"Going to the mountains is going home." - John Muir (1901)

Home. 

This has always been a hard word for me to describe. 

I was born in Oklahoma. Lived in a place or two there.

I spent 5 years of my childhood in Florida... Was that home? No. Not really. 

North Carolina? Sure - that's where I've lived the majority of my life ... But Charlotte? - home has never specifically been there. 

Some people feel like the house they grew up in just feels like home. I never felt like that about any of the houses we lived in. 

If it was ever a house for me, it was Grandma's house. It's been years since all the cousins piled into that house. But I can walk through that house in my head and remember every detail... The wallpaper, the furniture, the carpet, Grandpa's pinball machine.  And there was nothing like summer at Grandma's house.  Walking down the street to get cokes at The Gas Station. A baseball game or two or three. Then it was Sonic runs for a grape slushy or a Diet Coke. Walmart was the place to be seen. The Aunts, my uncles, and my cousins. And just Grandma. 

Still, I've never been able to define home as a place. 

Mom is home. [Home is where your mom is.] 

Family is so, so home. #SplitCoastFamily

Taylor is home. 

Al is home. 

But a place... how do you know when you a going home?

"Going to the mountains is going home."  Yes, John Muir.

I have almost lived in these mountains for as long as I spent in Charlotte. 

Why does something in the deepest part of me feel like here is home. 

It hits me at the most funny times. Today on an engagement shoot with Adam. 

Sometimes I get to tag along and play assistant. Assisting entails handing him lenses every now and then -- but mostly just enjoying and exploring the location. 

Standing on the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway. In front of the biggest Oak I've ever seen. 

They take pictures. I walk further. To the top of the hill. 

And my heart literally gets tight as I'm captured by the beauty of these mountains. This is home. 

And I know that God is here. 

I've seen some mountains y'all.

 I've been up North.  I've been out West.  I cried when I saw the Grand Canyon.

 It all takes my breath away and leaves me in wonder. 

But not ever did I feel the weight of comfort like I do here. 

The sounds. The breeze. The color. The history. The story. The cool sunrise. The warm sunset. 

This feeling must be the closest thing I know to what truly going home must be. 

October 19, 2014 as the sun set