A Porch-Paced Keepsake Story

Sometimes the smallest proof of resonance comes back in the gentlest ways. Last year, a man bought one of my anniversary cards. Nothing fancy—just paper, ink, and a bit of Appalachian humor tucked inside.

Weeks later, he told me his wife still had it pinned to their refrigerator. Every morning, she saw it while reaching for milk or eggs. Every evening, it caught her eye when she closed the door after supper.

It warms my heart to know that something I made—something simple and porch-paced—found a place in their daily rhythm. Not tucked away in a drawer, not forgotten in a stack, but right there in the center of their home.

That’s why I make keepsakes. Not for clicks or funnels, but for the chance that one card might linger, carrying a story longer than I ever expected.