One Story at a Time #9: The Road That Changed Everything

I can’t remember the exact year — somewhere around 1998 or 1999 — but I do remember the feeling. I had spent hours on the internet (which, back then, felt like a much smaller, slower place) searching for somewhere in the U.S. where I might want to move with my son and start fresh.

I had grown up in Ohio, with a short stint in Michigan. To me, it was flat, predictable, and—if I’m being honest—boring. I was tired of doing everything for everyone (mostly my parents) and craved a new life for just me and my son.

That’s when I found Blairsville, Georgia. A small, southern town tucked in the mountains — it looked beautiful, slow-paced, and full of charm. I even joked to myself that maybe my son would grow up with a southern accent and someday say, “Mama, you want some sweeet tea?” in that sweet, southern drawl.

So I planned a quick scouting trip. Just a little road trip to drive around the area and get a feel for it. My son stayed behind in safe hands in Ohio, and my younger brother came along for the adventure. We packed up the minivan and headed south.

At first, I was excited. But the further south we drove, the more uneasy I became. Suddenly we were climbing up and down steep mountain roads with no guardrails. I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, riding the brakes on every downhill stretch. My “peaceful southern life” vision was getting rattled with every curve.

At one point, when we reached the top of a mountain, we pulled over to capture the sunset. It was breathtaking — one of those moments you think you’ll frame forever. But, wouldn’t you know it, the camera didn’t work. Either the batteries were dead or we were out of film (I’ll have to confirm that detail with my brother). All I know is, we laughed and shook our heads at the irony: a once-in-a-lifetime view, and no proof to show for it. This was long before cell phone cameras, so once it was gone, it was just gone.

The rest of the trip didn’t exactly go as planned either. I had mapped out a neat little loop around north Georgia — a football-shaped route to explore the towns. But I was too stressed to stop much of anywhere. All I could think about was not wanting to drive those mountain roads in the dark. So, we rushed through, glanced at towns we barely stepped foot in, and then pointed the van back toward the flatlands of Ohio.

Even so, Georgia had left its mark. I learned later that I wasn’t the only one drawn to the state after the 1996 Olympics put its landscapes in the spotlight. Where else, in one day, could you hike to waterfalls in the mountains, fish in a lake, swim in the ocean, or wander big-city museums? I thought it could be the perfect place for my son to grow up, even if I wasn’t naturally an outdoorsy mom.

Back home, the vision lingered. My brother joined the Navy, life carried on — but I kept thinking about Georgia. And as my 30th birthday approached [2005], I decided to give myself the ultimate gift. I packed up our life, rented a U-Haul, and moved us to Gainesville, Georgia. Not quite Blairsville — I had learned enough to avoid mountain driving every day — but close enough.

I had no job lined up. I didn’t know anyone. But I did it anyway.

That was 20 years ago. My son grew up in Georgia, met the love of his life here, and now I get to enjoy my two wonderful grandkids. No southern accent ever developed, and I never turned into the outdoorsy mom I imagined I’d be. But moving to Georgia was still one of the best decisions I ever made.

Looking back, I can see God’s hand guiding us. It wasn’t always easy, but it was good. That scouting trip — stressful roads, missed sunset photo and all — became the unlikely beginning of a whole new chapter for us.