It would make sense I would end up making pottery. At seven, I had my own mudpie stand at my Granny's little country home, where she would dutifully "purchase" carefully handcrafted pies I had arranged on a little table. I have never been afraid of getting dirty. There is something incredibly calming about connecting with our earth. I am at my happiest when there is dirt under my nails. I so fondly remember going into my Granny's garden and pulling out tiny potatoes with my hands, coming into the house with a trail of dirt following, just so I could have fresh boiled baby potatoes with butter. Knowing how she felt about keeping a clean house, I guess her joy of seeing me happily experiencing the country life was enough to not freak out about the messes I made. I miss her. I wish she knew what I was doing with my life. My heart tells me she would be proud that I was still playing with mud.

 

It took me a long time to figure out what to do with my life. I became a mother at such a young age, that *mom* became my identity. But children get older and it was time for me to start considering what I am going to do with my time. I could go back and try and finish school, but for what? I read some great advice that said to figure out what your true passions are, go back to when you were a kid. What did you love back then? I loved mud. In high school I had an art teacher that let me use a wheel sometimes when I had a free period. I was not good. At all. But I was addicted to it. After gifting my husband a woodturning lathe some years back, he returned the favor with the wheel of my dreams. He moved his woodworking stuff out of a large room in our separate garage, and I have the perfect place to get as muddy as I want.