Last week I went home for a vacation.

Home is the mountains of North Carolina. At least, that’s where my hometown of Brevard is. As I’ve now lived on the coast for longer than I grew up in the mountains, I sometimes wonder where “home” really is. If my blood was once the red clay of the mountains, surely it’s now mixed with the Crystal Coast seawater.

It wasn’t totally my choice to set down roots here on the coast, but I can’t say I’m totally sorry I have. And I definitely don’t feel as at home in my old hometown as I do here in my new one.

But oh, those mountains. I spent a fair amount of time outside during our stay. I walked with my son and his dog in the little neighborhood where we stayed. We all hiked through the gardens of Biltmore Estate one afternoon. The steps we got that day! We spent a day touring the Western North Carolina Nature Center. The animals were mostly asleep while we stood gaping at their beauty.

And in the evenings, a glass of wine in hand, I sat on the front porch looking out at the trees, wondering if I ever moved home would the roots I had put down in the sandy soil of the coast re-acclimate to the mountain soil?

Starting over is not something I’m great at, so I won’t be doing it anytime soon. I love my life here, and I don’t want to leave it.

But oh, those mountains. They call me still.