paula reynolds

Almost lost to the annals of time, there’s a particular story of Italian immigration that most of us haven’t heard about in a history class, nor read in book, nor listened to as we squirmed at nonna’s knee. It’s a …

Endless row upon row of cotton fields, shimmery white as far as the eye can see. A frosty glass of Southern sweet tea offers companionship to a plate of piping hot fried chicken. The wail of an old blues tune …