I’m an explorer. I always have the itch to keep turning over new rocks, whether it’s going new places or doing new research. There’s always something new to find out, and I have the heart of both a pioneer and a detective, always looking for the answers and usually willing to take a few risks in my adventurous quests to find out new things. I’m very passionate about what I do and can get pretty intense about it.
A mother, a teacher, an explorer, a free thinker, a friend, daughter, sister and aunt…. I’m very independent in some ways but rooted in others. I have a passion for learning about other cultures and other parts of our incredible planet. I love to travel far and wide—from Prague to Scotland to China—but then it’s always a pleasure to return to my native American soil and these Blue Ridge mountains that my family has lived in for over 200 years. I’m connected to the ancestors but live for today and am always curious about what will come tomorrow.
I love music and art and words and faces and colors and architectural angles. Irish music and Chinese films and the sound of the French language. Venturing down little back alleys lined with cobblestone with walls of flaking plaster on either side, following the sounds of a distant fiddle or the smell of freshly-baked bread. Sitting on a rock high up on a mountaintop drinking in the expanses of earthy landscape below and hearing the wind whishing through the tree leaves. Floating through the street markets of a small Asian city surrounded by peasant women selling their green leafy vegetables and watching the timeless play of giggling children running through the streets. Drinking in the earthy smells and lively music of a 500-year-old Scottish pub.
Inhaling the fragrance of fresh rosemary as I watch farmers harvesting grapes with baskets on their backs on a late summer’s day in the South of France. Climbing hundreds of narrow, steep stone steps to find myself at Tintagel on the coast of Cornwall, a high bluff overlooking the crashing waves of the ocean with ruined crumbled stone castles said to have been the birthplace of King Arthur, as my 5-year-old son pretends to be a knight and waves his wooden sword, then falls gracefully down onto a warm slab of stone as if wounded in battle…. These are some of the memories that make me who I am.