By Jill Reynolds

I moved here from the Midwest in 1971. Our first Easter here must have been earlier then this year. The ski mountains were still open. My dad was asked to play the guitar for the sunrise service at Black Mountain. Being from the Midwest, we did not ski. The skiers were at the top of the mountain. When the sunlight hit the top of the mountain, the skiers skied down to meet us at the base. It was so cold, my dad couldn't feel the guitar strings. We all just sang the joy of the day.

Tags

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.

Post a comment
Stop watching this discussion.