Leaving Qualla Boundary was always bittersweet for my father. Nestled in the densely populated mountainous region of North Carolina, the rolling, dirt covered terrain of Cherokee Nation Reservation was what he considered home. He enjoyed waking up to the crimson halo of the rising sun as it blazed atop the bluff, dragging Chrissy and I out of our beds, eager to explore the rustic town. Mom always slept in. She was lucky that way. Although we would begin the day grudgingly, hugging our pillows, my dad always had a way of getting us girls to giggle just before we left the house. Trampling through the dew covered lawn, feeling the squish of the cool, wet grass pleasantly underfoot, my dad would hum as we savored our surroundings. We would wave