The sun was shining and the air was cold. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, 2020, and my family was in the car. We were driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway up to Mount Mitchell, the tallest mountain east of the Mississippi River! My mom and I were in the front seats, while my brother, James, and my husband, Pete, were in the back. “Is everyone comfortable back there?” I asked. “Yep!” said James, as he looked out the window at the blue and grey mountains. We drove up, up, up along the winding road for about an hour. “Turn here!” said Mom, as she pointed to another winding road.

After a few more turns, we made it to the top! We parked and got out. “Brrrrr! I’m glad I brought a hat and gloves! It’s chilly up here!” I said, through chattering teeth. It was cold and windy, but sunny. “Let’s picnic over here, in this grassy area!” suggested Pete. We spread out a big fuzzy blanket in the grass. As we ate our leftover turkey sandwiches, we admired the view. “Wow, we’re not even at the tippy top of the mountain, and the view from here is amazing!” said James, wide-eyed. We all agreed.