Hey, you! So nice of you to click to learn more about me, Kristina Henson.
I live in Upstate New York with my daughter, a Golden Retriever, and two cats. Before writing and illustrating my two books, One Hundred Birds Telling One Hundred Little Stories and Letters to Lily, I maintained a blog and regularly published personal essays while working in the graphic design industry by day and devoting the majority of the rest of my time doing what I love the most — writing and creating books. I love everything about books. With all that’s inside of them—the things I can learn, the places I can travel to, the characters I can fall in love with—what isn’t there to love?
I can define myself by being so many things: a mother, a daughter, a sister, an artist, an author, a designer. But most importantly—and what I remind myself of often—is that I am a woman who needs to create. 
I hope you enjoy a peek into my studio and life. 
Kristina 

If the Walls Could Talk

If the Walls Could Talk

kristina henson

I have the most lovely neighbors here on South Street. Weeks can go by without seeing each other, but I always know they're there, and it gives me a sense of comfort and safety. Our houses are close together, so it's inevitable that you get to know the rhythms of coming and going. I have lived here for ten years, and from the distance of our driveways, I have seen their kids grow and move on. My dog knows their cars and seems to smell the boy coming home from college before he turns onto the street. We're not the kind of neighbors that have potluck dinners or hang out watching movies; we're all just peacefully living together on this part of South Street. We respect each other's spaces and cry together when life throws blows that change the trajectory of what we thought our 50s would look like.

Someone pushed a For Sale sign into the wet ground in my neighbor's front yard today. I knew it was coming, but it still made me sad. It's not that I won't see them again; they're only moving around the corner. What overwhelmed me with bittersweet memories was seeing a young couple with a baby show up to look at the house. I saw myself in that young Momma holding her baby. I wondered what her dreams for the future were. Aside from house hunting, maybe the only thing on her mind is a good night of sleep.

My neighbors aren't the first family to have filled it up with love, life, and memories. Someone built that house in 1920. Wow, if those walls could talk, what would they have to say? It's wild to think of all that has changed in a hundred years.

It's all quiet next door. It feels like the house is taking a breath, waiting for the next family to fill it up with kids, toys, dogs, tears, and laughter. I hope whoever falls in love with the house is as lovely as the people leaving it. You know me and change; I dread the uncertainty, but I'll welcome whoever it is and greet them with a bottle of champagne and cookies while secretly, I pray they don't drape a Trump banner across the railing of the gorgeous Victorian front porch.


xo, K.

My Political Hangover

My Political Hangover
Running

Running
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