the capricious me

It’s difficult to say when I recognized my love for exploring. It goes back further than even I can remember.  I was introduced to adventuring  by my grandparents when I was but a wee one. My mother was a career woman, and went back to work when I was two weeks old. My grandparents would baby-sit and take me along on their many adventures, and from that point, my wanderlust was born and nurtured.

I can recall riding in the back of my grandpa’s camper, laying up in the top bed, peering out the window, observing all the cars and inspecting their license plates discovering new states on each of them.  Trying to get tractor-trailer drivers to toot their loud horns as we would pass by. Remembering sitting around campfires, the smell of my grandmother’s cooking, burning my finger on the lantern, fishing beside my grandpa (whom I called Bill, but that’s a another story).

We would visit the magnificent  Smokey Mountains, the beaches of the Carolina’s, and the misty lakes in the Virginia’s.  Life was grand during the days of my childhood. Life was simple.  Life was living.

Somewhere, in my adult years, I lost sight of  my youth. The stresses of raising a family,  building a house, and things of that nature, grew and grew until they clouded my memory and drowned my wanderlust.

A few years ago, my husband took me backpacking in the wilderness of Dolly Sods. It was during this experience that my youth was awakened.  My love for adventure returned to flood my life with new energy, igniting  a fervor that was quiet simply, unexplainable.  I, once again, felt alive.

My intentions with this blog are more for me than anyone else, but if you decide to travel along, I hope you enjoy the ride.


~ by Teresa Stover on 02/26/2010.

2 Responses to “the capricious me”

  1. I understand your sentiments entirely. So fortunate that your love of the outdoors has been reborn. I love your narrative.

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