“All mountain landscapes hold stories: the ones we read, the ones we dream, and the ones we create. The Alpinist ~ Michael Kennedy
As we sat on the porch swing of the log cabin, one of my grandsons watched as I took pictures of our mountain view. It has rained much during this trip and we desperately needed sunshine.
“Grandma, look how the clouds change”, he said. “Did you get that one”?
He went on to say that as the clouds move, more layers of mountains come into view.
We just sat there in silence and watched. Then he announced.
“I want to live here, forever.”
My mind raced back to when my husband and I said those words 40 years ago. We quit our jobs in Alabama, bought land and built our own log cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina. Ron’s parents retired two years later and joined us for high country living. After almost 30 years in the mountains, we (Ron, his mom and I) returned to the Florida of our childhood. We have been here almost ten years.
Family gatherings often take place around weddings and funerals and Ron’s mother’s internment was the circumstance this time. We returned to the mountains recently because Mom wanted to be buried next to Ron’s father, who passed away 24 years ago. The twelve of us, our son and daughter, their spouses and six grandchildren in all, were there to carry out her wishes, coming from eastern North Carolina, Mississippi and Florida. We rented a log cabin with a long front porch that was nestled in the woods. Cooking meals together, sitting on the porch and watching it rain, as well as evening games of charades, puzzles and pool occupied us. It was a nostalgic time, filled with remembrances and laughter and love.
On the day of the funeral, we were grateful that the sun came out long enough to add some brightness to our otherwise somber occasion. Mom would have been pleased.
“Did you hear me, Grandma? I want to live here forever.”
I realized then, it was his way of telling me that he felt content and smothered in the love of family.