Uwharrie 

There is a place in Uwharrie National Forest called Daniel.

 To most people, it's just another OHV trail.

 To those who know it, Daniel has a reputation. It is steep, rocky, deeply rutted, full of tight turns and slick rock ledges. When the weather is dry, it demands respect. When it rains, it becomes something entirely different.

   Halfway up the mountain sits the rock garden, a massive stretch of slick stone that has humbled countless drivers. At the top is where many people stop, satisfied they made it that far. The brave ones continue down the other side.

   The view from the top is breathtaking.  Rolling treetops stretch to the horizon. The sky feels endless. Standing there, you can see for miles. 

  Most people admire the view for a few minutes before climbing back into their vehicles.

               Austin could stand there forever.

Daniel was his favorite trail, but the truth is he loved all of Uwharrie. He told his friends one time that if something ever happened to him, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread on top of Daniel. 

Long before Austin was born, Uwharrie was where his father and I fell in love. It was where our story began. Austin spent his entire life hearing that story, much to his complete embarrassment every time we told it.

 His first trip to Daniel happened before he was even born.

 I was eight months pregnant when we drove the trail with him kicking inside me.

 By the time he was two years old, he was bouncing around in the cab of a little Toyota truck, his eyes lighting up every time a tire spun or a hill got steeper. He loved it from the very beginning.

 As the years passed, the vehicles changed.

 The campsites changed.

The people around the campfire changed.

But one thing never did.

Austin was always there.

As Sarah and Wyatt got older, they stopped coming on every trip. Life pulled them in different directions.

Not Austin.

Whether he was driving his own Jeep, riding with a friend, spotting for his dad, or squeezed into the back seat, he was always there.

    Austin was usually the first one out of the vehicle whenever we stopped. Before the engine was even off, he was climbing out. If someone needed to be spotted through an obstacle, Austin was already walking toward them. It didn't matter if they were family, friends, or complete strangers. He loved helping people make it through.

Daniel wasn't the only place that mattered to him.

There was also Dutch John.

Austin and Dutch John had a long history together.

He wrecked there.

He broke down there.

He fought his truck up that trail more times than anyone could count.

If a trail could pick a favorite victim, Dutch John had definitely chosen Austin. But somehow, those became among his favorite memories.

The dirt roads throughout Uwharrie may have meant even more.

When life became overwhelming, that's where he went.

If he was angry, heartbroken, stressed, or simply trying to make a decision, Austin would disappear into Uwharrie with a full tank of gas and good music.

 Thirty minutes from home and a world away from everything else.

He also fished every piece of water he could find in the forest.

The rivers.

The creeks.

The hidden spots most people never knew existed.

  One of his favorite places was a boathouse owned by a family friend along the Uwharrie River. Austin and Wyatt spent countless hours there. They fished, kayaked, swam, explored, and somehow managed to pull giant snapping turtles out of the river.

 Today, a plaque hangs on that boathouse that reads:

           "Fishing in Heaven"

One week before our lives changed forever, we spent Thanksgiving weekend in Uwharrie together.

Austin hadn't planned on coming.  That was normal.

 Even when he said he wasn't going, I always expected him to show up eventually.       And he did.    Every day.    Just like always.

  We sat around eating cheeseburgers, talking about projects we wanted to finish while the trails were closed for winter. It was an ordinary conversation.  At the time, there was nothing remarkable about it.

Now it is one of the memories I treasure most.

    So For what should have been Austin's twenty-sixth birthday, and instead became his first birthday in Heaven, we took him to Uwharrie and to the top of Daniel. 

The ride began beautifully. Then the rain came.  Anyone who knows Uwharrie knows that rain changes everything. Easy trails become difficult. Rocks become slick. Ruts become deeper. Obstacles become challenges.

It rained all the way to the top. 

Then, almost unbelievably, it stopped.

Long enough for us to gather.

Long enough for us to remember.

Then it started again on the way down.

 As if the mountain itself had paused for him.

That day, I wasn't there to say goodbye.

I can't do that.

I wasn't there to let him go.

I can't do that either.

I was there because my son wanted to be on top of Daniel.

 And because all of us needed one more ride with him.

This time he wasn't driving.

He wasn't riding with friends.

He wasn't sitting in the back seat grinning from ear to ear because the trails were wet and difficult.

This time I carried him in my arms.

And over and over that day, I caught myself looking for him.

Looking for that smile.

Looking for him to come walking up from another group.

Looking for him to jump out of a Jeep.

Looking for him to start spotting someone through an obstacle.

Every single time I looked, I was met with emptiness.

There was a huge crowd of people.

My mother was there.

My other two children were there.

Friends were everywhere.

But the one face I wanted to see couldn't be found.

That was one of the loneliest feelings I have ever experienced.

Because Austin wasn't just my son.

He was my best friend.

My person.

The one I trusted to help me.

To keep me safe.

To help his dad.

To make me laugh.

To show up when I needed him.

Together, we sat on top of Daniel and remembered.

The trips.

The stories.

The music.

The adventures.

The friendships.

The life that should have been so much longer.

At the end of the day, we made a decision.

This wasn't Austin's last ride.

Every year, on the Saturday closest to April 27th, we will return.

Every year I will carry him to the top of Daniel.

Every year I will sit him on the hood of the Jeep.

Every year we will blast Hank Jr. into the mountains.

We will sing loudly and off-key, just like Austin would have.

And we will remember.

Because the trails may close.

The years may pass.

The vehicles may change.

But the stories remain.

And as long as those stories are being told, a part of Austin is still riding those trails with us.

I will always look for him in those woods.

I will always listen for his laugh.

I will always search for that smile.

And somewhere deep in my heart, I will always hope that one day, somehow, he shows up again.

Uwharrie was a part of Austin and Austin will always be a part of Uwharrie...  

   I will add more pictures below as I find them.