I think I remember the exact moment I fell in love with the mountains.
I was a camper for the first time at a little summer camp near Brevard, NC called the Green River Preserve (a magical place that I could write a LOT about, but that’s another post for another time). It was the summer between seventh and eighth grades—the same summer that I grew about a foot, going suddenly from normal-sized middle-schooler to gawky preteen who had no idea what to do with her new lanky limbs.
To make things even better, I was mentally and emotionally a late-bloomer. So not only did I tower over all the boys my age, but I also didn’t quite understand why all the girls were so worried about them anyway. I felt self-conscious and uneasy in my own skin. Like most kids at that age, I just wanted to fit in, when I—quite literally—stuck out.