Regrettably, I was unable to share this post while in Madagascar and I owe my friends from home this anecdote…

For roughly seventeen years of my life, I have lived in what is arguably the most scenic region of North Carolina. People from all over the world clamber out of their hovels of concrete walls and glass windows to find the mountains. Some, aim to scale the surface as if to become skyscrapers themselves. Others, to simply gaze in reverence for the craft of God’s hand. In my time, I have taken for granted the simple pleasure each day:The rush of crisp mountain air, with the kiss of dew from fallen leaves engulfing the cracks of skin between my toes. The sound of wind rustling through barren branches, ominously echoing out as a wicked witch but with a fortunate meager disposition (that is not to say that mother nature never duped me into thinking that such characters were indeed fact rather than fiction). The smell of chimney smoke and morning coffee, scents that I assumed I could find somewhere on the shelves of Bath and Bodyworks, until now.

Three weeks ago, my friends and I set out to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. In most instances, cake and an off key rendition of “Happy Birthday” suffice, but this was the final adventure for us. When we meet tomorrow, whenever that day comes, we will have grown in strength, and wisdom. Our life experiences will be starkly different and may result in conflicting political, social, or lively views. We knew that. Therefore, we chose to go somewhere that would unify us, a place that we would always remember for tranquility and serenity. A location known to others as Beech Mountain, but for us, simply a veil lifted over the eyes of heaven whose brow continuously gleams to us. 

We first listened to the call of our stomaches that were grumbling and leaping up our throats like angry dogs. We stopped for sushi at a quaint Japanese restaurant in Banner Elk (a location of rather close proximity to Appalachian State). 

I must admit, at first I was entirely skeptical of having fresh fish in the mountains, but this was the best sushi I ever had. Not merely as result of flavor, although the dragon roll was palatable. But simply because, for the first time in my life, I laughed without fear or worries. Everything I internalized: academic success, athleticism, independence, musicianship; all important ideals, had dissolved and I was just myself. 

Reader, I must admit that the greatest experiences in my life take place at the edge of my comfort zone and in my final days indulging in what the south offers, my friends and I surpassed all boundaries. Have you ever done something, something so wrong, so illegal, but satisfying nonetheless? To protect identities, I have yet to-and will not disclose the names of my beloved friends but will continue to refer to our group as the “Fantastic Five”.

Pictured above are the Fantastic Five.
Our outing seemed to be nothing more than a scenic drive through the mountains with voices telling me “You’re going to miss this.” “Take a good hard look.” Which, is sensible. As we climbed Beech mountain, my body lunged at the bend of each curve. With each one I felt my spine molding into a beaten question mark. How could I possibly miss this? I pondered. Then, after what seemed to be an hour of senselessness, we did it. We reached the pique. 

The view was stupendous. Suddenly, I rationalized that the nonsense of the matter lied in my querulous corner. I was doing it again, I was rushing forward all to quickly as I had all through high school. I reassured myself that this was a mere fluke and was expected given the years of practice I had to reach my former state. 

We parked at the stoop of an old hotel, well Inn rather, that had been abandoned after a kitchen fire many years ago. The owners left and the building was claimed by the state, which led to boards, private property signs, and a FOR SALE stamp. In an economic downturn, the taxes are just too high and so, the doors have remained closed since. The building was once known to possess a great scenic overlook, but I am getting ahead of myself. 

With the car in park and the emergency brake secured, we grabbed our phones and stumbled out of the small Subaru. I laughed for an moment, thinking of how, like this vehicle, my Mustang sits rather low, and as my friends say, “below sea-level” even. I paused, and just as I pressed my lips together to articulate my commentary, I heard the crunch of leaflets that couldn’t hold on as the autumn breeze began his reaping early this year. 
My eyes darted over to find an older doe who, at the sense of my presence, lifted her head to meet my glance. Naturally, I quickly reached for my Galaxy S7 and took a photo, which is pictured below.

Soon, my comrades came trotting from behind and as a result, the deer trotted on. In her wake, she revealed to us a pathway that would perhaps place us closer than anyone of our generation had ever been to the edge of this mountain top. Naturally, being the curious teenagers we are, we set forth.

      The path was not rough, a few nicks and abrasions we bear as consequence, but nonetheless incidental. We quietly approached the steps and began our ascent. We reached the top only to find to our dismay that the door had been locked somehow from the inside. What would we do now? Well, we first thought to get a closer look…

As a young child, I enjoyed many piggy back rides, enough to know that there was absolutely no possible way this was going to turn out well. I turned away, but first claimed this shot above as my own. However, to all of our content, and the echoes of metal clashing against worn wood, the tension of the door was released. 


We all then shared a reassured but curious glance. A glance similar to that of a child, one who knows exactly what lies beneath the Christmas tree, but because they have yet to hold the gift and claim the package as their own, has a lingering essence of bewilderment. That was what I felt like in this moment and only seconds later, did my eyes receive this moment of beauty.

Initially, I presumed that if I garnered all sensations into one familiar experience to reflect on, I would not lose sight of myself. Now, I am not entirely certain of this. I realize that the ersatz sensations of yankee candle will not suppress my hunger for literal “Mountain Dew” in the months ahead. 
But this wasn’t the first time I started mulling the thought around. Prior to this occurrence, I enrolled in a course at Penland School of Crafts. On Sundays, all Glass artists were given the day off. So, some friends from the Hot Shop and I trekked out to various falls.

The photos above were shot from Water falls in the Penland area.

Later we ventured to the iconic, Lynville Falls. I came equipped with Chaco sandals, a water bottle and of course, my Ukulele. I knew that at the top of a waterfall, I could play as loud as I wanted and none would mind.

 Gradually, I became entranced by the water enveloping the pads of my feet. 

Tzyy Yi Young (the brilliant woman pictured with me and my uke above) noticed my gaze drifting and looked at me rather perplexed. I decided to share the insight I had gained from the water weaving over and around my toes. I expressed that in every instance of life, it seems I am no different from the rock the water rushes over. That ultimately, the toils of flesh will wear my body down, just as they have done the rocks in these pictures. I explained to Young that reciprocally, if in time, I were to become like the water, strong and continuously moving, perhaps then I would be successful. Even Thoreau went to water to live, “deliberately”. Young ultimately reassured me that I was wise beyond my years and that she had no doubt in my ability to dissolve my conundrum with time. I on the other hand, wasn’t so certain. 

Together, these experiences have led me to but one conclusion, I could rush through life as a single drop of water, but what good would that do? To be ahead but alone would simply result in no impact on any surface of earth. In contrast, the results of simply standing still and taking life as it comes are even more dreadful. I am not sure if I have made the right decisions, but I do know this: mountains all form at the base of a flat landscape and the roots of their existence are comprised from great experiences. The rain washes over them, but leaves a mist of beauty. Ultimately, who I will become is unclear, but I have great expectations.

Reader, I venture to tell you that I do not consider this to be a continuation of my previous self. I am a Mitchell Mountaineer at my core, a southern girl. In most cases I have scoffed at the title, but that was before I knew the conclusion of that book in my life. Everything that happened then, led me here and led you to this “novel” rather than a blog. 

Nonetheless, my life will not be measured by one story, but by the series or timeline that is ultimately constructed. My present self will continue to mature. With each page turn and with each writing I will share a new chapter with you. I am accustomed to hiking up mountains and swimming against river currents but now I am no longer climbing, I am as a comma dangling at the edge of a phrase; breathing in the sensations to my left and right. Tomorrow my next story begins and in each moment, both you and I are bound to a book that will nonetheless be a cliffhanger until the very end.