There is a saying: “The purpose of life is to find your gift. The meaning of life is to give it away.” Those words have stayed with me because, in many ways, they describe my journey—and my connection to Weston.
Recently, my fourteen-year-old grandson asked me a simple question:
“Why do we live in Weston?”
The answer came easily, but not briefly. There are so many reasons.
My love for Weston began long before I ever called it home. As a young girl, my mother would bring my sisters and me here to visit an elderly lifelong resident named Rita. Rita’s home was as warm and welcoming as she was. She always had freezers full of homemade cookies. I was told she baked—and baked, and baked—enough cookies for every schoolchild’s holiday parties. If my memory serves me correctly, they were the best cookies I’d ever tasted.
While sitting around Rita’s kitchen table enjoying those cookies, I listened to conversations that painted a picture of Weston long before I understood its history. Stories drifted from one topic to another: who had once lived in the old house down the road, where Bonnie and Clyde were rumored to have hidden, whether tobacco prices were up or down, which shop had just closed, which new business was opening, and how there didn’t seem to be as many trains passing through town anymore.
Those stories gave Weston its character. Its landscape gave me my inspiration.
From an early age, I loved to draw, color, and paint. The rolling farmland, historic antebellum homes, and peaceful countryside became subjects I returned to again and again with my watercolors. Weston also became the place where my artistic journey truly began. At sixteen years old, I received my very first request for a commissioned painting. It was of Rita’s house in May, with the spirea bush in full bloom—a memory that remains as vivid today as it was then.
Over the course of more than sixty-five years, I have found myself returning to Weston time and again, sometimes it was simply to paint its beauty and charm and other times it was to enjoy its wineries, visit old friends, or reconnect with memories that seemed to grow richer with each visit.
Just outside of town sits a farm that holds a special place in my heart. It carries memories of time spent with my parents, my children, and now my grandchildren. Whenever I visit, I’m reminded of my grandparents’ farm and the big red barn that remains one of my most treasured childhood memories.
Weston has also been woven into the story of my husband and I. Years ago, we spent countless afternoons riding our bicycles along the old bluff trails, creating memories together one mile at a time. Today, nearly ten years after making Weston our home, we still enjoy those rides.
Even now, I often find myself wandering through town searching for my next painting. It might be an old farmhouse, a rustic barn, a historic building, a quiet landscape, or even a neighbor’s flower garden. Inspiration has a way of finding me here.
Perhaps my favorite moment comes at the end of every day. After traveling or running errands, I leave Interstate 29 and turn onto Highway 273. A few miles later, I round a familiar curve where the countryside opens to a hillside, a weathered barn, hayfields, and quiet ponds. Every time, without fail, I let out a small sigh and think, I’m almost home. In that moment, a deep sense of peace settles over me.
It’s taken me a lifetime to discover my gift and develop it. My hope is that by sharing my artwork—and the stories behind it—it might bring meaning, beauty, and perhaps a little of the peace that Weston has given me. Weston has inspired my art, shaped my memories, strengthened my family, and nourished my soul.
So, why do I live in Weston? Very simply…
Weston just makes me feel good.
