08/21/2026
Long post ahead, but I wanted to share a piece of me with all of you.
So many people lately have asked me, “How did you learn to bake?” or “Where did you get this from?”
Well… let me introduce you to the woman responsible. ❤️
My Grandma Sue.
She was a fierce little lady who knew her way around a kitchen. If you were at my Grandma Sue’s growing up, chances were pretty good you were going to be fed. And not just fed… you were getting a HOME-COOKED meal almost every night.
I didn’t learn from some fancy cookbook or baking school.
I learned by watching her.
I learned by helping.
I learned by standing in her kitchen, probably getting in her way half the time, watching her make things I never imagined I’d someday miss so much.
One of my favorite memories was hunting season.
Every year, Grandma would bake cookies for my grandpa and uncle to take with them for lunch. And Grandma knew one VERY important thing about me:
I hated chocolate chip cookies. 😂
So while everyone else got chocolate chip cookies, there was always a fresh batch of butterscotch cookies packed into that cooler just for me.
Because that was my Grandma.
She remembered the little things.
When the dementia started taking pieces of her from us, one of the hardest things was watching her try to make the same things she had made her whole life.
We could tell.
Something wasn't quite right. An ingredient was missing here or there. The recipe wasn't exactly the same anymore.
But she was still in her kitchen.
And honestly, that's where she was happiest.
If you knew my grandma, you knew she didn't need much. She loved her family, her kitchen, her sewing room, and her grandbabies.
That was her world.
Eventually, the cancer came and took her from us, and it absolutely destroyed me. As I write this, the tears flow because I haven't accepted it yet. And that's okay.
Because I think pieces of her stayed behind in that kitchen.
And maybe that's why baking has become so much more than baking for me.
I started in little kitchens.
Not big commercial kitchens. Not some beautiful bakery with massive ovens and endless counter space.
Just little kitchens.
Little ovens.
Limited space.
And you know what?
I still do.
I may not have the biggest ovens. 😂
I may not have the fanciest equipment.
I may not have a giant bakery with rows and rows of ovens.
But I have two hands, a kitchen, a big heart, a whole lot of determination, and a grandma who taught me how to make something beautiful with what you have.
So I make it work.
I squeeze things in.
I bake in batches.
I move things around.
I get flour absolutely EVERYWHERE. 😂
And somehow, little by little, those little kitchens turned into Baked on Eighth.
And that means more to me than I can really put into words.
Because this season of the year is HARD for me.
These are the months I lost my brother.
The months I lost my grandma.
And the season when my own cancer symptoms came on full force.
There are days when I'm tired.
Days when I'm emotional. Days when I'm not really myself.
And then I walk into my little kitchen space.
I turn on some good music and I get my hands in the dough.
And for a little while, everything feels okay.
I bake.
And I remember.
I remember where I came from.
I remember the women who taught me.
I remember those little kitchens.
And I remember that you don't need the biggest space to make something meaningful.
You just have to start with what you have.
I am SO incredibly grateful for this bakery.
Grateful for my little space.
Grateful for every person who buys something, shares a post, tells a friend, leaves a review, or simply follows along.
Because you're not just supporting a bakery.
You're supporting something that has become a huge part of my healing and you're allowing me to turn grief into something beautiful.
You're allowing me to take something my grandma gave me and keep passing it forward.
And I think that's why I take so much pride in what comes out of my kitchen.
Why I care about the little details.
Why I bake with so much love.
Because somewhere in all of this is a little girl standing in her grandma's kitchen, watching, helping, learning… never knowing that one day it'd be the last time. Never knowing that one day she'd be doing the exact same thing.
And my Grandma Sue is still a part of it. ❤️
So that's my “why.”
That's where Baked on Eighth came from.
Little kitchens.
Little ovens.
Big dreams.
A whole lot of love.
And maybe I don't have the biggest oven in town…
But I'll tell you what I do have:
A grandma's recipes in my heart, flour on my counter, music playing, and a whole lot of love going into every single thing I make.
And if you ever get a butterscotch cookie from me, just know Grandma Sue would probably approve. 😉
I miss you, Grandma.
And I hope I'm making you proud. 🤍
Thank you for letting me share a little piece of her with you. ❤️
