
I's awfully proud ya come a callin'. My dear Mia is a peculiarly curious young woman, and each time we meet, she has half a dozen questions puttin' her in a tizzy. Most of my learnin' she be seekin' is herb and healin' know-how, but there's also queries about just livin'. She calls my advice, pearls of wisdom, but it's simply horse sense. Do pull up a stump and rest yo' feet, while I fetch a pitcher of my sweet hibiscus tea.
Folks come from miles around to take a gander at my garden. Window boxes overflow with Indian paintbrush and wine cups, hollyhocks stand as sentinels, and yellow roses blanket my picket fence. When they ask what's the recipe to my success, I say, it's one part breeze off the bayou, two parts manure from the livery stable, and three parts love. The last part, love, being what all livin’ things are most needin'.

Well, I don't mean to spoil Miss Mia's Texas tale by tellin' ya all my secrets. As a slave, I weren't allowed to read nor write, but Mia has read out loud to me, her story, and I'm mighty proud of how she paints a picture with her pen. It's drippin' with history, includin' my dear Klaus' recollection of the Battle of San Jacinto. Hope ya'll enjoy lookin' back at that time, as much as I did.