From 1979 to 2023 I lived in Griffin, Georgia and never belonged. Forty-four years is long enough to raise children, to memorize the turn of every street, to know which pecan tree drops first in October and which church lets out earliest on Sunday. Long enough to bury a dog, to plant azaleas twice, to learn the rhythm of cicadas and the red dust that settles on porch rails no matter how often you wipe it away. Long enough to be known. And yet— I was always slightly mis-shelve

Dedicated to Mrs. Thompson, my speech pathologist from 1980 to 1984, and to all speech pathologists who make a difference! Speaking can be hard... Growing up with a speech impediment shaped much of my early life in ways I did not fully understand at the time. Speaking clearly, something many take for granted, was a daily challenge for me. This blog shares my personal journey, the obstacles I faced, and how I learned to navigate a world where communication is key. Early Challe

Dedicated to Henry Browning, this is based on real events in your Grandfather Browning's Christmas. The time and setting have changed, but the spirit and story are the same. The most important lesson I ever learned didn't come from a textbook or a sermon; it came from a stack of small, green paper squares and the steadfast faith of my Granny Holman. Even now, in my sixties, I can still see those stamps perfectly—each one bearing the distinctive S&H logo, a tiny token of long-

Dundee Mills was more than just a textile factory in Griffin, Georgia. For decades, it stood as a symbol of economic strength, community pride, and local identity. Its story reflects the growth of Griffin itself, the challenges faced by the American textile industry, and the impact of corporate decisions on small-town life. This post explores how Dundee Mills helped shape Griffin, the changes it brought, and the void left when it closed in the 1990s after being acquired by Sp

The Griffin's Thread: From Spindle to Spirit To the People of Dundee Mills, 2012 (Picture Credits: (Picture Credits: David Baughn, City of Griffin, B. Brown) In Georgia's heart, where red clay lies serene, A town called Griffin dreamt a vibrant scene. Then came the rumble, iron gears began, Birth of the industry in 1883's plan. The stack rose high, a sentinel in the blue, Whispers spread of honest work to do. From the field and the porch, the people came to stay, To punch th