Today, I sit at the gate waiting for my flight back to Texas.

Through the terminal windows, I can still see the mountains standing quietly in the distance. They don’t know I’m leaving, and somehow that comforts me. They’ll be here long after my plane lifts into the sky, just as they have been for generations before me.

My Dad and Mom loved their mountain home.

These past few days were a gift.

I hugged family I love dearly. We gathered around familiar tables, shared stories, laughed, and remembered. I spent precious time with my Aunt Shelby. At ninety years old, her body has become frail. Her eyesight has nearly faded, her hearing is almost gone, and the pain in her back has made even the simplest things difficult. Yet the gentleness in her eyes and the warmth of her smile are exactly as I’ve always known them. She is still Shelby and she her little poodle, Skipper.

My aunt and cousin”s hands. Her dog Skipper.

Leaving her today was the hardest part of this trip. As we hugged goodbye, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would be our last. None of us knows the number of our days, and that uncertainty has a way of making every embrace linger a little longer and to say I love you a little more.

My aunt’s farm at dusk.

The mountains seemed to understand. They welcomed me with cool mornings, gentle rain, mist drifting through the trees, and views that never lose their ability to quiet my heart. A black bear wander across the yard as though he owned the mountain. Twin fawns stood together along the roadside. Flowers bloomed despite the scars Hurricane Helene left behind. Life continues here, gently reminding us that beauty and loss often walk side by side.

These mountains are where my Scottish ancestors first put down roots. They are where my faith was nurtured in my little country church, Piney Mountain Baptist Church, and where generations of my family learned the value of hard work, kindness, and perseverance.

This isn’t my little church, it has been tragically torn down. It looked very similar to this sweet church.

As I spent time with my family this week, I realized something I have always known but perhaps never fully appreciated. They gave me roots… and they gave me wings to fly.

My childhood home

They taught me where I came from, but they also encouraged me to build a life of my own. That life eventually led me to Texas, where I found another home, raised a family, and discovered dreams I never knew I had.

I leave with a full heart. And a heavy one.

Texas is calling me home now, to my husband Steve, our kids and grandchildren, our cattle, horses, dogs and cats, my pottery studio, and the life we’ve built together. I miss them all, and I’m ready to wrap my arms around that life again.

I’ve realized something on this trip.

I don’t have to choose between the mountains and the prairie. Between North Carolina and Texas. Both are home.

As my plane pulls away from the gate, I’ll take one last look toward the mountains.

Not to say goodbye…. But to say, “Thank you, a piece of my heart will always be here”.

Until next time, be kind to each other.

xoxo

Cindy

1 Corinthians 13:13