This summer, I was on a European cruise when I met a family from Kentucky.

How did I know?

One of them was wearing a Trinity High School shirt.

A Trinity High School shirt.

On a cruise.

In EUROPE.

Because apparently, you can travel thousands of miles from Louisville, cross an ocean, and still identify complete strangers by their high school apparel.

And if you’re from Louisville, you know exactly why that’s funny.

Whenever two people discover they’re from Louisville, there’s one question that’s practically guaranteed to come up:

“Where’d you go to high school?”

Not where you went to college, what you do for a living, or where you live now. We need to establish your high school credentials first.

For the record, I went to Ballard.

And if you’re from Louisville, you’re probably already calculating whether we know some of the same people.

Because in Louisville, that’s not small talk.

That’s a background check.

Growing Up in Louisville’s East End

I was born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky, and spent the first 25 years of my life there. I grew up in the East End and absolutely loved it.

Louisville is what I like to call a big small town. We’re home to the Kentucky Derby, so every May, people from around the world descend on our city to wear enormous hats, drink mint juleps, and watch horses run in a circle for approximately two minutes.

It’s a pretty big deal.

But somehow, Louisville still operates like a town where everyone knows everyone. And if they don’t know you, they know your parents, grandparents, cousin, or someone you briefly dated in high school.

Which brings me to an important rule of living in Louisville:

You do not leave the house looking like a hot mess.

Ever.

You might think you’re just running into Kroger for milk. Wrong. The second you walk through those automatic doors wearing yesterday’s sweatpants, greasy hair, and a face that hasn’t seen makeup since Thursday, you’re guaranteed to run into someone you haven’t seen in fifteen years.

Naturally, they’ll look fantastic.

Fresh blowout. Cute outfit. Perfect makeup.

Meanwhile, you look like you’ve spent three days surviving in the wilderness.

And they’ll want to chat.

“Oh my gosh! How ARE you? What have you been up to?”

Well, Susan, until thirty seconds ago, I was having a lovely day buying milk anonymously. But now I’m standing next to the dairy section looking like a cautionary tale, so thanks for asking.

That’s Louisville. You simply cannot count on being anonymous, even when all you want is a gallon of milk and the chance to avoid eye contact with another human being.

Honestly, every Kroger should have a warning sign:

Enter at your own risk. Former classmates may be present.

As much as I joke about it, that familiarity is part of what makes Louisville special. It’s a city that feels connected, no matter how big the world around it gets.

Halloween at the Zoo and Christmas with Ebenezer Scrooge

Some of my favorite childhood memories involve Louisville traditions I still think about today.

One favorite was trick-or-treating at the Louisville Zoo. Because apparently, regular trick-or-treating wasn’t exciting enough. Why go door-to-door when you could collect candy at the zoo?

Whoever came up with that idea clearly understood children.

Then there was Christmas. Every December, my family would eat dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory and head to Actors Theatre of Louisville to see A Christmas Carol.

Every. Single. Year.

As a kid, you don’t realize how much those traditions mean. They’re simply what your family does. December comes around, you eat spaghetti, watch Ebenezer Scrooge receive an aggressive lesson in the Christmas spirit, and life is good.

I haven’t continued that tradition with my own family. Life has taken us to different places, and we’ve made our own memories along the way. Still, I miss that particular Louisville routine.

It’s funny how you can grow up, move away, start a family, and build an entirely different life, yet some of the memories you treasure most are the simplest ones.

Apparently, for me, one involves pasta and a grumpy Victorian man being terrorized by ghosts.

Ma and Pap’s House in Okolona

While I grew up in Louisville’s East End, another important part of my childhood happened across town in Okolona, where my grandparents lived.

My grandmother, Ma, had the kind of house where everyone was welcome. Someone was always coming or going, and Ma always seemed to have dessert sitting on the stove.

I’m fairly certain she considered dessert a basic household necessity, right up there with electricity and running water.

Some of my favorite memories are of making brownies and cookies with her. Nothing fancy, just time together in the kitchen. When we weren’t baking, I loved sitting in the living room with Ma and my grandfather, Pap, talking about everything going on in our lives.

Pap has always been hilarious, especially when he used the colorful Southern expressions older Southerners seem to have an endless supply of. They can describe something in a way that sounds completely ridiculous but somehow makes perfect sense.

Those afternoons spent talking and laughing with Ma and Pap are some of my favorite memories.

Ma has since passed away, and I miss her every day. When I think about her, I remember that welcoming house in Okolona, people constantly coming and going, brownies and cookies, and conversations in the living room.

It wasn’t extravagant. It was just being together.

And looking back, that was more than enough.

Although the brownies certainly didn’t hurt.

Summers at Nolin Lake

Another wonderful part of growing up in Kentucky was spending summers at my grandparents’ cabin on Nolin Lake.

It was a two-bedroom, one-bathroom cabin, and it was perfect. I spent those summers with Ma and Pap, my sister, and my cousins. Sometimes my aunts and uncles joined us, too.

Some of my favorite memories are of taking the jet skis out and spending hours on the lake. I didn’t need a schedule or an elaborate plan. Give me a jet ski and a lake, and I was happy.

Looking back, I don’t remember wishing for a bigger cabin or somewhere fancier. I remember being with my family, spending time on the water, and loving those summer days.

As adults, we sometimes convince ourselves that bigger and more expensive automatically means better. Meanwhile, some of my favorite childhood memories happened at a two-bedroom cabin on a lake in Kentucky.

I wouldn’t change a thing about those summers.

Summers in Whitesburg: Where There Was Absolutely Nothing to Do

My grandparents grew up in the mountains of eastern Kentucky, in a town called Whitesburg. When I was growing up, we’d visit during the summer to see my great-grandmother Ruby.

You might imagine children spending their summers in the beautiful Appalachian Mountains, enjoying nature and embracing the simple pleasures of country life.

You would be imagining the wrong group of children.

My sister, my cousins, and I spent an impressive amount of time complaining that we were bored.

There was NOTHING to do.

Absolutely nothing.

To be fair, we did have one exciting tradition: the Fourth of July. We would set off the big fireworks, which was always fun.

So apparently, there were things to do in Whitesburg. We just required explosives before we were willing to admit it.

The rest of the time, we complained. What exactly did we want to do? I have no idea. But whatever it was, we were certain Whitesburg didn’t have it.

Looking back, I find those summers especially funny. I could happily spend hours riding a jet ski around Nolin Lake, but take away the lake and jet ski, and suddenly the entire state of Kentucky had an entertainment crisis.

Apparently, I had very specific requirements.

Still, those trips were important. That’s where my grandparents’ stories began. Those mountains were part of their childhood, just as Louisville was part of mine. Visiting Great-Grandma Ruby connected us to a family history that stretched far beyond the city where I grew up.

Now that I live in the mountains of Colorado, I find it especially funny that my childhood self spent so much time complaining about being bored in the mountains of Kentucky.

Apparently, mountains become considerably more impressive once people start charging a fortune to live near them.

Leaving Louisville at 25

As much as I loved growing up in Louisville, by my early twenties, I was ready to see what else the world had to offer.

You can love your hometown, have a wonderful childhood, and still be curious about life beyond the place you’ve always known.

At 25, I decided to become a flight attendant. Because apparently, when I said I wanted to see the world, I took that idea literally.

Since leaving Louisville, I’ve lived in Louisiana, Florida, Texas, and now Colorado. Each place has been different, and each has given me something to appreciate.

But I didn’t leave Louisville because I wanted to escape it. I left because I wanted an adventure.

And I certainly found one.

From Kentucky Bluegrass to Colorado Mountains

These days, Colorado is home. The mountains are incredible, the scenery is breathtaking, and the wildlife occasionally wanders into our yard to help itself to whatever we’ve spent money planting.

Very thoughtful of them.

But Kentucky has a different kind of beauty: rolling green hills, horse farms, lush trees, and landscapes that seem to turn every possible shade of green.

Kentucky also has something I miss: an actual spring.

In Kentucky, spring means flowers blooming, trees turning green, and the world coming back to life. In Colorado, spring occasionally makes a brief appearance between snowstorms before disappearing again.

Planting flowers here can feel suspiciously like making a charitable donation to the local deer and elk population.

Beyond the scenery and weather, I miss things I never imagined I’d miss, like fireflies.

I grew up catching them on warm Kentucky evenings. My children have never experienced that. They don’t even know what fireflies are.

They’ve never seen fireworks, either, while I grew up spending Fourth of July celebrations setting off big fireworks in eastern Kentucky.

It’s funny how different your children’s childhood can be from your own. Mine included humid summers, fireflies, fireworks, and hours on a lake. My children’s childhood includes Colorado mountains, snow, and wildlife wandering through the yard like they pay the mortgage.

I love raising my family in Colorado, but I sometimes miss those Kentucky summers, the warm evenings, the fireflies, and the feeling that summer actually felt like summer.

I never thought I’d grow up nostalgic for bugs and explosions, but apparently here we are.

Most of my family still lives in Louisville, so even though I’ve built a life elsewhere, Kentucky remains an important part of my story. It’s where I grew up, where my family traditions began, and where so many of my favorite memories were made.

Those are my roots.

You Can Take the Girl Out of Kentucky…

When I started Magnolias, Mountains & Maps, I knew I wanted to write about the places I’ve lived, the places I’ve traveled, and the unexpected things that come with building a life in different parts of the country.

But I couldn’t tell that story without starting in Kentucky.

That’s where the first 25 years happened. It’s where I grew up, baked with Ma, laughed with Pap, spent summers at Nolin Lake, visited family in the Appalachian Mountains, set off fireworks, caught fireflies, and repeatedly informed the adults that Whitesburg desperately needed better entertainment options.

It’s where my Southern roots began, long before I boarded an airplane to see what else the world had to offer.

So this corner of Magnolias, Mountains & Maps is dedicated to Kentucky: the beautiful places, the food, the family traditions, the history, and the funny little things that make the Bluegrass State special.

I may have left Louisville at 25, but Kentucky will always be part of who I am.

After living in five states and traveling to places I never imagined I’d see, I’ve learned that you don’t have to stay in the place you grew up for it to remain part of you.

Sometimes you can travel halfway around the world, build an entirely different life, and still smile at the sight of a Kentucky high school T-shirt on a European cruise ship.

Some roots just travel well.