On Roots and Returns

There’s a saying in the mountains of Western North Carolina, a place where my fly-fishing father took refuge and dragged my city-core mom along, that you don’t just grow up in these mountains—you grow into these mountains. Familiar surroundings (whether they be bustling streets or river rocks) have a way of teaching you, and then, when life takes you elsewhere, calling you back.

“Roots”-- it is a word that not just means where you are from, but also the little legacies that live on in kitchens, front porches, and neighborhood streets. I personally longingly think of my grandmother’s table, both sides always set with more food than we could ever eat, where generosity was measured in heaping spoonfuls of either a potluck dish from each family member (mom’s side) or a few signature dishes passed down (dad’s side). 

Kitchens should be classrooms.I learned how to can tomatoes, how to perfectly roll stuffed golubtsi, but we just called it cabbage rolls. And we always used the canned tomatoes we grew right in our mountain home’s backyard garden. It was a family-led cycle.  These are the roots that hold me steady, reminding me of who I am and where I come from.

And then there are the “returns.” Life has a way of carrying us off in different directions, but those early lessons always circle back. I return to the taste of home every time I pull a pan of cornbread from the oven-don’t you dare put sugar in that!!  I return to the voices of roommates and friends who wanted to learn how to make a proper meal in our 20s, curiously trying to figure out the proper crepe recipe to be oh-so fancy. Just a simple sugar cookie recipe with my own family, is passing down my own loving story.  I return to the magic of fellowshipping in the kitchen. 

Seasons come around again, wildflowers bloom where they always have, cities plant seasonal tulips/mums on sidewalks, and even when a storm blows through, roots hold fast beneath the soil. Our families, our traditions, our friends, our neighborhoods, they whisper in our ear over a pot of boiling water–if you are listening. 

“Roots & Returns” is the way our past shows up in our present. And maybe one of the sweetest ways we can share those roots is through gifts. A jar of something homemade, a recipe written in a familiar hand, a keepsake that carries the story of where it came from and who lovingly created it. These are more than objects. They are invitations to remember, to celebrate, and to pass down what matters most. Through gifts, our roots don’t just stay with us; they travel on, planting little pieces of home wherever they’re received. It’s intentional, and so very meaningful in a world filled with fast pace and same-day delivery. Your roots aren’t just your story, they travel on, planting little pieces of home wherever they’re received.