Today we’d like to introduce you to Susan Earl.
Hi Susan , so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
We began this journey with nothing but a vision and an empty shell—a space that quite literally had no floor or walls, no signs of a past, and no hints of the vibrant future we imagined. From this blank canvas, we built everything from the ground up, brick by brick, piece by piece, guided by a singular idea: to create a family-friendly environment where the echoes of laughter and the joy of play would form the very heart of the place.
It all started with a simple yet powerful thought: Could we craft a space where kids and their parents could genuinely connect? Where the present would mingle with nostalgia, and where the games of yesterday would light up the faces of today’s children? The answer, we believed, was yes. Our concept took root in the belief that families thrive when they play and learn together, and that the classics—the games, the snacks, the stories—have a magic that transcends time.
When we first stood in that empty space, it was hard to imagine the transformation that lay ahead. The floor was unfinished, the walls were nonexistent. But with determination, creativity, and the spirit of community, we set to work. We poured new floors that would one day bear the patter of children’s feet and built sturdy walls that would hold the laughter, chatter, and memories of Collierville families for generations to come.
As construction progressed, our vision crystallized. We chose cheerful colors reminiscent of childhood summers and lined the walls with memorabilia that told the story of not just our family, but of the town itself. Each photo, each trophy, each artifact became a thread in the tapestry of what we hoped would be a second home for so many.
Our goal was to evoke the timeless charm of days gone by. We filled the space with classic games from the 1970s—a kaleidoscope of simple pleasures: marbles rolling across the floor, the satisfying snap of jacks, the spinning dance of a well-thrown yoyo. These games, once the staple of playgrounds and front porches across America, offered more than just amusement—they were invitations to connect, to teach, and to share.
In our vintage setting, children could discover for the first time the delight of balancing a jack while their parents, perhaps for the first time in decades, remembered how it felt to master “walk the dog” with a yoyo. The magic came alive in the shared moments: parents patiently demonstrating the perfect flick of the wrist, children’s eyes wide with wonder at the discovery that their parents were, in fact, pretty cool.
No childhood memory is complete without the taste of a sweet treat. In our family space, we wanted to recapture that simple happiness. Our snack bar became a trove of delights—homemade cookies, gooey brownies, and candies reminiscent of corner shops from the past. The air was always tinged with the scent of sugar and nostalgia, drawing in kids and adults alike for just one more bite.
More than just a concession stand, our treat counter became a gathering place—a spot to celebrate a good game, to rest and recharge, or to simply chat and enjoy each other’s company.
At the core of our idea was the desire to foster genuine interaction between parents and kids. In a world increasingly dominated by screens and digital distractions, we wanted to offer a haven where hands-on play and face-to-face connection were the norm. We designed our space to encourage teamwork and learning. Parents would guide their children through the rules of a forgotten marble game or show them how to spin a top, and in the process, pass down stories and skills that aren’t found in any manual.
We watched as friendships formed, not just among the children, but among the adults who reminisced together about their own childhoods. Laughter became the glue, bridging generations and backgrounds, uniting Collierville’s families in shared fun.
More than just a play space, our walls became a living museum of local history. Drawing from our three and a half decades of raising kids in the Collierville area, we adorned every corner with artifacts collected over the years: little league trophies, faded photos from summer picnics, ticket stubs from hometown parades, and handwritten notes of encouragement from teachers past. Each piece was carefully selected not just for its sentimental value, but for the story it told—a testament to the resilience, kindness, and community spirit that define Collierville. We wanted every visitor, young and old, to feel a sense of belonging, as if they too were part of an unfolding story still being written.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Opening day arrived shrouded in anticipation—a day we had labored toward for nearly a year. Our hearts buzzed with hope as a line stretched out the door, proof that our little shop had already caught the town’s imagination. But beneath the surface excitement, disappointment swelled, thick and inescapable.
It started with the freezer. From the very first steps behind the counter, we realized something was amiss: the machine was struggling, the temperature far from ideal. Our snow , the product of countless test batches and dreams, seemed too soft, refusing to hold the promise of its perfection. We served our customers—faces both curious and encouraging—doing our best with what we had, but each snow felt like a compromise. This was not the opening we had so carefully envisioned.
Morning dawned on a new calamity. The shop, meant to be a cool oasis, felt more like a sun-baked oven. The air conditioning had failed overnight, and the shop’s temperature soared—hardly a welcome setting for purveyors of frozen treats. We were forced, with heavy hearts, to close our doors before the day began.
A deeper inspection revealed a cruel twist: the brand-new freezer, the beating heart of our operation, was irreparably faulty. With no time to spare, we ordered two replacements, assured they would arrive within a week. Yet a week slipped by, and with it, the promise of a seamless reopening. The freezers were stranded in Knoxville, held hostage by the unpredictable tides of distribution.
Refusing to be stalled, we rented a truck and embarked on a midnight journey across state lines—determined, exhausted, but resolute. We rolled back into town at 4 a.m., unloading the freezers with backs aching and spirits flickering somewhere between desperation and hope. With trembling hands, we plugged them in, placing our faith in the silent hum of reliable machinery.
These were only the first in a parade of challenges. A leaky sink dripped away our patience. A relay switch failed, turning the mundane into the monumental. Once, a motor ran backwards, threatening chaos in the mechanical rhythm of the shop. Each day presented a new trial, each moment an exercise in problem-solving and perseverance.
And as if the machinery’s rebellion wasn’t enough, there was the added complexity—the beautiful chaos—of a young team. Managing teenage spirits, full of energy and unpredictability, was a lesson in patience all its own. Their laughter sometimes echoed louder than the whir of blenders, their mistakes as spectacular as their successes. Yet, amidst the missteps, bonds were forged; a team began to form, one forged in fire and stubborn optimism.
Through it all, we learned that owning a small business is not just about delicious ice cream or picture-perfect openings. It is about resilience, about showing up on blistering mornings and sleepless nights, about solving one problem only to face another. It is about finding courage in the face of disappointment, and gratitude in the smallest victories—a freezer that finally holds its chill, a customer who returns with a smile, a team that learns to move as one.
Our opening was not what we imagined. It was far more difficult, far more humbling, and, ultimately, far more meaningful than we could have ever planned. And in the end, perhaps that is the true flavor of success—a blend of sweetness and struggle, churned together into something unforgettable.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
At sixteen, I found myself conscripted into a weekly ritual. Every Wednesday, my baby sister and I would wind our way to the Goldsmiths for her cake decorating lessons—a chore, I felt, for a sibling old enough to drive but too young to protest. I could not have cared less about frosted roses or spun sugar, but my mother, shrewd and practical, saw an opportunity: “If you’re already going, you may as well take the lessons too.”
So began the gentle ignition of a lifelong passion, quietly smoldering beneath teenage indifference. My sister and I learned side by side, our hands buried in buttercream, our laughter mingling with the sweet scent of vanilla. She had a natural eye for detail and impeccable balance—her cakes were symphonies of color and form. As for me, I became the “rose master,” cultivating intricate blooms by hand, each petal shaped with patience and pride, each cake a garden in miniature.
Our creative partnership blossomed in the glow of our family’s encouragement. Our father, a skilled metalsmith, crafted us sturdy cake boards and elegant stands, forged from steel and love, which elevated our confections to works of art. His hands, calloused from years at the anvil, supported our sugar-fueled dreams with every polished edge and gleaming base.
Years passed, and cake became more than a hobby—it became our language, our bond, our legacy. We embarked on a new adventure, founding “Twisted Sisters,” an event and catering company with a food truck renowned for serving the best desserts in the area. The truck became a local legend, a rolling beacon of sweet possibility, where our cakes drew crowds and delighted hearts.
As our ambitions diverged, my sister opened Bad Boy Bakery—a bold, brash outpost of flavor and flair—while I realized a dream of my own, opening a dessert shop that echoed with laughter and the hum of mixers. Yet, despite our separate ventures, we remained united in spirit and in secret: swapping recipes, sharing tips, and occasionally, finding ourselves elbow-deep in ganache inside each other’s kitchens.
The cakes we create are more than just desserts; they are a tapestry of shared memories, of childhood squabbles and shared victories, of quiet Wednesdays at the Goldsmiths and bustling weekends in our shops. Every swirl of icing, every delicate fondant rose, carries the warmth of family and resilience—a testament to the sweetness that comes when you create, together, with love.
And so, wherever our paths may wind—across busy bakeries or quiet kitchens—the heartwarming memories we make will always rise, like a perfectly baked cake, filling our lives with joy, laughter, and the enduring flavor of sisterhood.
Do you have any advice for those looking to network or find a mentor?
The journey toward mastery in any craft is rarely a solitary endeavor. More often, it is the result of shared passion, mutual respect, and a willingness to learn from those who have walked the path before us. Common ground—be it in a love for artistry, science, or any noble pursuit—serves as fertile soil where mentorship can blossom.
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is to seek out those whose lives are testaments to both accomplishment and character. I look not just for a long history of success, but for kindness, patience, and a generous spirit—a true desire to teach and pass the craft down to others. The ideal mentor is someone who finds joy in the progress of their pupils, who measures their legacy not only in personal achievements but in the growth they inspire in others.
In my own life, I have often turned to my sister. To me, she is a master in her field—not only for her technical skill, but for the way she approaches her work with humility and grace. When faced with a question or a challenge, it is her example I recall: steady, insightful, and always eager to share what she knows. The bond we share as siblings offers a unique blend of trust and honesty, making her guidance all the more meaningful.
To find a mentor, then, is to look for more than expertise; it is to seek a kindred spirit, someone who shares your love for the craft and possesses the heart to nurture it in others. Sometimes, that mentor is a teacher, a seasoned professional, or a wise elder. And sometimes, as I have found, the greatest teacher is closer than you think—perhaps even a member of your own family, quietly illuminating your path with every lesson and gesture of care.
Contact Info:
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- Facebook: Collierville Vampire Penguin
- Yelp: https://www.yelp.com/biz/vampire-penguin-collierville
