9 December 2025, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2946: living on a mountain

https://unsplash.com/photos/a-cabin-is-nestled-amidst-lush-green-trees-VY0mhSPeGrY

There is a house on one of the hills of the Vršac mountains, rising from the middle of the flat northern plains.A hill crowned with the Gudurički Peak at 641 meters — the highest point in all of Vojvodina.From that house,the fields stretch endlessly,and the horizon feels closer than anywhere else.Standing there,you feel as if you were given a small piece of the mountain to call your own.

As a former half-marathon runner,I was used to distance.I walked 14 kilometers a day from town to home and back,or I rode my bike. I rarely ever took the bus.During my university years,I carried four sports bags at once — sometimes by hand,sometimes pushing the bicycle uphill.Ten minutes from home,the real challenge begins: a climb of nearly 20%.That incline separates the toughest from the rest. It’s where every endurance test ends.Maybe that climb helped me become a physical education teacher one day.

No trip to the store was ever done without four full bags carried back home on foot.A typical day looked like this:bike to the store and back,work and back,shopping and back,then training.And at night,whenever we returned from the town for whatever reason,we walked home through the dark,knowing the mountain was waiting for us.

That house was built by people who are no longer here.Brick by brick,tile by tile.My uncle who designed it,my other uncle chasing the workers around,and another one who dug the foundations by hand together with my father and my brothers.Inside that house lived the scents of my mother’s kitchen — homemade bread from the wood-burning stove,soup that warmed more than the stomach,and the morning coffee whose smell never really leaves you.I remember pig slaughter days,cracklings,sausages,New Year’s celebrations,birthdays,shared joys and shared sorrows.

And then came the sorrow that no wall could silence — when my mother passed away after a long illness.The house felt unbearably quiet.

Later,when I got married,life in the attic brought its own memories:my wife,our childrenparrots landing on our heads,rabbits running around,a hamster chewing furniture,and a dog that made a hole in the mosquito net just to be with us.The birth of my son. The birth of my daughter.A car accident just two days before that. Between the walls of that house are hidden many secrets, moments, and memories that shaped me.

This mountain,and this house on it,together with my family,give me strength to move forward.To win.To achieve the final victory built from many small daily victories.Just like the Vršac mountains — standing tall over the plains,symbols of endurance, symbols of our home.