our Roses

Some folks’ parents meet while they’re in college. Mine met in a moonshine stand in a pine forest--over an illegal sale of Four Roses bourbon.

It was no accident that alcohol brought them together. Lord knows it became a central figure in their marriage before it finally ripped them apart. But first they’d have a fine romance, the start of a deep, disorderly, and enduring love.

Mama was doing double duty on the night they met. She was babysitting her nephews and running her brother-in-law’s home based business: Skinny’s Moonshine & Liquor. The singlewide trailer was hidden back in the woods, so Mama could hear Daddy’s car approaching for some time. She figured it was just one of her regulars: the town drunk, the deputy sheriff, or one of the pillars of the First Baptist Church.

When she answered the knock at the door, the cosmos sent a high-voltage message: a lightning bolt entered through the top of her head and shot straight out through the tips of her toes. She knew that the man facing her was The One foretold by the aunts.



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