision ever made by me in my entire life was and will continue to be guided by the fine Christian upbringing provided by my beloved mother.”

​Sitting on her porch today, I am thinking a lot about this remarkable lady. Her life inspires me – and reading the tributes from her children brings tears to my eyes. Her youngest daughter, Allethea, beautifully wrote this sentiment in her own tribute to her Mother (found in the Mother Allie cookbook):

​”God made a miracle when he made Mother. She was my friend, my confidant, my inspiration, both mother and father to me… I miss her and even though she is no longer with us I still feel her presence. She did all she could do for us here on earth and now she has gone on to heaven to get it ready for us.”

​Sending four children to college in that day and age as a single, widowed mother was nothing short of incredible. Yet, because of Edgar’s vision, Allie’s steel-willed determination, and their shared foundation of faith and trust, every single one of their four children graduated from college—fulfilling Edgar’s dreams and setting off a ripple effect of leadership that would eventually reach the global stage.

​In future posts, I can’t wait to take you on a little tour of this historic home and show you the wonderful mementos that the family has preserved here—the breathtakingly intricate needlework, the delicate crochet, and the beautiful things she made with the very same hands that scrubbed floors, provided hugs, and sorted mail.

​But today, I just want to honor the legacy of Edgar and Allie together. I am so grateful to get to spend the week in their home and learn from the examples and the ideals they lived by. In a world that often celebrates loud, flashy achievements, I am standing in awe of the quiet, fierce, unbreakable strength that built this household. They proved that with enough vision, faith, grit, and love, two ordinary people can hold the world together for their children in an extraordinary manner.

​Isn’t that remarkable?

For more pictures and additional information, visit and follow my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/lisa.carlon.5

Want to stay at Mother Allie’s House? Click https://www.motherallieshouse.com/

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A Simple Truth That Changes Everything: What the “Problems in a Hat” Question Taught Me

Close-up of beautiful pink lilies on the left with a faded lily background on the right overlaid with text about putting world problems in a hat.

A high school classmate of mine, also named Lisa, shared a message recently… and I have been thinking about it ever since.

“If each one of us around the world was given the opportunity to write down our problems and put them in a hat to draw out, would you risk grabbing someone else’s, or would you just keep your own instead?”

It humbled me—and it reminded me even more to remember to be grateful. There are so many things I think about every day—things I worry about and things I stress over and things that make me sad….. and all the while there are so many blessings all around me. I try hard to think on the good things—but there are still things I wish for, moments I worry, and times when fear and the “what-ifs” try to weigh my heart down.

When you really think about that hat, it puts our entire lives into perspective. It reminds me even more of just how much we have to be grateful for, because so many of our daily “problems” are sometimes actually privileges in disguise:

  • We worry about the pouring rain or a leaky faucet… but we are safe and snug under a good, solid roof.
  • We stress about what to fix for dinner… but we have the beautiful luxury of eating three meals today and actually getting the privilege of choosing what we eat.
  • We get frustrated by traffic or the price of gas… but we have a car that allows us to work, travel, shop, and explore.
  • We complain about a long day at work… but we have a job that provides for us.

Sometimes we forget to thank God for the very things we take for granted every second. Scripture reminds us in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 to:

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

Notice it doesn’t say to give thanks for the problems, but in them. The application is so simple yet so profound: when we look at our lives through the lens of that giant hat, we realize that even in our hardest circumstances, God has surrounded us with hidden mercies. Gratitude isn’t a feeling we wait for; it’s a conscious decision we make every single day.

A black top hat viewed from above, filled with small white paper slips containing words like Food, Home, Job, Friends, Church, Freedom, Family, and Faith.

My Daily Blessings… I am so grateful for the simple things I can do: that I can walk, and talk, and see, and smell, and hear, and taste. I’m thankful that I can connect, write, cook, create, be silly sometimes, and just relax… and that I can pray, sing, worship, read, learn, and grow.

The Beauty All Around Us… There is so much beauty to see every single day when I remember to look. I’m grateful for music, and laughter, and dreams… for spring flowers, quiet creeks, clear, sparkling rivers, and rushing waterfalls.

The People Who Matter Most… Most of all, I’m so deeply grateful for the family and friends I have, as well as the ones who are gone now, leaving behind such wonderful, lasting memories.

What a blessed privilege each day truly is. While I have stresses, worries, concerns, aches, and pains every single day—looking at that giant hat of the world’s problems makes me want to hold onto mine tightly. I am choosing to look at the beauty. I am just so incredibly grateful.

What about you? If you put your problems in a hat with everyone else’s, would you risk grabbing a new one, or keep your own? Let’s talk about it in the comments below!

Let’s Stay Connected! If you enjoyed this reflection, I would love to invite you to join my page on Facebook! That is where I share stories, and fun and photos, and behind-the-scenes updates on my porch robins, Gracie and George.

[Please click here to follow my Facebook Page] so we can look for the beauty in each day together!

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The Shoulders We Stand On

This past Sunday, I made the familiar drive home to Conway County, and I am so very glad I did….

The first Sunday in May is always Decoration Day at Old Hickory Cemetery. For me, it’s more than just a cemetery – It is a landscape of my history as well as many blessed memories.

When I was a little girl, graves were built up for Decoration Days. Daddy would haul in dirt to put on top of his father’s (my grandfather’s) grave and use a shovel to carefully mound it up, then a rake to make it smooth and neat before we placed the flowers to decorate the grave. Today, the modern convenience of riding mowers requires flat surfaces, so the mounds are gone—but the love that shaped them remains. That kind of love never really dies; it just waits for us to come back and remember it. That’s part of what Decoration Days are about…..remembering.

It’s a beautiful, time-honored pattern. Family members and friends arrive on Saturday or early Sunday to clean and tend the graves. Then, on Sunday afternoon, everyone returns to walk the grounds, admire the colorful silk arrangements, and share stories. Eventually, we all gather under the shade trees to talk and laugh and connect and catch up. Decoration Days are also about building and maintaining connections.

This past weekend, the weather was a rare gift—temperatures were pleasant and a cool breeze was blowing instead of the May heat and humidity that is typical. It was a wonderful weekend for the event….but as I looked around, I noticed there were fewer in attendance than ever before. There were two children walking through the cemetery with their grandmother and listening eagerly as she pointed out names and shared her memories of long ago. I was glad to see it – and thankful that my family had walked me through this same cemetery so many times sharing our stories and history as well. They gave me a gift.

I feel sad to see these traditions wane, because I believe these ties to our past are so important. It’s our history. Our history gives us some of our “why.” When we know and understand the grit and the joy of those who came before us – we find a compass for our own lives…..and it can change our trajectory.

In a way, it is a privilege—one I don’t take for granted—to have so many direct ancestors in one spot. One of my friends recently told me that she doesn’t know who her ancestors were, much less where they are buried. Over 30 of mine are within a 25-mile radius of where I grew up. To have 14 direct ancestors buried within 50 yards of where I will one day lie, many many years from now… it is a priceless kind of heritage. I am grateful to my parents and family for sharing the stories with me and blessing me with the memories.

On the drive home, I turned off to head down the winding little dirt road toward the little community of Lost Corner, Arkansas to decorate the graves of my great-grandparents, Mama and Papa Scroggins, and my great-great-grandmother, Ida.

The first thing you see as you wind down the road is a neat little old building (now used as a church) that stands quiet in front of the cemetery. It serves as a church building now, but a long time ago it was a school. I have a picture of my Mam-ma, my great aunt Sylvia, and my great aunt Ethel – along with their classmates standing outside the school as children. When I’m there, I love to imagine the sights and sounds of them running and playing and wondering and growing up here.

Mama and Papa and their girls had a hard life – but also good. They worked hard – picking cotton to make a living. My Mam-ma and her sisters ran and played with the other children while their parents picked – until they were about seven years old…then they joined their parents in fields. It’s hard work. Pickers slung a cotton bag over their shoulder to drag behind them and fill with cotton as they moved down the row. My great-aunt Verna said that when she was a little girl she would pick and drag that bag until it was too heavy for her to move. Then, she would leave that row for Mama or Papa to finish while she started on a new one.

Even with all the hard work, Mama Scroggins found time for art and beauty. She was naturally clever and artistic, often cleverly repurposing things instead of throwing them away. I have two small candleholders on the piano in my living room that she made from used metal cans. She even created her own wedding ring out of a solid silver quarter. Pretty talented!

My great-aunt Verna told me that Mama Scroggins would save scraps of paper all year long. Every spring, neighbors would come asking her to make paper flowers to decorate family graves – and she would work to get them made for everyone. Think of that—in a time of such hard manual labor, she found time to be an artist. After the day’s work was done, she spent her evenings folding, twisting, and cutting “scraps” into flowers to decorate the graves at the little cemetery where she now lies. The flowers I had bought to place on her grave were silk—but maybe next year I will learn to make paper flowers just for her. I would like that. She left a legacy that I want to remember and carry with me.

We are always moving forward in this life – and that’s good – but taking the time to look back—to learn and remember and honor the people who came before us—is how we realize whose shoulders we are standing on. We didn’t get here on our own. The progress, every comfort, and the joys we enjoy today was provided to us, to some degree, by the hard work of those who picked the sharp bolls of cotton until their fingers bled, by the resourcefulness of silver-quarter rings, and the quiet beauty of paper-flower bouquets of yesterday. When we remember them, we ensure that their contributions continue to live through us.

Does your family have a “Decoration Day” tradition? Or perhaps you have a “Mama Scroggins” in your history who made something beautiful out of nothing? I would love to hear about the shoulders you stand on in the comments today.

#ThinkOnGoodThings #OldHickory #LostCorner #ConwayCounty #ArkansasHistory #DecorationDay #FamilyLegacy #MamaScroggins #Roots #BlessedMemories #StandingOnShoulders

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The Rhythm of Joy

The Rhythm of Joy

“Break bread with neighbors.”

That is the tagline at Neighbor’s Mill Bakery & Cafe in Harrison, Arkansas, and this morning, I saw them live up to it (as they always do). As I stood in line to place my breakfast order, I watched the gentleman at the counter take his time—true, unhurried time—visiting amicably with an out-of-town couple. When he told them, “Thanks for coming in!”, he truly sounded as if he meant it. In our world of “hurry up and go,” that extra minute of connection didn’t just make their day; it set the tone for mine.

But the real lesson came after I sat down.

I had just settled into my booth when I felt it: Clump. Clump-Clump.

My entire booth was shaking. I turned around to find the source and saw a beautiful little blonde girl with cute, messy curls, maybe three years old, sitting back-to-back with me while eating breakfast with her daddy. She was happily munching away, swinging her legs with pure toddler energy, her little feet rhythmically hitting the back of my seat.

I had a choice in that moment. I could have easily let it frustrate me. I could have let it ruin my quiet breakfast.

But instead, I chose to hear the sound of joy.

Every time I took a bite of my sandwich: Clump, clump-clump. Every time I took a sip of my iced tea: Clump-clump.

Instead of an irritation, those little kicks became a reminder of how wonderful it is to be small, happy, and out for breakfast with your daddy. That rhythmic “shaking” of my booth didn’t ruin my morning—in fact, it made it better.

It turns out that “breaking bread with neighbors” isn’t just about the person across the table; sometimes, it’s about the tiny little neighbor kicking the back of your seat and reminding you that life is meant to be swung with both feet.

Let’s all choose to have a good day.

Let’s swing those feet, Friends! 😊

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The Balcony and the Legend: A Lesson from Marshfield

Some stories don’t just entertain us; they settle into our bones and teach us how to stand up when the rest of the world remains seated.

This past week at the Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival, I had the honor of listening to Mary Badham speak. Most know her as ‘Scout,’ the fiery, curious, thoughtful little girl in overalls from the wonderful movie To Kill a Mockingbird. But listening to her, I wasn’t just thinking about a movie—I was thinking about the soul of a story that has shaped generations.

If you have never seen the film or read Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, you are missing a piece of the American heart. It is a story about a widower lawyer, Atticus Finch, defending an innocent man in the 1930s South, told through the eyes of his young daughter.

Many people point to the moment Scout whispers a greeting (“Hey, Boo!”) to a misunderstood neighbor as the heart of the film. But for me, the most poignant,  emotional moment happens in the heavy silence of a courtroom balcony.

The trial is over. The verdict is in. Atticus has done the impossible, the honorable, and the courageous—and yet, in a system where prejudice outweighed the truth, he has lost. He has to gather his papers and walk out of that room with the weight of defeat on his shoulders.

But as he walks down the aisle, alone in his immense grief for an innocent man, something deeply impactful and emotional happens. In the balcony above, the African American community—those who had the most to lose and the most reason to be embittered by the day’s events—begins to rise in a silent, unified show of respect.

Reverend Sykes, the kind and dignified minister sitting with the children, leans down to a confused Scout. He doesn’t focus on the loss; he focuses on the man. He whispers:

‘Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passing.’

It is a line that brings me to tears every time. It’s a powerful reminder that our true stature isn’t measured by our victories, but by the courage we find to stand up for what is right—even when we stand in the wreckage of a defeat. In that moment, the balcony wasn’t just honoring an attorney; they were honoring the best in all of us. They were proving that even when we lose the battle, we never lose the dignity that comes from standing up for one another. It was a moment where grace outshined the darkness. It is a scene that calls us to look past our differences and find the grace to respect, support, and care for one another. Even when things feel divided, it reminds us that kindness is a bridge that can carry us through any storm.

I recorded this little clip of Mary (Scout herself!) sharing how she almost didn’t get the role. As you’ll hear her describe, her father originally said no—he wanted a quiet life for his daughter in Birmingham. If not for her mother’s intuition and a clever bit of persuasion to get her to that audition, movie history would look very different.

She also shared that Gregory Peck—the legendary actor who was the very embodiment of Hollywood’s Golden Age—wasn’t just ‘acting’ as Atticus. They grew close – and stayed that way for the rest of his life. During the five months of filming, Mary spent almost every weekend at the Pecks’ home, becoming part of their family. That bond remained until the very end, with Mary visiting him just weeks before he passed away.

In a time when things feel fast and often divided, returning to the lessons of Maycomb, Alabama, feels like coming home. We are so fortunate that the Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival brings these ‘moments’ to our doorstep. It’s more than entertainment; it’s a chance to sit in a church pew and listen to history tell us that kindness and courage never go out of style.

Harper Lee’s story, To Kill a Mockingbird, is wonderful. It’s why former First Lady Laura Bush has long cited this as one of her favorite books of all time. It’s why Oprah Winfrey once loved the story so much that she rushed to the library asking for ‘everything Harper Lee ever wrote’—only to find that this one perfect story was all the world truly needed.

If you haven’t seen the movie lately—or ever—do yourself a favor. Watch it. And when the man in the suit walks down that aisle, remember to stand up. Always, remember to stand up.

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The Recipes That Connect Us: A Full Circle Moment in Marshfield

The Recipes That Connect Us:

A Full Circle Moment in Marshfield

Since I was a child, I have loved to read stories about people. I can clearly see in my mind where the biographies section was shelved in the Berryville Elementary library back when I was in school. I couldn’t wait to read them all. There were stories about Booker T. Washington, Babe Didrickson, Chief Joseph, Betsy Ross, Dolley Madison, John F. Kennedy, John Paul Jones, the Wright Brothers, and so many more….

My Mother encouraged my love of reading by buying me books that I was interested in — books such as the Laura Ingalls Wilder series that I love dearly to this day. We couldn’t afford to buy the entire series at once — so Mother would get me one at a time…. buying most of them at the Bible bookstore that used to be on the northwest side of the Ozark Mall in Harrison. When she bought the last book in the series, she asked the store owner about the little cardboard box holder—the kind usually only available when you bought the entire set at once. Lo and behold, they had an extra for some reason, and my collection was finally complete. I still have that very well-worn treasured set today.

I was about 10 years old when I finished those “Little House” books, and the next time I went back to the Bible bookstore with Mother I searched for something new to read. It was always exciting to me to browse the books and anticipate the stories to be found in each one. That particular afternoon, I left the children’s books and wandered through the adult section where I spotted a book about our (then) First Lady, Mrs. Rosalynn Carter.

The picture on the cover was just beautiful. Mrs. Carter was wearing a stylish navy blue dress and looked so pretty with a lovely, warm smile on her face. When I told Mother that this was the book I wanted, she never hesitated. She didn’t tell me that this particular book was probably above my reading level or that it was a book intended for adults — she just bought me the book — and for that, I am grateful. I always thought I could do whatever I set out to do because my parents believed in me and encouraged me in my pursuits.

I have read so many books through the years. Some of them I have kept, some I haven’t…. but I still have that biography of Mrs. Carter.

Now let’s fast forward about…..50 years. (Goodness — that went by quickly! 🙂)

This week, I was fortunate to attend the 2026 Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival in Marshfield, Missouri. This festival is such a rich and intricate tapestry of history and community that it’s honestly hard to find the right words to do it justice. In fact, that’s a task for other posts soon to come!

In this story, I want to focus on one particular festival event — a cooking class.

For me, it was one of the highlights of the week — because I absolutely love to cook and I dearly love collecting great recipes with connections. Yes, on today’s internet you can search and find pretty much any recipe you like… but in my opinion, this is a loss instead of a gain. Recipes that are passed down throughout families, recipes that you get from friends and neighbors — are recipes with connections…. and those connections make not only the preparations but the meals so much more meaningful and enjoyable.

This was the second year I attended the Cherry Blossom cooking class, hosted by Andrew Och. Andrew is known as the “First Ladies’ Man” because he spent years traveling across the country, visiting the homes and hometowns of every single American First Lady to document their unique stories. This cooking class is a special event — and I wish you could have been there! Let me tell you about it and hopefully take you there with me through the story…

Conducted by Mrs. Allethea Wall (the sister of former First Lady Rosalynn Carter), her daughter, Julie Wall-Smith, and her daughter-in-law, Courtney Wall, it was a reminder of true Southern hospitality.

These ladies worked so hard to make every guest feel at home. At each table, we found a wonderful collection of “connections” to the place they still hold so dear—Plains, Georgia:

  • A flyer for “Butterfly Daze 2026“ — an annual celebration in Plains that honors the butterfly trail Mrs. Carter championed to protect the monarch butterfly.
  • A brochure for “Mother Allie’s House“ — Mrs Carter and Mrs. Wall’s childhood home that has been beautifully restored and is now available as a charming vacation rental. Wouldn’t that be memorable and fun?
  • A copy of Sumter County Living magazine, featuring a lovely article about Mrs. Wall (page 66! 🙂 )
  • Small packages of “Plains Peanuts“ (so delicious and completely addictive!)

The class was a beautiful picture of a family working together. Julie took the lead on demonstrating and preparing the dishes while Courtney assisted her, making sure everything was ready for each step. Mrs. Wall sat with them, the steady heart of the demonstration, providing her wisdom and a beautiful, welcoming smile.

This year, the stars of the show were three classic recipes: Cheese Straws, Rosalynn Carter’s Famous Cheese Ring, and a simple and delicious Peanut Butter Pie.

They shared their secrets while they worked — like how much grating your own extra-sharp cheese (not buying pre-grated!) makes recipes better and the importance of using only Duke’s mayonnaise. (I’m never without a jar of Duke’s in my own refrigerator — it truly is a staple! If you’ve never tried it, you are missing out!)

The real highlight came at the end, when we all sat down to enjoy the delicious cheese ring and cheese straws and peanut butter pies together.

After I left that day, I thought back to my 10-year-old self in the Bible bookstore holding the biography of Mrs. Carter. I realized that the real blessing of this class wasn’t just the food (though it was wonderful!) It was the connections.

We live in a world that can sometimes feel so divided, but in that room, surrounded by a recipe, a conversation, and the beautiful smiles of new friends, I was reminded that we really do all have so much in common. Sometimes, a simple recipe and a kind conversation can bridge the gap, can encourage us, and can remind us that things are still so good.

The best recipes aren’t just lists of ingredients… they are the ones that connect our past to our present, and our hearts to new friends.

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I Liked Wearing Footies Today….

I liked wearing footie socks today. I know – that’s a strange opening line… Let me go back a bit and explain…..

My Mother and I used to trade clothes and shoes a lot. She would borrow from me, and I would borrow from her. We enjoyed it. It was something she had done with her mother (my Mam-ma) through the years and so we continued the tradition. It was fun! We “shopped” each other’s closets whenever we wanted something new or different to borrow for a bit. It worked pretty well…..well, mostly it did….except maybe sometimes when it came to shoes.

You see – I don’t like wearing socks….ever. I do wear them in the winter – because you’re supposed to….but I think they are bunchy and uncomfortable and hot….and I much prefer bare feet in my shoes whenever I can get away with it. BUT, Mother never wore shoes (except sandals of course) without socks because she believed it was better for the shoe (and she was right). SO, when I borrowed any of her shoes she had one request – I had to wear a pair of “footies”. (UGH!!!) To make it easy, she bought me footie socks to keep on hand so that I could wear them when needed….and I always complied. I might have tried to talk her out of it a time or two….but she stood firm and I finally accepted that it was a thing and I respectfully followed her request. But….I still didn’t like wearing them.

Mother even kept footies at her house for me – just in case I ever needed shoes while I was there and didn’t have the little footies with me…..in other words, she had the situation thoroughly covered! 🙂

Shoes were kind of a big thing for my Mother – she loved them and had several pairs of unique, pretty, colorful, blingy, and fun shoes. When she passed away, it was hard parting with them. They were so “her”…so, I kept a special pair – her red and gold tennis shoes – because they were some of her favorites and because every time I look at them they make me smile. I tucked them away as a remembrance – for the smiles and the sweet memories they bring when I see them.

I kept some of her other shoes as well – some of my favorites that we had traded back and forth, and some of her more everyday tennis shoes – to wear myself. One pair of gray Skechers has sat in my closet until today. I’m not really certain why I haven’t worn them until now – because Skechers are some of my absolute favorite shoes…..but for whatever reasons I had left them sitting there quietly undisturbed.

Getting ready for work this morning, I put on a soft gray pullover shirt with my jeans (It’s casual Friday!) and glanced over at that pair of gray Skechers. They’d be perfect with this outfit I thought…..so I took them off the shelf…..and then I paused. Can I be honest? I truthfully felt a tiny bit guilty for wearing the shoes without those required footie socks….. and I was wishing Mother were still here….I was thinking how completely happy I would be to wear those little socks for her today if only she were here to require it of me. I stopped and took a moment just to think and remember.

Then, as I bent down to put my shoes on I thought to myself, “Well Mother, I’m going to wear these shoes without the socks today.”

I stepped into the right shoe and pulled it onto my heel. When I put my toes into the left shoe – they hit something….something soft and familiar in the end of the shoe. I pulled my foot out, put my hand in….and pulled out a little pair of footie socks neatly tucked into the toe of the shoe. I almost laughed out loud. It almost felt like a little hug…a connection to what used to be…

Then what did I do??? I sat down with a smile on my face, took off my right shoe, pulled on the little socks and then my shoes and headed out the door for work.

I loved wearing footie socks today.

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The Stories I Wish I Knew

old books

I’ve been researching my ancestry for the past several months and I have so enjoyed all of the family members I am “meeting” and all of their stories I am discovering. I’m so grateful to the people and organizations who have recorded history – whether it be census data, official records, written family accounts, cemetery information, and so on. They help to piece together the stories of the people that came before – the people who worked and sacrificed and tried and failed and tried again and created…..blazing trails for all the rest of us. I’ve said it many times, we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us…the people who pioneered the land, developed communities, organized our systems and structures, built the roads….those who invented, created, established, loved, learned, and grew….

I’ve posted about some of my relatives recently….but so far none have had a name so interesting, so unique, as that of my great-great grandmother……but I’ll get to that in a minute… 🙂 When I was a child attending first grade at Wonderview Public Schools, I rode the bus roughly 9 miles from Hattieville to Wonderview every morning….and 9 miles back every afternoon. Those familiar with this area will easily know that the school bus passed through the community of St. Vincent, Arkansas on the way. It’s interesting to me that I have ridden (and later driven) Arkansas highway 95 so many times through the years – and didn’t know that some of my ancestors were buried in a tiny family cemetery neatly fenced off in the middle of a little pasture beside the highway. The little cemetery has only five graves….my great-great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson McReynolds (a pretty interesting name in it’s own right, don’t you think?), my great-great grandmother (the one with the fun, interesting name), and three others.

Okay – back to the name! I hope you like it as well as I do. My great-great grandmother’s birth name is Tennessee Turnbow. Say that one out loud! C’mon – it’s fun! 🙂

According to some of the records, her family called her “Tennie”. So, as an adult her married name was Tennie McReynolds…. I like it – it’s also got a pretty nice ring to it – but I have to admit I like Tennessee Turnbow even better!

Though I’ve tried hard to learn about her, information is very limited. Diligent searches over time have put together the following very short biography:

“When Tennessee “Tennie” Turnbow was born on April 24, 1850, in Maury County, Tennessee, her father, John, was 41, and her mother, Cathryn, was 35. The entire family moved to Pope County, Arkansas when she was a young child and she grew up there. She married Thomas Jefferson McReynolds on December 22, 1869 and they set up their first home in Dover. Later they moved to Conway County, Arkansas. They had five children during their marriage. Tennessee died as a young mother on September 10, 1880, in Hattieville, Arkansas, at the age of 30. When she passed away, her children were ages 8, 7, 6, 4, and 1½. How hard this must have been. She was buried in St. Vincent, Arkansas – the first grave in the McReynolds Cemetery.”

Five years after her death, my great-great grandfather remarried a lady named Isabelle Templeton and soon more children joined the family.

The information leaves me curious – I can think of so many questions. Without Tennessee Turnbow, I would not be here. In fact, the first time I saw a young picture of her daughter – my great-grandmother Sarah Florence – I was surprised to see how much I look like her. I like that.

But…I know so little about my 2nd great-grandmother…. What was she like? What were her hopes and dreams? What color were her eyes? Her hair? Did she have a nice smile? Did she have a favorite recipe or recipes? Did she like to sing? Was she artistic? Was she practical and quiet? Was she fun loving? What caused her death at such a young age? Was the land she is buried on the family farm? How did my great-great grandfather manage alone for several years with five little children?

The stories I wish I knew make me thoughtful….

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Think on the Good Things

Today is my Mother’s birthday, so she is on my mind a lot this morning….but of course, that’s nothing new. I think about her – and my Daddy – every single day….

When you are blessed to be very close to your parents….everything changes when they pass away….and you have to make up your mind how you will think about things – how you will go on.

I can remember being concerned when Daddy died – wondering how Mother would cope. She had been taking such dedicated care of him for so long and much of her life was devoted to him for several years. A couple of days after his funeral, we were talking on the phone and she said, “Lisa, I didn’t just lose my husband, I’ve lost my job. I’ve got to find a new direction – a new purpose so that I can keep going. I can’t just sit around and feel sorry for myself” And then, I watched her do just that. I thought how smart and how courageous she was….and I relied on her example when I lost her ten years later.

As I said, everything changes when you lose someone very close to you. The world just feels….different. After her death I grieved, of course, but also I worked very hard to think about how best to go forward – to decide what I would think about and how I would handle everything… For example, when someone mentioned my parents, would I be sad – or would I be glad that they were remembered? When I baked one of her recipes, would it bring me joy or sadness? Would I be solemn when I visited a restaurant we used to frequent together – or would I smile and remember all the good times we had? When I wore a piece of her jewelry, would it be a symbol of loss – or a reminder of great memories, blessings, and joy?

My cousin Betty helped me tremendously one day when she said to me: “Lisa, I know three things as surely as I know anything. Jeannie loved Jesus and she loved you – and she would want you to be happy.” I have thought of Betty’s comment over and over these past 2½ years….and I know she is right. Mother always wanted me to be happy – and she still would! So, I have tried very hard to remember to be just that! In other words, I have tried to think about what I think about – and choose to think on the good things. We really do get to choose, you know. (This can be such hard work – but very worth it!) I’ve tried to “program” my brain to celebrate the blessings and memories and lessons. Now, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes I am sad – and that’s okay. Sometimes I want so badly to pick up the phone and call my Mother – to ask her a question, to share some good news, to hear in her voice that she is proud of me. Sometimes, I just let myself be sad…..but not for long!

Two weeks to the day before Mother passed away, she said to me “Lisa, I don’t want you to be sad when I’m gone. Promise me.” I replied, “Mother! I can’t promise that! I am most certainly going to be sad! I will miss you!” She persisted, “Well, you can be a little bit sad of course, but Lisa – don’t wallow in it.” Her kind, wise words were such a caring gift to me.

Is it an easy thing to not be sad? No, it’s not….it’s a choice that you make over and over and over again…..but it’s so worth it!

Six months after my Mother died, I attended an event where I would be meeting Michael Learned. Miss Learned played the role of the mother, Olivia, on the 1970’s television program, The Waltons. When we met, she was seated and I was standing. I introduced myself and told her that I wanted to let her know that the work she did decades ago on that television program still had an impact today. I then told her that my dear Mother had recently passed away. At this point, she held up her hand to interrupt me, then stood to face me and took my hand. “What is your Mother’s name?, she asked. I told her that it was Jean. She continued to stand and held my hand while I told her that during Mother’s final few weeks, she was unable to get out of bed but that she kept a bright smile on her face every day – that her room was never sad to anyone who entered it. I also told her that her hospice team and the staff that attended to her knew to avoid scheduling anything between 11:00 am and noon – because that was when the television show “The Waltons” aired. Mother looked forward to watching it every day, and it brought her such joy.

Miss Learned (still holding my hand) looked me in the eyes and said caringly, “How are you doing?”. I told her I was doing okay. She then took my other hand, looked upwards, and said “Jean, this is Michael. I am here right now with Lisa, and I want you to know she is doing okay. She really is doing okay.”

And you know what? I am – and I am so grateful.

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The Garrison Studio – An Arkansas Treasure

A few years ago, I was spending a lot of my time on the 7th floor of UAMS hospital in Little Rock. My mother was there for treatment, and we were in the hospital off and on that year for visits lasting several weeks at a time. Mother and I would go for walks a couple of times every day to get out of her hospital room for a bit and to get a little exercise. The hospital hallway made a big loop around the floor. It was perfect for walking! There were beautiful paintings and framed photography hung along the corridors, giving us and the other patients something to see and talk about as we walked along. One painting in particular always caught both of our eyes. It was a standout favorite for both of us. The colors and use of light were so rich and serene and beautiful. We connected with it. It provided a moment of respite, of escape, of peaceful joy during a challenging situation every time we saw it.

As we journeyed through that year, that same painting continued to be a shared spot of joy for us whenever we were back in the hospital. I made a note of the artist’s name, Bill Garrison, telling myself I would research information about him one day when I had more time….I knew then that I would love to have one of his paintings someday…but didn’t really imagine that it would ever be possible for me….

Fast forward now to last year… When I finally did sit down to research this talented artist, I happily discovered that he lives in Russellville, Arkansas. I decided to visit the Bill Garrison gallery last summer, so I made the drive down Arkansas’ scenic highway 7 to the studio showcasing the works of both he and his wife, Gloria (also a wonderful artist!). I had no idea what to expect – and I was a bit nervous. I can sometimes feel timid when meeting new people and often feel awkward in unfamiliar situations and places.

Visiting a gallery was definitely not a familiar routine for me, and as I turned off the highway and drove down their lane, my confidence waned a bit. There was no need for worry, however. When I pulled up, Mr. and Mrs. Garrison came out to greet me like old friends. I instantly felt welcome and comfortable. We chatted for a few minutes then I walked into their studio…..and I was blown away. A large number of incredibly beautiful art was displayed all around the room, all beautifully framed by Mr. Garrison himself.

It was soon obvious that Arkansas is definitely Mr. Garrison’s inspiration. There were lovely scenes painted in locations from around the state all over the walls. Whenever I would exclaim about the beauty of a painting, Mr. Garrison would delightedly tell me exactly where he had found that particular scene to paint. In fact, he showed me that he always puts the GPS map coordinates on the back of each of his works to record where they were completed. I can’t even adequately describe how beautiful they all were…and since I love Arkansas, most every painting was a lovely celebration of my home state.

I knew I wanted to buy a painting – but the decision of which one was difficult! Did I want the beautiful picture of a field painted in Conway County – the county of my birth? Another tempting choice was a landscape of cool greens and blues showing a beautiful stream with trees shading the water and rocks. Another painting displayed a beautifully shaded, peaceful dirt road with spots of sunlight peaking through the canopy of trees. I truly loved them ALL. Mr. Garrison’s art is an Arkansas treasure!

I finally happily settled on a gorgeous work called “Spadra Autumn”. As the title suggests, it features beautiful fall colors and the light in the painting is just breathtaking. I couldn’t wait to get it home and hang it on my wall….and I have enjoyed it every day since. I find myself often taking the time to pause and study it a bit whenever I walk by. It brings me such joy!

Several weeks after buying the painting, I decided to drive down and see if I could locate the spot of this beautiful scene using Mr. Garrison’s GPS coordinates. According to the map, I was looking for a spot just north of Clarksville on a little county road. I was looking from side to side as I drove along slowly, knowing I must be getting close….As I was driving across a small low water bridge I looked to my left….and there was the scene from my painting. The colors were different, because it wasn’t fall yet, but it was still so recognizable and looked so instantly familiar to me. It made me smile – and it made my painting all the more meaningful and enjoyable to see where it had originated.

If you love art…..or Arkansas….or beauty….I highly recommend a trip to the Garrison “Treehouse Studios” Gallery in Russellville. Call for an appointment and head down to see these true Arkansas treasures. I look forward to going back someday myself!

Contact Information:

Treehouse Studios

https://www.facebook.com/BillGarrisonFineArt

Bill Garrison Fine Art

https://www.facebook.com/BillGarrisonFineArt/

Treehouse Studios Website

http://pages.suddenlink.net/billandgloria/index.htm