Welcome back to coffee and cases. I'm super anxious to share another cold case with you and spread awareness for our victims today. Sadly, Allison and I are still practicing social distancing and I hope that you are too so that we can flatten the curve. So this week's episode will be done solo yet again. If you're new to coffee in cases, please know that our podcast has changed

slightly as our world is adjusting to COVID-19. While we're being asked to keep our distance

from others, to stay inside when possible, and to not gather in large groups, we ask that you

bear with us as we make those adjustments. We're keeping faith that all of this will end soon

and that our lives will start returning to normal. We appreciate you all so much, and we want to

continue to provide you with cases. After all, that's our goal, right? That we bring awareness to these

people. Thank you for bearing with us and for understanding. We care about you. Stay together, united in human

spirit, even if not physically, and stay safe. Now, let's get into this week's episode. As the

world is dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic, I find myself thinking of simpler times. As you can

probably guess from the episodes I do, I'm a big family person.

So a lot of my favorite memories involve my family. My family didn't have a lot of money when I was

growing up, but my mom had ways of making the ordinary amazing. We lived on the mountainside

and what eastern Kentucky people like myself would call a hauler.

In the spring, when we would get big rains, my mom would pack a picnic for us, and we would

hike into the hills to where water ran down the mountainside. We would sit on this huge rock near a small

waterfall and snack on pickles my mammy had canned and cheese. We would pick wildflowers on the way down and sometimes

make them into crowns. My cousins and I would spend summers catching tadpoles and playing in the

creek that ran by my aunt's house. She was the last house on her road, and the creek that ran by her patio

was clear and cold, even in the heat of summer. I can remember handmade quilts filled with

fresh beans from my poppy's garden. My mom, my mommy, and I would snap beans in preparation for canning.

We would scald tomatoes to make juice for the winter months. I would spend countless hours,

trailing behind my poppy barefoot in his garden as he planted cucumbers and potatoes.

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