to Butter Get a plate. I’m a hot potato. You will drop me. Smother me, then. We won’t last. Repast.

Bertha’s Lemon Pound Cake

Bertha was my husband's mother. Like me, she moved to Greenville with her husband. She was originally from up north, possibly New York City. She was half Cherokee and half descended from African slaves in America, but she never spoke much about her life before coming to Greenville and raising her eight children. According to her... Continue Reading →

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