Chater One
I don’t sit still...
Never really have.
I build things. Fix things. Live outside more than I live in.
I like quiet. Real over pretty.
And I don’t have much patience for anything that
doesn’t hold up.
I’ve lived enough life to know— the best things usually come
from getting it wrong first.
I don’t mind that part.
I’ve got 13 acres tucked into the Oregon mountains.
It’s a little wild.
So am I.
I come from a loyal kind of family. The kind that doesn’t break easy. That part never left. My brothers…they had a hand in that.
I still carry it.
Somewhere along the way, I found my way back to tallow.
Back to my great-grandmother Sali. Choctaw. She made what people used. No extra. No show.
Just what worked. Making it now feels familiar. Like I’ve been here before.
I don’t make things to impress people. I make things that last.
And I don’t always announce what I’m working on.
Things just show up when they’re ready.
You’ll see
If you’re still here… you probably get it.
​
Though he called me Girl, my
name I carry forward? And, the one I love the most, my grand-daughter gave me.
~ It's "My-Tay"
Never Far.
The Name He Gave Me
His grin always gave him away.
Let me sum him up…holy hell. He was stupid-handsome, wild as a loose match,
built for chaos and adventure, and carried a grin that could talk a sane woman into bad decisions. He lived louder than the rules allowed, and moved through life like it was daring him back.
He raised a gang of wild boys, three of them, and then me- his only Girl. He drilled one rule into those boys- watch out for her. And, (insert a big sigh) they took that job serious.
I was the one he’d soften for [barely] - calling me “Girl” in that rough, warm way that said
everything he didn’t know how to say out loud. And me, I called him dad.
Those boys, like most brothers, made it their full-time job to give me hell. Somewhere
between there many shenanigans, they decided I was going to be renamed; their choice…
“The Warden, the Governor, and Miss Kity."
​
But here's the truth: I was the one they'd step in front of trouble for every single time.
No hesitation, no questions, and usually with a grin on their faces.
​
Girl 820 is a legacy of where I came from- a name built on love, grit, and a grin that always
meant trouble.
​
That same mix of chaos - protection, and outlaw humor is stamped into every jar we make.
The Flame
Sali, she was my great grandmother. Choctaw by roots, mountain hands and working with instinct rather than instruction.
She rendered tallow by firelight, trusting the old ways. The flame, the roots, the knowing.
Nothing loud. Nothing heavy. Just a quiet reminder to keep things real, keep them simple and keep them close to the land.
Her presence in this brand is intentional.
She taught us how to make things that last.
No. 820
A number that showed up in a moment when life split clean between what mattered and what didn't. I don't need to explain it. It's mine.
It reminds me to keep the flame lit, cut the noise, and stay loyal to what's real.
Everything else can fall away.
820 is the pulse under this brand steady, unspoken, and always present.
.​