Prompt Entry #1: The landscape of my birth, the home of my soul

Take me to West Virginia!  I know this is a broad place, but it is very important to my soul and has nurtured me and essentially given birth to me.  It's shaped me in so many ways to the woman I am today because it is pure wilderness.  My grandparents (now just my pap since my granny died) live in the mountains about 2 and a half hours straight south into W.VA. from the Pa border.  Since before I could walk I went down there several times a year.  In the winter, the snow accumulation is horrendous: a normal winter for my pap would be a total of 8 to 10 feet of snow through the entirety of the season.  But in the warm spring or summer weather, it is beautiful.  Everything is so lush and green and fecund.  The soil has an almost "perfect" feeling, a mixture of sandy, soft, fluffy soil, very easy to till.
Going into the woods or fields and feeling the wind around me, and the smell of grass is a feeling I remember since I was a little girl, and still make it a point to do so as an adult when I visit.  Ever since my granny died, I now portray her as the wind I feel the and earthy, country smells I inhale.  The wildlife there alone is enough to make me want to carry a gun with me for a feeling of security: bears, coyotes, feral dogs (people in these particular mountains by my paps seem to have a hard time getting their pets fixed).  When I was young I remember rarely seeing a car drive down their dusty road, maybe one or two a day.  Five was certainly busy. 
Now a days, with more people desiring to live in more remoteness and in a country setting, there are dozens of cars that drive by.  Not to mention the log trucks.  If my family decides not to sell the house after my pap dies, I fear that my children or grandchildren (should I have either) may not be able to go down there and see the same beautiful, nostalgic place I had grown up in.  I guess someone who owned acres and acres of some woodlands a little down the mountain from my paps sold it, or the kids sold it, and this has allowed logging to take place.  You can sit on my pap's porch and almost hear the diesel trucks roaring.  I'm just happy I don't hear the trees falling, that would be terrible. 

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little bit of me get carried off with those lifeless logs down the dirt road, descending the mountain.