I’m visiting my old farm, Wolf Pen Branch Mill, ten miles east of Louisville, Kentucky for a few days, and find myself appalled, as always, by the spread of development.
Wolf Pen Mill Runs Again
Resounding through the maple and sycamore forest, the clanking must have drawn farmers from miles around, loading their carts with corn and driving over the rough stone road to the mill.
Hope
This is the way we save our history. Otherwise much of what we know becomes irrelevant.
My Father
I never asked my father about his manicures. It didn’t seem appropriate to raise such a frivolous topic with a dedicated newspaper publisher.
Saving Wolf Pen Mill
Wake up, you well-off widows! We are all part of a world that is threatened by our individual decisions.
Goodbye and Hello
The degree of change that has transpired since the long overdue advent of Black Lives Matter and the murder of Breonna Taylor in Louisville last spring is summed up for me in a Community Forum essay by columnist Quintez Brown.
Teaching Girls
A small school in a southern city where girls were usually curbed physically or mentally, the Louisville Collegiate School for Girls and its teachers did not deal in… limits. My years there started me on my way as a writer.
I Didn’t Believe It
My hometown city of Louisville, Kentucky is blooming as it never has before.
Champs
Expertise is always thrilling… the crucial ingredients are the same: talent, persistence. And heart.
I’ll Sing One Song
I didn’t know many men who had fun. I didn’t know any women. It seemed scandalous to me that Willie Snow could enjoy herself.