One of Grace Morrison’s earliest memories is of her grandmother asking, “Gracie, do I look as fat as those people?” The two were sitting on the porch, just one street from the beach, watching sunbathers walk by. Morrison was 7 years old. That question followed her for years.

“I’ve lived my whole life next to the water and have never ever put on a bathing suit without thinking of that moment,” she said.

That moment, layered with shame and inherited insecurity, eventually gave birth to “Beer in a Teacup.” It’s a standout track on Saltwater Country, Morrison’s latest album, and one she says is about shedding the weight of judgment—hers and others’.

But the story doesn’t stop with one grandmother. The actual phrase “beer in a teacup” came from the other side of her family tree.

“One day, I was visiting my mom, and she was holding a fancy lil teacup,” Morrison said. “I asked her where it came from… She said something like ‘oh this was your grandmother’s. She used it for her beer.’”

That image stuck. For Morrison, the teacup became a metaphor for the ways people try to look put together on the outside, even while carrying private doubts and vulnerabilities. “Everybody has insecurities,” she said. “You’ve gotta let that shit go and live.”

That raw, emotionally complex storytelling runs through all of Saltwater Country, a record that’s as much about place as it is about personhood.

Morrison, who grew up on Cape Cod, said the coastline shaped her in unexpected ways.

“For so much of my life, I fancied myself a weak, scared human,” she said. “But through writing this record and laser focusing on where I grew up and the experiences I’ve had, I had an ‘aha’ moment… I have endured some shit, and yet, here I am.”

She sees the coastline as a mirror. “We have this duality of strength with the ocean, and yet, it’s a fragile ecosystem,” Morrison said. “You’ve got these tough New Englanders who endure some of the harshest weather the earth can muster, and underneath that tough exterior are some mighty sensitive people.”

Morrison has never been one to follow a predictable path. Her career has included gigs with rock legends, Renaissance Faire troubadours and even a side hustle selling her own coffee blend.

“I wouldn’t be the writer I am without my time at the Ren Faire,” she said. “That’s when I fell in love with trad tunes and Irish ballads. The storytelling and language in those ancient songs gets me every time.”

Her first album focused on historical figures like King Henry VIII and the women around him. That experience helped her understand the value of crafting an album around a clear theme.

“Saltwater Country is very much the same idea,” she said. “I focused on one place and time and got as many stories out of it as I could.”

Touring with big names early on taught her something else: that making a living through music was actually possible.

“I remember laying in my bunk thinking, ‘Some day, I’m gonna get myself back on a tour bus like this,’” she said.

And the coffee? That was easy. “I may be slightly addicted, so creating my own blend was a no-brainer,” Morrison added with a smile.

While many of the songs on the album explore family and place, others are unflinchingly personal. “Poor Man’s Daughter” is one of them.

“When I first shared that song with [my mom], she cried and was like ‘gosh, I didn’t know you felt that way,’” Morrison said. “But I really had to make her understand that nothing in that song is sadness.”

She recalled growing up on the edge of homelessness. Her mother kept their family afloat, and Morrison said she never felt poor at the time.

“It’s now as an adult that I realize we really were right on the edge,” she said. “My mama kept that ship floating.”

Morrison has often been told her sound doesn’t neatly fit into a box. Too pop for folk. Too folk for country. That used to bother her.

Now? It’s her superpower.

“When I realized that no part of me… has ever fit into any mold,” she said, “it was the ultimate freedom.”

She stopped chasing genre labels with Saltwater Country, choosing instead to let each song lead the way. “That’s when I found some magic,” she said.

She also found the right partner in producer Jon Evans. The two had worked together before, but this time Morrison gave him a specific mandate.

“I do not want you to allow any mediocre songs on this album,” she told him. “Don’t spare my feelings.”

They recorded on the Cape, a decision Morrison said was essential. “With a record inspired by the Cape, how could I record it anywhere but the Cape?!”

And just before the album came together, Morrison found herself in a new role: mother.

She co-wrote a song with acclaimed songwriter Lori McKenna while eight months pregnant. It was Morrison’s first co-write.

“I just showed up with a huge baby belly and the thought that writing about my child seemed too obvious,” she said. “Gracious Lori let me ramble on… then, she said, ‘you know we’re going to write about the baby, right?’”

McKenna also gave her some craft advice she still holds onto. “She encouraged me to be precise with my language and uncomplicated with my chords,” Morrison said.

Since becoming a parent, Morrison has gone all in on songwriting. She no longer teaches 70 students a week, plays gigs every night and juggles Ren Faires on weekends.

“I just decided to go all in on being a mama and writing songs,” she said.

She credits her partner’s steady income for making it possible, but she’s also starting to see the momentum build.

“I am, however, starting to see the light and that it may be possible to make a legit living this way,” Morrison said. “Not easy, but possible.”

So, what does she want listeners to take away from Saltwater Country?

“I hope they feel that same sense of nostalgia I felt when I wrote the songs,” she said.

She wants people to laugh. To reflect. Maybe even to reconnect.

“I hope they listen to ‘You and Me Talking’ and reach out to a friend they may not have spoken to in years. I hope they get out their old photo albums and reflect on all the things that make them who they are,” she said.

And most of all?

“I hope we all can pour our beer in a teacup, let it go and put on the damn bathing suit with impunity.”