Skinny Dip Falls

My grandfather was a very ambitious man and loved adventure. He and my grandmother lived in North Carolina where he would often bike the blue ridge parkway. On one of these biking escapades, he came across an unmarked trail. 

The next time my siblings and I visited, he was eager to share what he had discovered. In his typical fashion, he did not prepare us for where we were going. He just led the way and we trustingly followed. 

At the beginning of the trail, we were introduced to a tree bent in the shape of a dragon. With child-like wonder and excitement, we immediately knew this place was special. I remember noticing all the spots fairies could be hiding as I hiked. As we approached the end, I heard water rushing and then it was in view: a massive tiered waterfall collecting into glistening pools of water. God couldn’t have created a better playground for a child. 

With no swimsuits, we leaped off the rocks into the water in our clothes. The water was freezing, but filled us with life and energy like we had never felt before. We climbed the rocks endlessly up the waterfall and followed the stream down below, never running out of places to explore and play. 

Only distinguishable by a nearby milemarker, we returned to that waterfall every single time we visited North Carolina. It was our special place, innocent and untouched by the world. 

I lost my grandfather in 2014 and with urgency, I realized the importance of my relationship with my grandmother. Being my only grandparent left, I made intentional effort to drive to North Carolina every chance I could get. Every time I visited, I also made sure to visit our waterfall. 

In 2022, we visited one last time, not to see my grandmother, but to collect her things. A trip of grief, not only for the loss of a loved one, but for the loss of that little town. When would we be back? 

We drove to that familiar mile marker to have one last hike. When we entered the trees, there was a sign stuck in the ground warning us of a landslide that had just occurred due hurricane storms. We were determined to still visit our falls, even if it meant a difficult path to get there. We greeted our dragon friend and continued on. 

The trail was eerily silent as we kept our eye out for this landslide they warned us about. However, we made it to the end with no issues so we agreed they must have cleared it already. 

The pools of water we jumped into, now filled with gravel. The trees that framed our view, knocked down. And just like that, Skinny Dip falls left with my grandparents. They brought it into our lives and they took it with them.

Because I went there my whole life, I never thought to stop and take a picture. I took its presence for granted, never expecting it to become a memory. 

Now, I long for documentation of this sentimental place. I can’t go back and take a photo, but I can paint it how I remember it. 

Because time changes landscapes, I will always make it a priority to stop and take a picture when I am captivated by God’s design. I hope that my photography and art can capture and share these special, temporary moments with you.