✷ Mountain Air ✷

A retrospective inspired by a recent visit to the North Georgia Mountains ~

Traveling up an old mountain road with the sweet smell of smoky wood and

amber-colored leaves raining down -

A golden light awaits atop a fir-covered slope.

You know you're close when the road turns to gravel and the pines close in on either side of you.

Then that old familiar face opens the cabin door, inviting you in to the warmth of the den.

Your home amongst the pines.

As a child I was endlessly excited to venture up to the North Georgia mountains once a year.

We would trek up the winding roads, higher and higher, until we could roll down our windows in the car and feel the clouds around us.

Our destination was Trackrock Campground.

At the top of a brilliant grassy slope sat the main lodge, marked by a large and iconic totem pole. Here you could play pool, reward yourself with a good ol' Flintstones Push-Up ice cream, and relax on wooden swings overlooking the lake.

The gravel road would wind you around the landscape and back into the woods where our little cabin would sit, tucked away. We would roast marshmallows around a bonfire before slipping away in the moonlight to swing under an old weeping willow by the lake.

The moon reflecting into the lake at night.

The sound of crickets humming in the brush around us.

The smell of grass and a smoky bonfire.

The bumpy ride through muddy trails on a hayride in the woods.

The crunch of fiery-colored leaves beneath our feet.

The excitement of running across the meadow to my grandparents, eagerly awaiting our arrival.

The cool air easing us into a deep sleep.

Our home amongst the pines.