If you’ve ever met me in person, it’s no secret that I’m not a native Kansan.
I drop way too many “y’all’s”, own way too many sundresses, and spend too much time researching the ultimate fried chicken recipes to be considered a natural born child of the Sunflower State.
So how’d I end up living on a recently revived homestead nestled in the Flint Hills? By quite the circuitous route.
It all started in Memphis, TN – our nation’s most dangerous city. I was raised in the shadow of Elvis, half a dozen Evangelical (or Fundamentalist, depending on your political leanings) cult leaders, and the ultimate sweet sauce BBQ. Continue Reading…