Since I was a child, I have gone countless times to the Blue Ridge Mountains. My mother loved the Blue Ridge Parkway and several of the Inns with their views and cool summer breezes. She went for years, often accompanied only by her German Shepard, in a large Winnebago. My own love of the mountains has increased steadily with time and romance. I've seen much of the world and enjoyed a wealth of cultures. Yet, for all the wondrous places I've been, nothing compares to the harmony, the tranquility, the familiarity, the nearness, the ataraxia I have experienced in the mountains from Rabun County, Georgia, to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia.
My Mom, Geri Miller, my brother John Miller, Lee Killian, who from his teenage years accompanied my family or me to the Blue Ridge Mts., are among the first who shared the joy of being there.
My first Love, Sharon M., went with me there on trips up from the University of Virginia.
Highlands
