What am I thankful for?
Many, many things. My grandmother who is my best friend, my confidant, and the one that supports me incessantly. My friends – some of which I truly consider to be family. My education. My freedom. My business. My sweet Muffie, a rescued kitty.
However, that’s not what I want to discuss.
I am, at the core, thankful to be a Kentuckian.
I am grateful to have the opportunity to live in the City of Louisville.
But, even more than that, I am grateful to be from Southern Kentucky – Russell County, God’s country, the land of milk and honey.
Let me tell you a little about it.
I am from the country folk: bluegrass-pickin’, pie-bakin’, God-fearin’.
I am from the Tulip Poplar, the cardinal, the Goldenrod.
I am from soup beans and cornbread, one-lane roads.
I am from the church revivals, the Lord’s Prayer, wilted lettuce sopped in bacon grease.
I am from the plowed garden, the cast iron skillet nearing its fiftieth year.
I am from Phelps Acres Farm: smooth tobacco, endless corn, homesteaded in 1798.
I am from the Cumberland River, Rockhouse Bottom, Lake Cumberland, where Daddy lost his life.
I am from the white farmhouse: white-glove parties, pearls, yellow gold.
Overalls, sunhats, and work shirts, too.
The early mornings, the late nights, the endless work, the fried chicken, the elongated speech.
I am from these people – the ones that work hard, strive for Beulah, sweet Beulah land, those that enjoy the simple things in life.
I am from that version of Kentucky – and there’s nothing that I am more thankful for.