I currently live in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, where I was born and raised, in a culture derived from the hearty folkways, dialect and music of rugged Scots/Irish immigrants. Foreign travel expanded my horizons, however, and as I explored twenty-three countries on five continents, I noticed that I always felt more alive in mountains, and that whenever I was deprived of them for long, my soul seemed to shrivel and I began to yearn for that which was rock solid and enduring.

I need the lofty ideals, the sense of the possible, and the higher perspective mountains impart to me. I also require the independent thought, grit, and humility they seem to provide, not to mention the beauty that often knocks my socks off. It’s the high places that seem to sort out my heart, and help me grasp what is important and true. As these ancient mountains silently ignore the rat race and its rhetoric below, they can also inspire some mighty big ideas and faith in new possibilities.