They say you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl—and I’m living proof of that. Born and raised in the Appalachian mountains, where gravel roads led to hidden hollers and quiet nights echoed with crickets and the haunting screams of mountain lions, I never imagined I’d one day find myself navigating crosswalks in Manhattan. But here I am, balancing both worlds—one boot in the pasture, the other on the pavement.

The Early Years: Dirt Roads & Mountain Air

I grew up where the air was clean, the stars were bright, and your neighbors weren’t just folks on the road—they were family. Life was slower, grounded, faith-centered, and full of the kinds of lessons you can’t learn from books: how to gut a fish, how to pray through pain, how to preserve peaches, and how to love people who don’t always make it easy.

I’ll never forget spending nights at my aunt’s house up on Hyatt’s Creek in western North Carolina. Every night like clockwork, the mountain lions would scream—an eerie sound you don’t forget once you’ve heard it. That wildness, that connection to nature, it’s part of who I am.

My parents raised me around animals—wolves, koi, and always a cat or two. My roots are woven deep into the red clay of North Georgia. And those roots? They’ve grounded me through every twist and turn since.

Culture Shock & Concrete Realities

When I first stepped into the city, the noise was the first thing that hit me. Then came the pace, the cost, the crowds—and the questions.

“Where are you from?”

“What kind of accent is that?”

“You’ve never taken the subway before?”

It wasn’t easy. I missed the silence of the mountains. I missed seeing stars. I missed the way everyone back home waved when they passed you on the road. But I also started to notice the energy, the opportunities, the stories buzzing on every corner. I didn’t fall in love with the city overnight, but like a slow-cooked stew—it grew on me.

Finding Balance: The Best of Both Worlds

I didn’t trade my boots for heels—I just made room for both. I still cook with cast iron. I still say “yes ma’am.” I still find beauty in simplicity. But I’ve also learned to thrive amid the hustle. I’ve learned that my small-town heart has a place in big-city living—and that the two don’t have to cancel each other out.

These days, I split my time between two lives: one tucked in the trees, one under skyscrapers. And both are home.

What I’ve Learned

• You don’t have to lose your roots to grow new branches.

• Kindness stands out anywhere.

• Small-town wisdom is a superpower in the city.

• God’s presence isn’t limited by geography—He walks with me in both silence and sirens.

Closing Thoughts

If you’re a country girl trying to find your place in a fast-paced world, just know: it’s possible. You don’t have to become someone else to succeed. You don’t have to hide your past to have a future. There’s a special kind of strength that comes from knowing both the stillness of dirt roads and the noise of high rises.

And that, my friend, is something worth writing about.

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