In mountain tradition, my ancestors created free-flowing art that warmed their family on winter nights. They pieced scraps of twill, denim, corduroy, children’s outgrown clothes, men’s shirttails, worn-out dresses, and cotton sacking into the “memory gems” of life. Similarly, I toss aside perfection for small, unpredictably shaped patterns—my verbal crazy quilt of poems, stories, and reflections.
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