I find Ammie McRae Jenkins underneath an open-air, tin-roofed shed near tables full of food. She’s sitting, her cane within reach. She knows she’ll need it when she gets up to fill her plate with what she calls “good ol’ soul food”: fried fish, cabbage, collard greens, and cornbread. But right now, she can’t. She’s got too many people walking up introducing themselves, reminding her of when and…
2026-03-10
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