Asheville in the fall is seriously the best place to be—at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, huddled around a roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate, roasting marshmallows. Something about Asheville just screams (or rather, quietly whispers) Fleet Foxes and flannel. Ryan and I were actually visiting around this time in 2013, and last week we felt the pull to return. I can really see Caroline loving this place.
