Our Story:
Why Call it Hazelmade?
Yep, there is a story about that. It is long, but it is good.
In the summer of 1989, I went on a mission trip to the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky to assist families in fixing their homes in whatever way they needed. A group of 15+ adults and high school students headed south thinking we were going to help impoverished people have a little better way of life...or at least fix their floor that was caving in or a roof that leaked. We were going to make their lives better.
And we did do that. We fixed things. We gave. What I received, however, was life-changing. As a 16-year-old, I had no expectation of gaining from this experience. In my head, I was going there to help them, not the other way around.
And then I met Hazel Shepherd.
Hazel is a Kentucky woman, born and raised. She and her husband, William, had raised their family in the mountains by way of coal mining, bee keeping, and quilt making. From her southern drawl to her endless stories about growing up in rural poverty, I was drawn to her. With every story of hardship she shared with us, she also found the blessings. She sought out and found joy in the simple things.
She was magic.
At the end of our two weeks together, I did not want to go home. We had spent countless hours residing her home, repairing her kitchen floor, and listening to her tales of growing up in the mountains. We feasted on her biscuits and gravy while she sat on her swing and spoke to all of us. Her stories touched my heart so deeply. I was forever changed. My young eyes were opened to the notion that what matters most in life is not the name-brand of your clothing or how much money your parents made. I decided right then and there that I would not be a person who placed my happiness and my worth on material possessions. I was free.
Hazel had caused me to make a shift in my own mindset. Pulling up to her home on the very first day, all I saw was a house in desperate need of repair. I felt sympathy for its inhabitants as I naively thought how sad it must be to live in these conditions. But Hazel wasn’t looking for sympathy. She didn’t need pity. She just needed help fixing her house. What I needed was a slap upside the head to snap me out of my teenage mindset that one couldn’t possibly live in these conditions and be happy. I was wrong.
Hazel has been in my heart ever since the very first day I met her. Thirty two years later, and it is safe to say that I still think about her every single day of my life. I went back to Kentucky three more summers as a student and as an adult and was able to visit Hazel each time. We were penpals for years and years until writing letters just got too hard for her to do. One of my daughters was named after Hazel. We brought her to Kentucky so Hazel could meet Mary Hazel. Last summer we took another trip to see Hazel again. Naturally, when I decided to create a space for making art with children and sharing my joy with them, I couldn’t think of a better, more perfect name than the person who made me who I am. I am truly Hazel made.