01/07/2026
â¨A Kindred Christmasđ â¨
Five years ago, Kindred Spirits was nothing more than a dreamâand a freshly cleared mountaintop wrapped in quiet, cold air.
It was Christmas 2020. The ground hadnât yet been broken for a cabin, but we were too in love with the mountain to stay away. So we improvised. A rough little shed stood on the propertyâbarely more than a step above a tent, but it had walls, a roof, and electricity. No running water. No comforts. Just us, the mountain, and the promise of something we knew would one day be special.
We called it glamping and meant it lovingly.
Inside, we plugged in a tiny electric fireplace heater weâd bought on a whim. When it flickered to life, it cast a warm glow that transformed the shed into something unexpectedly cozyâalmost magical. That small, fake fire would become one of my favorite details of the entire night.
On Christmas Eve, the snow began.âď¸
At first, it was gentleâa steady, whispering flurry. Beautiful. Quiet. Enchanting. But something in me said we should go get more supplies before it built up. Ken was skeptical. The road already had snow on it, and we were driving a front-wheel-drive economy rental car. For reasons I still donât understand, I felt oddly confident.
I was wrong.
About halfway down the steep mountain road, the car made its decision for us: nope. It stopped climbing, then began to slide backward. Slowly at first. Then faster.
There was no room to turn around. A steep drop on either side of the road. No guardrails. Just darkness, snow, and gravity.
Ken got out of the car immediately, calmly guiding me while my heart tried to escape my chest. Inch by inch, I let off the gas, gently tapped the brakes, turned the wheel one way⌠slid⌠corrected⌠turned the other way⌠slid again. I donât think Iâve ever been more scared in my life. Worst case scenario was âjustâ a ditchâbut in that moment, it felt like the edge of the world.
Somehowâmiraculouslyâwe made it down to a neighborâs driveway and parked there for the night. We accepted our fate, grabbed what we could carry, and walked back up the mountain to our little shed in the snow.
Dinner was⌠creative.
Thankfully, I had brought a massive dessert from Goldbergâsâone of those glorious, over-the-top cakes with layers of pies and pastries stacked together. It wasnât exactly balanced nutrition, but it sustained us. Sugar, laughter, and surrender.
And then the snow really came.
Soon after, the entire mountain was wrapped in white. It felt less like the Smokies and more like the Rockies. Back then, there were very few neighborsâjust a handful of distant lights twinkling softly through the trees. The silence was deep. Sacred. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like the rest of the world has gently disappeared.
Inside, the fake fire glowed. We bundled up, warm despite the cold, and let the stillness settle in. Outside: darkness, snow, and stars. Inside: love, safety, and something we both knewâwithout sayingâthat this night was rare.
Not just special.
Life-defining.
We knew it then. And we still know it now.
Christmas morning arrived peacefully. The storm had settled, and we walked the neighborhood carefully, marveling at the aftermath. Cars and trucks littered the roadsâsome brave, some foolish, all reminded that nature always wins. Even the biggest trucks had been humbled by the mountain.
No one fell off the mountain, thankfully. But there were close calls.
We were also incredibly lucky to have kind neighbors who welcomed us inâto warm up, take a quick shower, and share food. Proof that while beauty can turn dangerous in an instant, goodness often shows up just in time.
Five years have passed since that night, and it remains one of the best nights of our lives. Probably always will be.
The mountain has changed since then. Beauty invites desire, and desire brings growth. There are more cabins now. More lights. Including Kindred Spirits, once it was finally built. The mountain will never again be quite as untouched or lonely as it was that Christmas Eve.
But the magic remains.
And now, instead of keeping it to ourselves, we get to share it.
Ken and I are endlessly grateful for this special place in the Smokies. And when guests tell us they feel something different hereâsomething peaceful, romantic, groundingâwe smile.
Because Kindred Spirits was born from a night like that.
A night of snow, fear, laughter, cake, flickering light, and loveâ
when the world disappeared, and all that mattered was being together. đŠđťââ¤ď¸âđâđ¨đťđď¸ đ đĽ â¤ď¸
