Reaching the final approach to Mt. Mitchell seemed like a significant victory after our day of detours. But, every vignette and vista we’d drifted by that afternoon wafted on a Seals and Crofts “We May Never Pass This Way Again” sort of feeling: The secluded luxury of an island home, seemingly adrift upon an anonymous lake; the two-on-two basketball game played out on the dirt drive of a home impossibly pressed between road and mountainside; glittering bursts of fall color reflected in the waters of a rock-tumbled stream …
Part One: Taking the Long Way (On the Blue Ridge Parkway)
Back on the (Blue Ridge) Parkway; Mt Mitchell at last... [ 3:10 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download
A left turn onto the Blue Ridge Parkway gained us two clearly defined lanes; a little more berm to the sides of the road would have been nice, but we were alone on the roadway. No need for greed. It was Zach’s turn to drive and my turn to describe the scenery as I simultaneously admonished him not to look at it. Thank goodness for “scenic overlooks”!
Zach drove us as far south as the end of traversable Parkway. There would be no easier return via the southerly lane as I’d hoped; the road closure encompassed both directions of travel. But we’d made it to Mt. Mitchell and could hardly wait to look out from the highest point in North Carolina…
I took the wheel back after passing an ominous “tipping vehicle” sign but braked frequently for the blazes of sunlight lighting up suddenly snow-tipped trees. Matt had asked earlier if we would see snow, and I’d made no promises. But now, we gathered in the glistening mountainside with wide eyes and digital cameras, hushed to silence in a wintry cathedral…
We burst from the truck at the mountain’s peak, giddily snatching on gloves 
and hats for our instant winter experience (it was 20 degrees up there!).
Odd… It was so incredibly perfect that it felt utterly unreal. Ethereal…
Like a specialty garden store’s version of “Christmas in the woods”…
Or the real thing…
Heavy fog drifted into the hollowed mountainside, but the woods remained crisply clear. Gigantic icicles dangled like misshapen swords from frosted tree limbs.
A web of whiteness stretched in all directions, shimmering to life every moment sunlight pressed through a cloud. We walked and ran at a decent clip down an arbored path, the boys determined not to touch any actual trail as they bounced from tree root to stump to boulder along the way. Hannah and I snapped photos until the cold urged us into jogging as well. Zach glided down the downed iced-over trees, while I tried not to calculate the difficulties of medical rescue should he make a miscalculation that launched him over and off the edge.
It was fitting that the trail to the observation tower was closed. We laughed about that before exploring a couple of other side trails.
The fog thickened, so dense that there were no long distance views. Instead, it felt as if all the glittering glory had been poured into our bubble of space, floated upon wintry clouds that incidentally hid the world beyond us as they softly enfolded our little bit of heaven.
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