Big Rock is where I live. In the driftless hills of southwest Wisconsin, north of Chicago, west of Madison and east of LaCrosse, it is a place to call home like few other places.  At the beginning of my very long gravel driveway is a grand rock outcropping and at the end is a log cabin  that my woodworker husband built.  On top of a ridge,  my log castle is surrounded by gifts from the gods,  sights and sounds that make my heart sing.  The path that got us here was not always easy or smart and our footing on this spot is tenuous and yet, here we are.

I have worn many hats in my life, most of which were just things that I have done.  Pretty much like clippings in a scrapbook, I have put them on the shelf.  One constant in my life has been that I have always made a wedding cake for anyone who was foolish enough to ask me.  My first cake request, ( with no more experience than having frosted cakes with shell borders for a big box grocery store) came from a co-worker, Donna.  What a gift she gave to me when she asked me to make her wedding cake, she was the first one of many requests I answered,  “wow, I think I can do that”.