My time at Clemson started a great love affair with the Blue Ridge Mountains. I could walk out of class and glimpse them peeking above the horizon. Before long, weekends meant whitewater kayaking trips down the Nantahala River, hikes along the Appalachian Trail, and any excuse I could find to point my car toward the mountains.

Years later, they still have a way of pulling me back in. No matter how many new countries and cities I visit, I continue to point my car toward the mountains of Western North Carolina.

The mountains ask less of you than the city. It’s perfectly acceptable to hang out in a hammock for hours reading—or, more likely, napping. You can stand in a stream for half the day, repeatedly throwing a tiny fake bug at the water and praying a fish decides to take your fly. And what is it about mountain towns and their coffee shops? Does the elevation actually make the coffee taste better, or do I just finally slow down enough to notice?

Somewhere along the way—and, let’s be clear, it happened quickly—the Blue Ridge became home for me.

I think I have a way of collecting little pieces of home as I travel. Sometimes it’s something small: a completo stand in Santiago, a coffee shop I returned to every morning, a street I learned well enough that I stopped needing directions. Other places claim a larger piece. The Blue Ridge claimed one of those.

The Blue Ridge Mountains aren’t as dramatic as some of the other mountain ranges I’ve visited. They don’t have the towering, jagged peaks of the Rockies. They’re older, lower, softer, and covered in vegetation. Ridge after ridge fades from green to blue until eventually disappearing into the horizon.

Maybe that softness is part of what keeps pulling me back.

The mountains have a way of taking the edges off of me. There is nowhere I need to be next. Nothing I need to check off a list. A day can be successful because I caught a trout—or because I stood in a beautiful stream for four hours and didn't. I can hike ten miles or sit on a porch with a cup of coffee. Either way, the mountains don't seem particularly concerned with what I accomplished.

They let me relax and just be.