A spontaneous evening trip to see Dale Ridge, the home of my mother's family.
The pictures can't even come close to doing this place justice. The hills stretch out, rolling into each other, for miles and miles on Dale Ridge.
There's a little white church there where my mother got baptized as a child.
And, according to family legend, there's a mound of buried cash somewhere in these parts, earned by my great-grandfather during the prohibition for selling moonshine.
The land breathes and the water speaks in a gurgling language that we can't quite grasp, but we listen hard anyway.
Enjoy these images, taken as we felt our way through my family's homestead and the areas surrounding.