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susandennisI found a woman on Google+ who lives in Blowing Rock, NC.
Actually, I'm not sure she is a woman - she has one of the very few nickname accounts and while I could swear her profile showed her living there the other day, today her profile shows no info but she did have an entry this morning about being at the license bureau in Boone.
Anyway that, and our weather, has had me thinking about summers there. When I was about 14 or so, my parents built a vacation home there. It was a tiny, beautiful, mountain town in the Blue Ridge mountains, known mainly for tourist golf. There was a lovely old hotel near our house which was built on the side of a big hill.
It was a big house - they built it big enough so we could all invite friends. I think it slept something like 12 or 14 people. My sister and I had the bottom floor - a living room and bedroom and bathroom. Mom and Dad had the middle floor which was also the main floor and my brother had the top floor. It was the prefect house with a wrap around deck that stuck out with a nice 40ft+/- drop over the hill.
Shortly after the house was finished, someone opened a small ski slope in Blowing Rock and our summer house because a winter house, too. It was a 2 hour drive from home and we made it often. I got my first summer job there when I was 16. In a dress shop.
I have such amazingly wonderful memories of the place and the times we had there. The people and the food and the scenery. It was almost a magical place. And it was always cool. We called it 'free air conditioning'. In the winter it was cold but in the summer, it wad deliciously, wonderfully cool.
My brother and his wife went there a couple of years ago and enjoyed the visit and seeing the house. There's no chance in hell, I'll ever get near there again but I'm ok with that. I'm not sure I want my wonderful memories clouded with facts and current events. I have a large photograph of the house looking up from the bottom of the hill on the wall in my bedroom. I love looking at it and hearing the noises of those years and smelling Mom's cooking nixed with the crisp mountain air.
What a gift, those memories.
Actually, I'm not sure she is a woman - she has one of the very few nickname accounts and while I could swear her profile showed her living there the other day, today her profile shows no info but she did have an entry this morning about being at the license bureau in Boone.
Anyway that, and our weather, has had me thinking about summers there. When I was about 14 or so, my parents built a vacation home there. It was a tiny, beautiful, mountain town in the Blue Ridge mountains, known mainly for tourist golf. There was a lovely old hotel near our house which was built on the side of a big hill.
It was a big house - they built it big enough so we could all invite friends. I think it slept something like 12 or 14 people. My sister and I had the bottom floor - a living room and bedroom and bathroom. Mom and Dad had the middle floor which was also the main floor and my brother had the top floor. It was the prefect house with a wrap around deck that stuck out with a nice 40ft+/- drop over the hill.
Shortly after the house was finished, someone opened a small ski slope in Blowing Rock and our summer house because a winter house, too. It was a 2 hour drive from home and we made it often. I got my first summer job there when I was 16. In a dress shop.
I have such amazingly wonderful memories of the place and the times we had there. The people and the food and the scenery. It was almost a magical place. And it was always cool. We called it 'free air conditioning'. In the winter it was cold but in the summer, it wad deliciously, wonderfully cool.
My brother and his wife went there a couple of years ago and enjoyed the visit and seeing the house. There's no chance in hell, I'll ever get near there again but I'm ok with that. I'm not sure I want my wonderful memories clouded with facts and current events. I have a large photograph of the house looking up from the bottom of the hill on the wall in my bedroom. I love looking at it and hearing the noises of those years and smelling Mom's cooking nixed with the crisp mountain air.
What a gift, those memories.
