A Cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains

A Cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains

This old cabin sits nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, its weathered wood telling the story of a time long gone, a time that will never be relived. Ivy clings to the base of the chimney, determined to take over, as nature often does when left unchecked. Time can be unkind that way, allowing the bad to creep in and take hold. Yet, sunlight still falls gently on the house, a reminder that even in the hardest circumstances, there are moments to be enjoyed.

There’s a peacefulness here, a stillness that wraps around you like a warm quilt on a chilly morning. The air carries the earthy scent of grass, old wood, and evergreen trees. Birds call from somewhere within the dense branches, often unseen but always heard. Their quiet songs blend harmoniously with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

This isn’t just a house; it’s a window into another time. A time when people, poor by today’s standards, lived far richer lives. Their days were focused on the basics: family, daily chores, preparing food, and enjoying simple pleasures. Life wasn’t cluttered with distractions. The focus was on building a strong family, sharing stories, bringing the dog onto the porch, and letting the cat curl up inside. Families sat on this very porch to iron out their problems, sometimes with the pastor beside them. Time slowed here. Afternoons stretched on forever, giving way to evenings filled with the hum of crickets and the distant call of coyotes.

The porch was the heart of the home, the therapy room framed by thick hedges that gave a sense of security. It was the perfect place to sit with a cup of hot coffee or a small glass of moonshine, both equally therapeutic in their own way. In the quiet of the mountains, a trip from one home to another might take an hour on foot, but it was worth the journey. Sitting together on the porch, they gazed at the distant peaks, dreaming of exploring them up close someday.

In the heart of the Blue Ridge, this cabin stands as a reminder that true wealth isn’t measured by what you own but by the time you spend with those you love. It’s about the memories you build, moments that stay with you for a lifetime. By my standards, this cabin was the home of a very rich family, a family whose legacy should be the envy of anyone trapped in the hustle of city life, struggling to keep up. These people were truly rich in all the ways that mattered.