Here is the mountain view from my future retirement house in Bryson City, NC. My grandfather bought this land in the 1930s and passed it to his children. I bought my Mom’s house in 2009 and will get to retire here in a couple years. I got to thinking about families who have been on their land for a long time and how you can just feel their presence. So that inspired the story poem below. At the bottom of the page are more shots of our property. All photos by Doug DeMoss.
Welcome Home, Rosalie
I was born here
In a rough cabin knocked together
Cold wind screeching through
But my mother kept me warm and safe
In these mountains all her days
My children ran through these hills
We sweated the fields and hunted the ridges.
We struggled but we thrived
When my end came they gathered round to say goodbye
And my soul rushed away, content.
I came back to visit often
Watching over them as they laughed and cried
Until they joined me, one by one
Now there are no tears.
The cabins are fancy now
The mules gave way to “cars”
The way of life changed as I watched
And before long my great-grandchildren met me.
Now another Rosalie has arrived
Named after me, my daughter, and many other kin
She walks through these hills, not exactly knowing
But feeling all of us as we walk beside her
She can sense but not see
Our hands on her shoulders as we welcome her home