We courted in the high NC Smokies in a old Studebaker station wagon. Me, her outlander. She, the native. Her family arrived in 1827. Made no difference because once we saw each other the electricity flowed. I from PA and my super private education, and she her tiny mountain k-12. She was incredibility educated. I could hold my own, but it was a near thing. I was to later meet her classmates who were all as adapt and as skillful as she. How did such a tiny, backwoods school produce such people. I met her in the early 60's, and we lasted until 2021 when the cancer took her. She authored, she designed, she ran multiple businesses, she mothered (very well), she was a lover and an adoring grandmother. I feel empty without her voice and presence. Hopefully the Lord will let me see her again.

What happened to the narration’s volume?