Lynchburg Living

Editor’s Letter

Often, you realize the blessings of the past only in retrospect.

I grew up with a mother who readily made our clothes, grew a robust vegetable garden and cooked dinner from scratch for us every night. Long before the days of Pinterest or the en vogue farm-to-table movement, this was her wheelhouse—a spade and sewing machine were simply her tools of the trade. The fruits of her labor, which she did while looking like Audrey Hepburn wearing gardening gloves, grew my siblings and I from the ground up, literally. We were Indiana dirt fed and bred. During the day, we often entertained ourselves by shucking corn fresh out of my Uncle Dale’s field, chasing a rouge chicken or sheep tha ... Read More

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