Mountain Girl

"He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year,

coming home to a place he'd never been before."

If you are a John Denver fan you will recognize those words as the opening lyrics to Rocky Mountain High. I often find myself singing them, but I remember the day they became real for me.

It was September of 1976. I was 27 years old. My husband, 5-month old daughter and I had driven to Denver, Colorado to visit my college roommate and her husband. Jake and Denny took us up into the mountains for a hike and at one point we came out on a ridge where the snow covered peaks soared above us. The white mountain tops against the clear blue sky filled my heart and my head. And suddenly I was singing those very words. And just as suddenly, I knew they were speaking to me. I was coming home to a place I'd never been before.

I had that same sense of peace in 1985 when Larry and I had the wonderful opportunity to travel to central Europe. We spent a week traveling through the Alpine regions of Germany, Austria, Liechtenstein and ending in Switzerland. It had been a wonderful, stress-free week and as we sat at dinner on our last night I thought, "I'm not ready to go home. Just leave me on a mountain and come back in a week and pick me up."

Growing up, my family spent summers in western Connecticut. We had a cabin in the woods on my uncle's property. Uncle Ralph owned most of a mountain. The mountains there are old mountains, worn and rounded, not like the rugged peaks of the Rockies, but the wooded hillsides, and rural roads were hilly enough for me. We were in the mountains. After we sold the property, every time we would go back to visit family I would sigh and feel like I had once again returned home.

Last year we moved to the North Georgia mountains. It was the first move we made that was not dictated solely by a job. This time we were moving because we wanted to. And suddenly I was worried. What if we made a bad choice? What if we didn't like it as much as we thought we would? This time I couldn't blame any dissatisfaction on anything other than my choice.

It is February. It is my husband's busiest travel month. I've been alone a lot, but not as much as usual. If you go back and check my blog posts in previous Februarys there is a lot of talk about Sunshine, Florida, Snow, OJ and Vodka. This February is different. For one thing, I haven't had to shovel any snow yet! That's a real nice plus!! The sun shines more here, than it did in Pittsburgh. That helps a lot. It's going to be bitter cold this week (we're talking below 0) but by the weekend it will be back in the 50's. All of those things help my mood for sure.

The mountains in this area are reminiscent of my Connecticut mountains, worn and rounded. But what always catches me off guard is that several times a week as I drive these mountain roads, and look off at the ridges reaching up into the sky I find myself with a song in my heart, one I've sung before.

I'm not 27 anymore, But once again, I feel like I've come home to a place I've never been before. I am a mountain girl at heart.

NOTE: I never post the day I write a blog. I always let it sit and check it later to edit it. It is now several days later. We have had 4 days of snow and ice. That's not much for most areas, but here, where everyone has steep mountain driveways, or roads to travel when ice is involved, everything shuts down. For 4 days, every activity I am normally involved in, including the local workout place, has been closed or cancelled. (My social life has skidded to a halt.) Today, I left the house for the first time in 4 days. Out of desperation. I am happy to report, I still haven't hit the OJ and Vodka, so this February is ahead of most. However, the shower pipe was frozen this morning and I decided it was time to go somewhere. So I hit the Huddle House where it was warm and people were gathered and talking and laughing. I ordered a breakfast full of comfort food. I think, somehow, that's better than OJ and Vodka. Don't you?