We were real original types when I was younger. We moved into a brand new little L-shaped house at the bottom of a hill when I was seven years old. It was dubbed the Brown House because of the natural wood siding. It had a back porch that stretched across the length of the home. And when you stood on that porch, you were able to take in the best view imaginable.
Sure the field behind the house was littered with abandoned cars. The cows would meander between them going about their business of grazing. Beyond that golden field and tree tops a pair of mountain tops rose into the sky. As a child, I never knew their names. I can now tell you that they were High Top and Lakey Knob. They were not famous mountains that someone put into folklore… and obviously the discoverer’s of these hills were as creative as my own family in their nomenclature. But these hills filled the artwork and dreams of a little girl for years to come.
We ended up in North Carolina, renting this sweet little house because my family had money problems. At seven, I didn’t know what bankruptcy or foreclosure meant. All I knew is that it meant I had to leave my friends. I was upset all of about a month. The mountains whispered their promise of adventure to me and there was no more room for mourning.