I'm posting from a mountain farm this morning. We drove up here yesterday morning with the last bit along some windy, twisty roads. The kind that I love but that always made my sister carsick.
It's beautiful up here--not nearly as much color as we have in Asheville yet, but beautiful. I love mountains. LOVE them. My husband is a beach person at heart but I'm a mountain person. I grew up backpacking with my mom in the rugged mountains of Eastern Oregon and Washington. We hiked in the Umatilla Forest and the Wenaha Tucanan Wilderness. Ridge hikes were my favorite--we'd climb, climb, climb the trail until we were scrambling along dry rock and surrounded by nothing but stunted pines and crisp, clear air with breathtaking views all around. The kind of place where you'd see bald eagles. I always felt like I could fly up there.
The mountains on this side of the country are so different, butÂ wonderful in their own way. And a farm owned by an amazing, welcoming woman who lets us stay in her cozy cabin and wander around meeting animals and throwing rocks in the pond--more than wonderful!
We all love it here but it seems that Maia, especially, has so much space to run around and explore. When I was young we lived on a small farm in the country and roamed around outside all day. I wish my daughter could have that.
When we visit the farm, she runs along the driveway and dirt roads, forges off across the fields, throws rocks into the pond (endlessly), explores the farm buildings, hunts for chicken eggs, talks to the goats, and sees lots of other animals. There's so much here that she doesn't get at home. It's a treat.
Today we are off to do some bike riding and have a picnic.