There’s nothing quite like that moment I first see “my mountains” when I’ve been traveling and I’m driving home. I come around a curve or crest a hill, and there they are — breathtaking. I always think in awe and gratitude, “I get to live here.”
I just spent a week in Florida at my daughter’s college orientation. It was miserably hot. It’s no wonder Floridians move here. On my last day, it was already a sticky 78 degrees at 7:30 a.m. My air conditioning seemed to never catch up. When I made it home, I opened my car door and my wonderful mountains greeted me with a cool evening breeze and the ability to take a deep breath.