Ivet and Sophia went together like mac n’ cheese. Ben n’ Jerrys. Salt n’ pepper. One name was never spoken without the other one. They stuck like glue. Where one went, the other followed. Until the day he died.

As a child, I remember Sunday afternoons - at least twice a month - included a visit to Lexington, Ga., a forever drive from Clarkesville in the mountains, to have dinner with mama’s brother and sister-in-law, Uncle Ivet and Aunt Sophia Logan. Their house sat on the corner of Highway 78 and Comer Road, grass pristine and coiffed, with Ivet’s signature gourds rising from poles in the back yard, home to the majority of Oglethorpe County birds. Daddy would pull into the driveway, and no sooner had he put the car in park, I was out of the car, opening the basement door, and bouncing up the stairs to the living room.

He expected me as soon as he heard the footsteps. He knew I would be first. As soon as I rounded the door and turned left, he stood up from his recliner, opened his arms, and grabbed me. “Hello, big ‘un.” That I hated, but I loved his arms. Rarely showing emotion, the Logan family - mama included - never voiced “I love you,” offered hugs, or gave compliments. Ivet’s arms enveloped me every single time I saw him, and I had no doubt that he loved me. I longed for those hugs. His Santa belly sheltered me, his belly laugh made me smile, and he made me feel like the most important kid in the world.

When he died in the 1980s, my world stopped. I couldn’t imagine not being in his driveway, hearing his laughter, or drowning in his arms. Shortly before he left me, he told me about his mountain in Hiawassee that he had bought at an auction in the 1960s. There was always an auction and always a good deal. It was a purchase he didn’t want to pass. He gave land lots to his brothers and sisters and to me. He never saw the property, but he always dreamed about building an underground house inside the mountain, keeping him cool during the Georgia summers. As the years passed, others let go of their land; everyone except me. I clung to it because it was my connection to Ivet. I paid the tiny tax bill each year, saying that one day I would build there because I had to. I just had to.

One day is here. Ivet’s Vista (named by Len) defines our home. His gift to me, long before I realized its significance, will be where Len and I (plus Zelda, Muriel and Crazy Toes) live out our lives. It’s built for two, only two, and holds all of our dreams and travels. On the walls, photography that we have taken (and yes, some we simply love because it made us who we are as photographers like Maine’s Andrew Wyeth) that tells the story of our travels; my mother’s sewing machine, which I spent hours-upon-hours running material through all the while connecting that pesky bobbin, has been repurposed as a vanity; tile and lighting fixtures from Italy (which we brought back in street vendor quality suitcases, a major miracle they made it back in one piece) highlight Len’s Sicilian heritage, and shockingly enough, mine as well, and remind us to never forget from where we came; a cuckoo clock that we purchased during our visit to Germany’s Black Forest, will join the chorus of other clocks that sing time on the hour; a library, holds books that have taken me places and even textbooks that instructed me in literature, is the focus of our living room (I think I might just love this the most because it was handmade by two very special people, Sherry and Joel); our dining room table is the one that my mother made at the trade school (a.k.a. North Georgia Technical School in Clarkesville) when I was a child. After its restoration, it’s as rich as it was the day mama brought it home; our custom kitchen cabinetry is beautiful, but made more beautiful because it was crafted by a friend; my mother’s parlor suite, dating back to the late 1800s and restored to its glory, will be in my office as my resting place when the words become too much of a struggle; and, our deck, that runs the width of the house and provides us a daily view of God’s glory and grace, will greet us each evening as we end our day - Len to enjoy his cigar and me, my wine - and tell each other goodnight under the stars.

This - and more - is Ivet’s Vista, and we’re finally home.