Column by Paul Daugherty on trips to the Blue Ridge Mountains with his son

Mirror Rock in Asheville, North Carolina.

Mountains don’t retreat.

They are waiting for us. To remind us, as James Earl Jones said of baseball in the movie Field of Dreams, “of all that was good and could be again.” Mountains are timeless and resolute. You don’t change.

Occasionally in the dead of winter my thoughts drift to the Blue Ridge in summer. The meandering of the streets. The hills roll like a woman’s shoulders. Thunder over Tennessee. Looks! The sun broke through at Craggy!

Cemetery and Overlook and Crabtree and Mirror. And Montreal. totems of my life.

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Enquirer sports columnist Paul Daugherty and his son Kelly in Crabtree Falls.

My son accompanies me every summer. (You may have heard.) He shares my passion for shoulders. More than 20 years ago I gave him this gift, this heirloom. He accepted it cautiously. After all, he was 14. That first year we spent three days not speaking. I came home and said to my wife Kerry, “I’m not doing this again. We spoke five words together. It was miserable.”

“He loved it,” she said. Men don’t always communicate well.

Women speak in heels, men in grunts. Kelly and I have taken this fact well into account over the years. An uh-huh is worth a thousand pictures.