About From Hearth to Stove

Meet Maggie

I’m Marjorie—but everyone calls me Maggie. I’m a 38-year-old mom living in Columbus, Ohio, raising three kids who keep my kitchen lively and my heart full. Cooking has been the thread that connects every chapter of my life, from standing on a step stool in my grandmother’s kitchen to feeding my own little crew today.

My grandmother taught me that food is how we say “I love you” without words. Her 1950s comfort cooking—pot roasts, biscuits from scratch, pies that could make a grown man weep—shaped everything I know about feeding a family. My mom carried those traditions forward through church potluck Sundays in the ’80s and ’90s, where every casserole told a story and every dessert table was a competition nobody admitted to entering.

Now it’s my turn. I cook the way my grandmother and mother taught me, but I’m not afraid to grab the air fryer or the sheet pan when Tuesday night demands it. Tradition doesn’t have to mean spending all day at the stove—it means putting love and intention into whatever lands on the table.

The Crew

Wyatt (10) — My oldest and the self-appointed kitchen “idea guy.” If there’s a shortcut to be tried or a taste test to be snuck, Wyatt’s already on it. He’s the ringleader of most of our flour-covered disasters, but he’s also the first one to set the table when dinner’s ready.

Clara (9) — My thoughtful middle child and kitchen apprentice. Clara wants to do everything “the right way” and takes her measuring cups very seriously. She’s the one who reminds her brothers to wash their hands and quietly learns every technique I show her. I see so much of myself in this girl.

Mason (7) — My youngest and Wyatt’s eager shadow. Whatever big brother is doing, Mason is right behind him—usually doubling the mess and tripling the charm. He’s our gap-toothed taste tester and the reason we go through paper towels like water.

Why This Blog

From Hearth to Stove exists because I believe every family deserves recipes that actually work—ones tested by real kids with real opinions, made in a real kitchen where the timer sometimes gets forgotten and the dog steals a fallen piece of chicken. I share the stories behind our meals because food isn’t just fuel. It’s memory. It’s tradition. It’s Tuesday night, and everyone’s finally sitting down together.

Pull up a chair. You’re always welcome at our table.