return trip

The flight between Charlotte and Asheville takes 21 minutes with jet engines. The plane is inclining and accelerating from take-off, then pauses in mid-air before declining and braking to land. In my head, I envision the triangular flight pattern.

On my return trip to the west, I rode a propeller plane from Asheville to Charlotte. It takes slightly longer, and the taxi to an obscure gate at the Charlotte airport is quite lengthy. But the benefit is that the plane flies low enough to see individual tree-tops the entire way. We passed over the Biltmore, then Fairview and High Top and High Windy, then dropped down the escarpment to the southern end of McDowell County. I saw Old Fort and the Ethan Allen plant, then Marion and Mt. Ida and Lake James, then Morganton in the distance as we flew over the South Mountains. My old stomping grounds.

I fell asleep on the Charlotte to Pheonix leg before we even took off, but I woke when the beverage cart was coming through. We were flying towards a sunset.

Matt and I had put all our belongings in storage, we’re living with friends, and we’re not sure where we’ll be in a year. But home to me is wherever Matt and Uwharrie are. And I came home, and it was wonderful.

Muggy as North Carolina summers are, my skin was grateful for the humidity. We drove up to the Craggies to pick blueberries one afternoon, and the green seemed so vivid. The trail was overgrown with nettle and yellow daisy-like flowers, and multiple bees buzzed around every flower. The mountain was overflowing with life. Uwharrie would go off exploring, swallowed by the vegetation, and all we would see was a bit of shaking grass and hear the tinkle of her collar. Home.

Adam stopped by almost every day, and Vanessa came up from Marion on a school night. Isaiah took us for an evening run on the Biltmore estate. Jeremy treated us to a movie at the Fine Arts Theatre downtown. (Happy birthday, by the way.) Kate and Kevin threw a beautiful, sweet, and lively wedding on their homestead. And Jen and Brew are letting us stay at their house while they're on her book tour. Great friends. Home.

I ended my week with a brief visit to High Point. There Mom cooked a delicious cod and salad dinner with blueberry pie for dessert. And as I left for my flight, I was still reliving her chili and cornbread lunch. I was touched that Mommy was trying to come, too: To her, driving three hours to see me for one hour was worth it. The very best parents. Home.