Bourbon Isn’t Bitter- Sweetening My Life in Bardstown

It’s taken me a while to say this out loud, to step fully out of the quiet and into the light: I’ve moved. After more than twenty years in Nashville — a city that gave me friendships, purpose, and a title I never asked for but deeply respected, “The First Lady of Tennessee Whiskey” — I packed up my glassware, my books, my dogs, and headed to Bardstown, Kentucky.

This special little town already feels like home. Olivia and Cooper have claimed their favorite stoops on our daily walks through the historic district, trotting happily down brick sidewalks with tails high, while I take in the scent of bourbon mash wafting through the morning air. Some days it smells like fresh bread, others like sweet corn and yeast. Most mornings I can’t decide if I want toast or bourbon for breakfast. (Coffee usually wins, but only barely.)
Leaving Tennessee wasn’t a rejection — it was a step toward something. But arriving here, the dream I thought I was chasing unraveled almost immediately.

Into the Fire

What was supposed to be the start of a brand with my good friend and mentor Jim Rutledge — a man whose name is etched into the very grain of bourbon history — was stolen before it could truly begin. Small, sexist minds and fragile egos saw to that. These men, impossibly unaware of themselves, punished me for standing up for myself, for attempting to protect my intellectual property. After giving eighteen months to work I was never paid for, I was dismissed with the casual cruelty reserved for women who don’t “know their place.”

Their ignorance and oblivious misogyny cut short my involvement in the project. But what it cannot cut is the bond between Jim and me. My respect for him — and his friendship with me — remain untouched. Some things are too strong to be undone by bitterness.

Bourbon isn’t bitter, and neither am I. I’ve taken the lumps, stirred them into my coffee, and sipped them down joyfully, knowing that they’ve provided me the much-needed energy to go forward.

Thank You; Next!

While one dream crumbled, another one was waiting — stronger, freer, and far more dangerous to the status quo.
For some time now, Marianne Eaves and I have been in deep conversation about the shape of a shared venture. We’ve both been in this business long enough to know its beauty, but also its ugliness. We’ve been taken advantage of. We’ve been dismissed, underestimated, paid disproportionately, and treated unequally. And all of that led us here. To this place. To this work.

Here is a very good place to be.

Together, we are building something life-giving and affirming. Something that doesn’t ask permission. We will claim the titles rightfully ours without fear, without apology, and without bending to the “Good Old Boy” system that has had its long, final run. Those days are done. The foundation for a new legacy is being laid — one where women aren’t just in the room, but at the head of the table, raising a glass and raising each other.

Call it a coven if you want. (We do.) But it’s also a choir, and our invitation is open. Everyone can sing, and the harmony will be richer now that the voices long kept in the shadows are stepping into the light.

Open Door Policy

So here I am, in Bardstown. It’s fitting that this relocation truth surfaces during Bourbon Heritage Month. And fitting, too, that the cat got out of the bag at Bourbon Fest — yes, I’m a local now (and I’m available for freelance work in Kentucky while Marianne and I build what’s next).

In Bardstown, I find myself open-armed, unbroken, and more rooted than ever. And here’s my invitation: if you find yourself in Bardstown, reach out. Come visit. Stay the night. Have a drink. Let’s catch up. Join our revolution if you dare.

Because Bardstown may be steeped in heritage, but new traditions are rising — and this time, they won’t be built on silence.

And because while some doors have closed, others are wide open — and the air here tastes like possibility!

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