06/19/2026
I've made a choice to start a journal for my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
Stories where i started, who was in my life when I was young, who was in their life when they were young. They may not remember now. We are in the age of technology and we don't really sit around on the porch and listen to people stories or have family reunions. So here's things you may not have known about me.
I have spent most of my life taking care of everyone else, starting early in my life when I shared a room with my disabled sister.
Like many women of my generation, I wore a lot of hats. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. Grandma. Nana. Aunt Cathy. Auntie. Friend. Caregiver. Business owner. The Tree Lady.
Sometimes I was the one people called when they needed help.
Sometimes I was the one holding everything together.
And sometimes I was simply trying to make it through another day.
For most of my life, I never imagined anyone would want to hear my story.
After all, I wasn't famous.
I wasn't wealthy.
I didn't hold an important title.
I wasn't a celebrity, politician, or public figure.
I was simply Cathy
A poor country girl who spent a lifetime working hard, loving her family, and trying to build a better life than the one she started with.
But as the years passed, I began to realize something.
The stories that matter most are often the ones that never make the history books.
They're the stories told around kitchen tables.
The stories shared on front porches.
The stories passed from grandparents to grandchildren.
The stories that disappear when nobody writes them down.
I began thinking about my children, Keith and Chris.
Then my grandchildren.
Austin, Cameron, Makenna
Then my great-grandchildren.
Blake
And the generations that will come after them.
One day they may wonder where they came from.
They may wonder who I was.
They may wonder what life was like before cell phones, computers, and the world they know today.
They may wonder what kind of woman their Grandma, Nana, Auntie, or Great-Grandma really was.
These journals are my answer.
It is not a story about perfection.
I have made mistakes.
Some big ones.
I've had dreams that came true and dreams that fell apart.
I've loved deeply.
I've lost people I thought I couldn't live without.
I've cried tears no one ever saw.
And I've laughed so hard my sides hurt.
I've survived poverty, divorce, heartbreak, serious illness, a widow-maker heart attack, family tragedy, floods, a house fire, and challenges that at times seemed impossible to overcome.
Yet somehow, by the grace of God and the support of those who loved me, I kept moving forward.
There were times when life knocked me down.
But every time, I found a way to stand back up.
This story begins long before the Smoky Mountains became my home.
Long before I became known as The Tree Lady.
Long before the tree service, the bridges, the mountain roads, the bears, the northern lights, the race cars, and the life I've built today.
It begins with a little girl who lost her father before she ever had the chance to know him.
A little girl whose widowed mother was left to raise five children with very little money and no easy answers.
A little girl who learned early that life wasn't always fair, when other kids were playing outside at recess I was spending my time in speech therapy for years.
But who also learned that strength often grows from hardship.
The road from Middletown, Ohio, to the mountains of East Tennessee was anything but straight.
It wound through Kentucky, Oklahoma, Indiana, Memphis, heartbreak, hope, success, failure, friendship, love, and loss.
Along the way I met people who changed my life forever.
Some stayed for a season.
Some stayed for a lifetime.
All left their mark.
These journals are about those people, too.
It's about my parents and grandparents.
My brothers and sisters.
My children and grandchildren.
The friends who became family.
The animals that found their way into my heart.
The mountains that eventually called me home.
Most of all, this is about belonging.
For much of my life, I didn't realize I was searching for it, but when I saw the creek at our property I knew I was home.
Like many people, I spent years trying to build a life while also trying to understand who I was and where I fit in.
What I eventually discovered is that belonging isn't always a place on a map.
It's found in the people who love you.
The memories you carry.
The lessons you learn.
And the stories you leave behind.
If you're reading these pages as a member of my family, I hope you'll come to know me a little better.
And if you have stories I may not know please send them to me. Because I'd love to add them.
If you're reading as a stranger, I hope you find pieces of your own story somewhere in mine. And think about leaving journals for your family too.
Because this isn't just stories about my life.
It's a about resilience.
About family.
About faith.
About loss and healing.
About finding beauty in ordinary moments.
And about discovering that after all the twists and turns life can take, sometimes we end up exactly where we were meant to be.
Back where we belong.
