Growing up, it seemed like I shared my momma with everyone who was down-and-out in the Roanoke Valley. Alcoholics, drug addicts, troubled teens, the homeless, old men with full-blown AIDS — they all flocked to her home and also her welcome window at the local health department, where she officially served as a receptionist but functioned more like a therapist or life coach.

Many came without appointments, without any reason beyond hearing Momma’s husky voice say, “Aw, sugar, come on around that counter.” Then they got a bone-crushing, soul-soothing hug.

But Momma was also the Queen of Tough Love. Just as fast as she’d hug ya, she’d also call you on the carpet for bad behavior. I can’t tell you how many times she said, “Mark Lynn, don’t make me take my flip flop off,” and she meant it too. Whether we were in the middle of our living room or the middle of Family Dollar, she’d whack my behind with her sandal if I didn’t behave.

We lost Momma twelve years ago to cancer, but in my heart, she came back to life the minute I heard Sierra Hull’s stunning new release “Spitfire:”

She's a spitfire, spitfire

Queen of a tip toe high wire

And you really can't blame her

When nobody can tame her

Oh, she's a spitfire

The song, which is on the East Tennessee native's latest album “A Tip Toe High Wire” (Apple Music | Amazon Music,) is about a woman whose life is marred by disasters. Her first husband dies tragically, then her baby too, but she grows tough over time. I know a lot of Appalachian women who've lived and survived that way.

In my momma’s case, she lost two babies. One she was forced to put up for adoption when she was just a teen, and the other died hours after being born. Momma also lost two husbands. One returned from Vietnam too psychologically damaged to be a husband, and the other fell in love with Momma’s best friend.

So she ended up single, raising my brother and me in a third floor walk-up that had no air conditioning. We also had no car and lived in a rough neighborhood — things got stabby at nearby bars, a corpse was found in the woods by our house — but still, ours wasn’t Roanoke’s most hard-up area. Momma was always proud of that. Against the odds, she kept us out of the most dangerous parts of town and, in time, she went back to school. Momma built herself a career and showed us boys how hard work could get you somewhere in this world.

I’ve never dedicated a story to anyone, but if anyone deserves it, it’s this woman. My momma, Sandra Joyce Ferguson, laid her heart on the line even as she laid down the law. She was fiercely loving while being fiercely tough, and, without a doubt, she was the biggest spitfire I’ve ever known.