Last night I was reading about different North Carolina mountains in the official state magazine, like you do, and learned that Grandfather Mountain — one of my personal favorites — is 750 million years old. The most astounding thing to me about this fact isn’t that it’s 750 MILLION YEARS OLD, WHAT AND WHEN EVEN IS THAT? But that someone was curious enough to figure that out. When I see a mountain, I don’t wonder how old it is or how it was formed, I just want to look at it, maybe climb it. I’m way more curious about why you’re mad at your mother or jealous of your friend or why you dream about middle school. My curiosities are purely emotional. But maybe that’s my job. Other people can look at a mountain and wonder how old it is, I can look at that person and wonder, why do they wonder how old mountains are? And I get to write that story.