Today we went to Ohiopyle, a thirty minute drive from Uniontown, to do some outdoorsy stuff. As we headed out of town, Abigail commented on the "big mountain" to her right and to her left and in front of her. The trees are just beginning to bud turning from the blue grey of winter mountains to the pastel pinks, greens, and browns that hint of autumn. As we start up the mountain, Abigail, not realizing we are indeed driving up the side of a the mountain comments again, but doesn't understand where the mountains went.
We crest the Summit and continue on this relative plateau in the Appalachian mountains through small towns till we come to the intersection telling us we have had enough of the main thoroughfare linking this area of PA with Maryland. True to all roads off of main thoroughfares this one becomes twisted in a hurry. Abigail tired of driving begins to feign sickness until she spots the horses. Quickly the sickness is replaced by the familiar obsession over livestock.
I comment on the change in my vocabulary now that we are back in the mountains. Living in Michigan, happily, counting many wonderful friends and beautiful views, content to call Berrien County home, I would always say "We're going home for a visit." I was concerned with my attachment with my parents and would quickly correct, "We're going to visit our parents." But there must be something about these mountains written on my soul. Now that we live here, halfway between both halves of our family, I say "We're going to my parent's." or, "We're going to his parent's." Maybe I always knew that this was home, these mountains with their ever changing palette of colors.