My grandmother has owned two homes in this mountain town for as long as I can remember. In my mind, the trips we took to Highlands growing up - just an hour from my hometown, up a windy road - are tinged with a magical, escaptist glow. Her homes are within walking distance of downtown, directly across the street from an ice cream shop with a deck that fish swim below, with a path to the park in her backyard (likely grown over now), and a creek we could hear at night when we slept with our windows open. As children, we were given freedoms not granted at home; we could walk to the park, to town, to get ice cream.
Anyhow, I hadn't been in years, and Jim had never visited. So on a whim, we packed up the car and drove a nine day-old baby Leo (and two year-old Luca :) up those same windy roads to spend a weekend. I loved sharing the ice cream from my childhood with Luca, and walking around those same streets with Leo snuggled tightly against me. Also, drinking wine on a restaurant patio outside in the cool air with my husband was pretty nice.