Last week, I drove to Raleigh.
By midmorning, I was sitting in a federal courtroom beside Matt Van Swol, watching as ten noncitizens accused of voter fraud were indicted. Later that afternoon, I stood outside the Terry Sanford Federal Building with the rest of the press pool as a press conference got underway. Standing out there among people who’ve made a career of this, the last two years suddenly felt real.
On the long drive home, I got to thinking about how a life can take turns you never saw coming.
A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined myself doing independent journalism. I was writing about wildflowers, old sayings, forgotten history, and back roads. I still do.
But somewhere along the way, I picked up another job.
It started with Helene.
When that storm tore through our mountains, I watched the coverage like everybody else. And as a hillbilly, I found it downright offensive how poorly our people and our suffering were being represented. Those were my mountains. Those were my people. I knew what was happening on the ground, and I knew the stories being told on television weren’t telling the whole truth.
So I started telling them myself.
I shared what I could find on X. I started asking questions. Then I started asking harder questions. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide I was going to be a journalist. I just got tired of waiting for somebody else to tell our stories the way they deserved to be told.
And I haven’t stopped since.
I’ve broken stories on X, interviewed politicians, and covered events I never imagined I’d be anywhere near. Now, here I am, standing in the press pool in our state capital alongside people who’ve been doing this a whole lot longer than I have.
I’ll be honest with y’all. There’s a moment at just about every one of these events when I look around and think, What in the world is a girl who grew up in trailer parks doing here?
Then I remind myself.
I’m here because I did the work. Because I asked the questions. Because I was willing to speak up when it would’ve been a whole lot easier to sit down and keep my mouth shut.
And because somebody has to be willing to do it.
Now, let me make one thing clear. Where the Dogwood Blooms isn’t changing. This blog has always been my love song to North Carolina. It’s where I tell the stories of our people, our places, and the things that make this state home. That’s not going anywhere. You won’t find breaking news here, and you won’t find me wedging a political argument between a post about Spanish moss and one about Buc-ee’s.
But if you want to follow the other work I’m doing, there are a few places you can find me.
NC Chats is my livestream, where I bring on a guest, pull together the news that matters to North Carolina, and talk it through like real people. No scripts. No canned interview questions. Just honest conversations about what’s happening and why it matters. We stream live on X, Facebook, Rumble, and YouTube, and the episodes stay on YouTube if you can’t catch us live.
Patreon is where I write the opinion pieces that don’t belong on this blog. They’re rooted in facts, written in the same voice y’all already know, and unafraid to say what needs saying. It’s also one of the ways I keep gas in the car for those trips to Raleigh. Independent journalism doesn’t come with a newsroom, a travel budget, or a paycheck waiting at the end of the week. It takes time, miles, research, and a whole lot of stubbornness. And it takes readers who believe the work is worth supporting.
And if you want to know what’s happening as it happens, follow me on X at @dogwoodblooms. That’s usually where the news breaks first.
I never set out to do any of this. I was a North Carolina girl trying to preserve the history I was afraid we’d lose. Then Helene came along, and I realized there were other stories that needed telling, too.
I got mad enough to start, and I’m too stubborn to quit.
So I reckon we’ll see where this road leads.
