We took to the road this weekend for a dear friend’s wedding. We both desperately wanted to fly there, but just could not justify over $600 a piece for a shorter trip. So Thursday night, we packed the cooler full of edibles and hit the road. Dallas is a 13.5 hour drive from our dear little house in Knoxville. We stopped somewhere unimportant along the way and finished the drive on Friday. The wedding itself was good, but I don’t feel there is anything exciting to relate. The memorable piece from this weekend is about the mountains. I haven’t been to Texas in a while and I have to say that we were both quite shocked at how flat Dallas was. And even most of the Arkansas we traveled through too. When we were still at least a half hour away from Dallas, we could see almost every detail of the Dallas skyline. It was so odd. Saturday morning, while Mark did the groomsman thing with the groom—I took a trip over to Frisco and hit the Ikea. (Yes, we really are that pathetic that we must stop at Ikea if we are within an hour’s distance.) It was lovely to drive there and back and yet I was very unsettled at how flat it all was. I haven’t felt this feeling before, at least not this particular form of homesickness, but I really missed the Tennessee mountains. It was such a lovely sight as we got closer and closer on the drive back Sunday. We kept going up and down more and the view got shorter and shorter. I really did feel like an idiot a couple times as I grinned widely to see all the peaks and valleys ahead of us. If you haven’t done the drive on 40 between Nashville and Knoxville, it really is quite lovely. So many trees and so much off in the distance. Truly a sight to behold. I’ve been slowly feeling that this little town was staking its claim on my heart for this period of time—but I knew it to be so true as I came home to the mountains. Knoxville really is a lovely little place.