The days seem to blur together in a idyllic, sun-dappled haze those first few weeks after getting settled into our new home in Newberry. Between Greg and I putting the finishing touches on the little farmhouse and property, regular visits from the ever-gruff Zander checking in on our progress, and taking time to simply revel in the unfamiliar sense of peace surrounding us at every turn, I barely have a spare moment to let any lingering unease creep in.
That all changes one morning over breakfast. I'm sitting at the scrubbed wood table in the kitchen area, blissfully inhaling the rich aroma of the fresh-baked bread and thick slices of fried salt pork Greg whipped up. He always did have a deft hand with cast iron and an open flame, to my neverending surprise.
"Food's incredible as always,
