It’s hard to imagine how you would survive the winter without a flower mound of sorts, but that’s exactly what happened in Wilmington on December 7, 2014.
It’s located just a few miles from the Blue Ridge Parkway, where hundreds of thousands of visitors flocked to the state for the Bluegrass Music Festival.
According to the New York Times, this was the most crowded time of year for people in the city of Wilmington.
In the spring, after the city received an influx of refugees from Syria, refugees began to congregate in the flower-filled mound, and soon the town’s population began to increase.
This is where I found myself.
My grandmother’s grandmother was born on a mound in this city.
The flowers are not just decorative.
They’re also a symbol of the city.
In the fall, the city started selling flowers at their market, and the town soon began to attract a diverse population, many of whom had no idea what the heck they were looking at.
At the center of the festival, where many of the flower offerings are, sits the New Hope Church, which has become the main center of Wilmington’s refugee community.
It was here that I first met my wife and I were on our way to visit my aunt, who is the head of the refugee church.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I knew that I had to go there.
When we arrived at the church, we had to wait for about 15 minutes while the church leader and other elders, including my mother, talked to us.
I was overwhelmed with emotion, as if I was meeting someone new.
Then, my grandmother and her family came out and sat on the stage to welcome us to the church.
My mother’s father, who was born in Damascus, Syria, came out to greet us.
I had never seen anyone from Syria before, and he was so warm.
His mother and grandmother are Syrian refugees who came to this country from Syria in 1982.
He was one of my oldest cousins, so it was so moving to meet him.
He introduced me to my grandmother, who had lived in the US for nearly 40 years.
He told me that he was from Aleppo, Syria.
I asked him about the name of his family, and when he mentioned that my family came from Aleppo he said that he and his family had been living in the same house in the refugee camp for nearly 20 years.
Our family has been living here for a long time.
We had heard that there was a refugee center on the Blue Mountain Road, but the house we were in was a little different.
The house is actually a tent and it’s been here since 1949.
After a short talk with my mother and her father, I met my aunt.
She explained that she had a sister who had been in the U.S. Army and her sister died at the hands of the Taliban.
She was in the Army during the Vietnam War, and she went back to Syria because she had her own sister.
She told me about the time when she went to Syria, and then came to America, and that she was the first person to speak Arabic.
She said that her name was Ghazal, and her name is Ghazals daughter.
She went on to explain that she is an Afghan refugee, and we had a lot of difficulty understanding her.
Her aunt explained that there are a lot more refugees in this country than people realize.
Now, my aunt was not just a family friend; she was also a doctor.
“She told us that we are a special family,” my sister told me.
That evening, we were invited to join my aunt and grandmother at the flower garden for a traditional feast.
I was excited.
It was my first time at a traditional festival, and I had been to a lot festivals before.
For the first few hours of the day, my sister and I sat in the shade of a tree.
I did not realize that I was going to spend the next 20 hours with my aunt in her living room.
I spent the first hour talking to her, which was very relaxing.
My aunt was so kind.
She invited me to sit in the corner and watch her grandchildren play, and also invited me over for a coffee.
I started to feel very happy and very comfortable.
As I sat there with my sister, my grandma came out of the house to greet me.
She asked me to hold her hand.
I told her that I did.
While she was talking to me, my uncle came out from the kitchen and brought me a bowl of food.
I took it and sat down with her.
After a while, my grandfather came out.
He looked like he had been there for a while.
He was wearing his usual hat, which he had worn since he left Syria in 2015.
This was my aunt’s last