These are the mountains where my mom grew up. The place she loves most, more than Turkey, more than the Netherlands, more than England or France or anywhere else in the world.
It's interesting and strange to see all these places I've heard about in her stories- "There's the tree where I tied up Uncle Jeff," and, "That's my old house, the one right next to the road. It's your grandma's favorite house we've ever lived in." And, because she's the kind of person who shops for property around the world: "This is the house I want to buy. Look how much land it has!"
The air smells different on the mountain. It's just a few hours away from fall, at least ten degrees cooler than the city, and the kind of air you strain your lungs to inhale. And it's not so much that I love her side of the mountain, more so that I love watching her love it, and I love watch my sisters fall in love with it.