Jerusha Jones lives in a small town in the west end of the Columbia River Gorge. When she grows up, she fully intends to be a feisty old lady. She loves wool socks, Pink Lady apples with crunchy peanut butter, scenery of breathtaking grandeur, and weather just cool enough to require a sweater, all of which are plentiful in the Pacific Northwest. She is eternally grateful to have escaped the corporate world and now writes (or doodles or fantasizes or cogitates or stares out the window or whatever you want to call it) full time.
