Mythology of a Southern Witch

I am the Southern Fried Witch. I am the child of legends and myth, honeysuckle and red-clay dirt. In my small frame, I carry the histories of my people: Celt Irish, Cherokee and African heritages that manifest in small fires, fried okra and the tribal beat of a semi-tropic sunset. My people are both the backbone of a continental history and the brunt of a universal myth that hints at ignorance and simplicity. But history has lied to you before. My grandmother lived along a country river, just under the Tennessee line, and cooled her milk in a stream. She […]