Broken antique porcelain would trickle in the water that cut through our dirt road in tiny streams. My siblings and I would find traces of their homestead when it rained. Knowing how difficult it was to live on that land in modern times, it is shocking to think of a family surviving up there so long ago, before there was anything there at all, before there was even a road. I’m not entirely sure of the timeframe, but based on the artifacts we’ve found, I would guess they lived there in the late 1800s. A long time ago, there was a family who lived on our property. Like Ann, my family was always looking for traces.
But for the Mitchells, of course, it’s a place that’s haunted by the absence of Wade’s first family, and so the beauty everywhere is touched by immense pain.īut there is one way in which Ann and I are similar in how we relate to our mountain. The mountain was a place of joy for me, the landscape of my happy childhood. There are some differences between the Mitchell’s house and my childhood house, but the layout of the land is very similar. It was a beautiful, scary, fascinating place. Yes, the mountain where the Mitchells live is a fictional version of the mountain where I grew up.
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