The Morgan's Table

I’m a wife and mother, which is wonderful, closer to my forties than I can come to terms with and this is my natural hair color.

I love good food, witty humor, color theory, watching cows eat thick grass, swimming in strange new waters and the phenomenon of rain and sunshine at the same time.

Unlike most Americans, I enjoy hot tea with cream and honey in the morning rather than coffee, and unlike most southerners, I drink unsweet iced tea in the afternoons.

Passive aggressive tyrannies bring out the worst in me.

I am socially awkward.

And to be perfectly honest, I am creating The Morgan’s Table to pull a business up out of the dirt, metaphorically, so that we can pull a real business out the real dirt, literally.

What I mean is, my husband was born to milk cows, apparently (we just recently discovered this special purpose of his). We knew it was somewhere in agriculture, so we farmed oysters in the bay, then ran cracker cows in the scrub woods and due to some innate desire, we bought land. Each step lead us closer to the point, until at last we discovered it. Milk cows. It’s magical.

The only problem is, he already has a career: horseshoeing.

Well, two problems come to think of it… we also don’t need a lapse of income.

His career has supported us all these years, entirely. It’s been a blessing and a dependable provision. (Those other endeavors were extra-curricular and actually quite expensive.) However, horseshoeing is also somewhat high risk and is slowly breaking his truck… and his back… ulnar nerves, fingers, I could keep going… we feel the end of this track soon approaching and yet, there’s no way off this train.

So how do we get from where we are now to where we want to be? How do you change lanes at breakneck speed with a family in tow?

I’m not sure either, if you have any ideas please refer to the “contact” page and shoot me an email.

The best we can figure is: jump or die trying.

A Theatrical Metaphor

So Justin and I and our kids are all standing on the roof of this metaphorical horseshoeing career train, like in an old western movie, and its chugging eagerly onward. Inside, the fine, comfortable apartment has been abandoned. Melting ice rattles against the inside of a thin-walled glass of something. Half eaten pastries litter the table. Velvet covered seats sit at attention. And we, up on the roof, survey the view. A mile up ahead we can see that the bridge is out, some tornado of workplace injury or old age seems to have hit… the tracks just sort of twist off into a mysteriously deep chasm of no savings. We look at each other knowing we must jump. We look at the hard landing below, littered with sporadic cacti no doubt. Just on the horizon there is a tattered chuck wagon called Far-fetched Chance, being pulled by two dairy cows, Hard and Work, headed to a place of green grass and cattle production. If we get on that wagon, we might make it to the land of Cattle Calling.

But how to stick this landing? And how to bring along a little bread and water for the journey?

This is where The Morgan’s Table was founded: on the roof of a train.

If I can build an online business, if I can help us land this jump, we might make this thing work.

But what do I have to offer the world that they would benefit from me? What do I have to give in exchange for another person’s time and attention?

For what it’s worth, I can share all that my last fifteen years have taught me. I can share all I’ve learned in the call of domesticity, cooking, homeschooling and farm-starting, all on a budget. I can give you what I have. I can give you a place to look at some beautiful things that God has gifted to us in this life under the sun. I can point to the good things that I’ve found along the way. I can make greeting cards. I can share good food. I can tell you our story. I can encourage you in your story.

So maybe that does it? Maybe you know a little “About Me” now… a socially awkward, auburn haired, artsy little woman riding on top of an imaginary train?