Through the Catch Fence

08/15/2026

When I get money - you’ll know.

I’ll be at Batesville and shooting through the fence again. 😭

IJS. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I have my cameras but I don’t have a zoom good enough for this anymore. 😭 Although I’m taking my camera back to the track to try. 🏁🏁

08/08/2026

I spent many nights shooting through the fence at Ark-La-Tex Speedway after becoming a mother. I even have a few from Batesville that I shot through the fence. I can’t wait to have a camera and zoom that works again. 🏁🫶🏻

08/08/2026

This generation of drivers waving to the next is priceless. They love it so much.

08/07/2026

I wish you could hear the cars on the track but it took the audio away. But this is where my heart is. ❤️🫶🏻

Ark-La-Tex Speedway

08/07/2026

When late models hit the track, they keep your attention. 😍😍😍

08/07/2026

08/07/2026

We always find our way back home

My version of peace has never been silence.

It’s always sounded a little bit like a dirt track at sunset.
Motors revvings,
Cars making laps around the track,
Kids screaming,
People talking,

And it’s given my grief somewhere safe to breathe.

I have searched
for the right words
to explain
why I always come back.
It’s the racing,
The speed.
The noise.
The dirt.

It’s also about what the tracks
have seen and carried me through.

When my world
became divided
into before
and after,

the gates
were still open.

When loss
wrapped itself
around my chest
so tightly
I wasn’t sure
I could breathe,

the engines
breathed for me.

I’ve walked these pits
with a smile
that hid a shattered heart.

I’ve climbed these bleachers
with tears
still drying
on my face.

I’ve sat beneath sunsets
wondering
how the world
could keep spinning
after mine
had stopped.

Yet somehow…
it always did.

Not because
my grief became smaller.

Because this place
made room for it.

The racetrack
has never asked me
to explain
what broke me.

It has never demanded
that I move on.

It has never expected
a brave face.
It simply says,

“Come sit awhile.”
So I do.

I listen
to engines
finding their rhythm.

I watch
children
fall in love
with racing
the way I once did.

I smell
fuel,
rubber,
fresh dirt,
and summer air,

and for a little while,

my heart remembers
what peace
feels like.

Not the kind
that comes
from a life untouched
by sorrow.

The kind
that exists
despite it.

There have been
goodbyes
I never wanted.

Phone calls
that changed everything.

Hospital rooms.
Broken bodies.
Broken dreams.
Broken versions
of myself.

There were moments
I wasn’t sure
how I would survive.

But somehow…
I survived them all.

Because every time
life knocked me
to my knees,

I knew
where to go.
Back
to the dirt.
Back
to the fence.
Back
to the stands.

Back
to the place
that has quietly
held pieces of me
for years.

There is something holy
about a place
that never asks
who you were yesterday.

It simply welcomes
whoever you are today.

Heartbroken.
Hopeful.
Angry.
Lost.
Healing.

It doesn’t matter.

There is always
another sunset
painting the sky.

Another race
waiting to begin.

Another reminder
that life
is still moving,
and somehow,
so am I.

Maybe that’s why
I never feel
quite like myself
until I hear
an engine
come to life.

Maybe that’s why
I always find
my way back home.

Because long before
I knew how
to carry grief,

the racetrack
was already
carrying me.

And every piece
of my story,

every heartbreak,
every miracle,
every goodbye,
every beginning,

has left
a little of itself
buried
in the dirt
I will always
call home.

08/07/2026

Wednesday I lost my last little buddy, Mamio. I’m lost. I’m beyond devastated. He went everywhere with me until he got too sick too. He went on every drop off and pickup for the kids Monday through Friday. He loved Starbucks, he loved going on rides. He went to the race tracks with us, spent weekends at shows, he loved camping and boating and was all around our best friend.

This last week, he declined pretty fast and I knew going into the vet visit what we’d have to do but knowing I was doing the right thing and the vet reiterating that gave me some peace. I went back and counted - he’s my 17th dog loss in my 39 years. We’ve always ALWAYS had dogs in our lives. Mamio is my last. The hardest part of giving your heart to a pet is knowing, we’re their entire lives but they’re just a chapter in ours. 😭

08/01/2026

Watches the Track

Seventy-six degrees,
the wind whipping my blonde hair around.

The crews bustle through the pits
siping tires,
setting air pressures,
checking lug nuts one last time
before hot laps.

The track is sloppy.
Maybe once the other classes run it in,
it’ll come around.

Out for hot laps he goes.

I hand him his Raceceiver,
help tuck it into his fire suit,
hand him his helmet,
fist-bump the kids,
check his neck brace,
pull the belts tight,
make sure the front tires are straight.

I give him a thumbs-up.

Then my fist curls into a ball.

Wait.
I watch the other cars come through, once they’re passed,
and I motion for him to pull out.

My job as a wife is finished,
for now.

Now it’s time to load the kids onto the four-wheeler,
pull their earmuffs over little ears,
and race across the grounds,
hoping we make it in time
to watch Daddy’s hot laps.

Between every heat race,
every feature,
you catch him
watching the track.

Studying it.

Calculating every lap,
every rut,
every slick spot,
every change he’s made to the car,
already wondering
what adjustments it needs
before heading to the staging lane again.

When it’s finally time,
we gather our blankets,
our snacks,
our tired kids,
and make our way to the grandstands.

We cheer.

We celebrate.

We console.

Win or lose,
if he’s smiling,
we’re smiling.

People think we’re just racing.

What they don’t realize,

we’re making memories.

08/01/2026

I was zero help but I tried. Honestly. I had no clue what I was doing. Cuss words galore but it was too good to not share. 😂😂 He was his only crew member and I tried in between taking care of kids.