In the swirl of October’s bustle – its festivals, its leaf-peeping pilgrimages, this magazine thick with events and happenings – there exists a quieter invitation.
It’s not printed in bold type (just this little story in this little magazine). It doesn’t require reservations or a wallet. It simply asks you to pause, breathe, and step into the hush that blankets the Highlands-Cashiers Plateau.
This region, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, is known for its vibrant community and natural beauty. But beyond the headlines and social calendars lies a network of serene sanctuaries. Lindenwood Lake at the Highlands Botanical Gardens, for instance, offers a gentle stroll where the rustle of leaves and shimmer of water renew the spirit in nature’s quiet embrace. My boss Marjorie swears by it. My Official Mistress Tricia Smith, ever the art lover, finds her peace wandering the Horst Winkler Sculpture Trail at The Bascom, where nature and creativity intertwine in quiet harmony.
As for me, I’m drawn to the Village Green. Yes, it sits in the heart of Southern Jackson County’s busiest corridor, but that’s only if you measure reality by traffic counts and storefronts. Emotionally, spiritually, the Village Green is a world apart. Its boardwalk winds through wetlands that hum with birdsong and the laughter of children. It’s a place where time slows, and the noise of the world fades into the background.
To deepen the experience, I often bring along a book – Thomas Merton’s contemplative prose, the lyrical musings of Yeats or Keats, or the local voices of Richard Betz and Randy Lucas. Their words, steeped in the spirit of the Plateau, seem to echo the landscape itself. Betz’s Continental Divide and Lucas’s Poems from the Park Bench are not just written about the area – they’re written from it, with a reverence that invites you to see the familiar anew.
So in this season of motion and momentum, consider this your gentle nudge to seek stillness. Let the Plateau’s quiet corners be your retreat. No ticket required, no deadline looming – just the promise of peace, waiting patiently beneath October’s crazy-quilt canopy.
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