As these are the last few days I have in Atlanta, I've been spending a lot of time with my friends and family. I've been wandering in and out of their lives for a few years now, and it's always interesting to compare where I left off to where I returned. I get this feeling like I suddenly "get it" about why my family has it's minor dysfunctions. And then I realize it doesn't really matter.

So I went on a hike with my mom, dad and sister up in North Georgia. We walked along the South Carolina side of the Chattooga River, setting for the terrifying 1972 movie Deliverance. I have never seen that movie and never will. It maligns a place and a river I treasure. I have been hiking, whitewater kayaking and exploring the rolling hills in North Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee since I was a boy and I have never encountered anything like what the characters come across in Deliverance.

My parents, who where teachers in Atlanta, spent their summer breaks canoing, camping and hiking with friends in the mountains of North Georgia. Much of my family mythology was forged in the class-three and class-four rapids that tumble down the Chattooga. My mother paddled that river up until she was three months pregnant with me.

The photo is of my parents standing on the bridge at Burrell's Ford on section one of the Chattooga. It is a powerful image for me. My parents met at Emory University in midtown where they were studying for their teaching certificates. Much of their early passion for one another grew in this place, within the safe, lush hills rolling away from Atlanta. And by the power of their bond came my sister and I. In a way, I view the mountains of North Georgia as my true birthplace. When I was a baby, I rode on my father's back in a snuggly as he hiked with my mother, and as soon as I learned to walk I was going on day trips with my family to Blood Mountain, Jack's River and other rugged destinations in the Southern Appalachians. It was only a few miles southwest of the Chattooga at Springer Mountain in 2003 that I began the 2176-mile Appalachian Trail, walking for six months to its terminus in Maine. The mountains are my spiritual center, my one true home.

So it was with great satisfaction that I paid a visit this last weekend in Georgia. There are mountains in South Korea, and I look forward to climbing them and exploring their crags, views and gaps. However, I will never love a place like I love the North Georgia mountains.

Tonight is my last one for a while in Atlanta. Once again I will drift out of the lives of my mother, father and sister to pursue some new adventure. I will miss them. My parents choke up when my long absence is mentioned. My sister takes it pretty well. It hurts to let them go. But this is my path, and they know that and are happy for me. I leave for Montana to visit my friend Wes tomorrow. I will update from either there or San Francisco on Monday.