Above It All
Highlands, NC
July 28, 2022
When we walked into the church, the congregation was praying the Rosary. That’s always a good sign. Unfortunately, it’s also a rare one.
The usual ambience before a Novus Ordo Mass is a buzz of casual conversation, like a crowd gathering for a high school play.
Gone from most parishes are the humble reflection and quiet prayer that once preceded the sacred Sacrifice. Solemn preparation for a holy event was sublimated long ago to the mundane desire to say hello or arrive late.
Entering St Jude’s in Sapphire, the regular rhythm of the Ave Maria was a pleasant surprise. We approached our pew, took to our knees, and joined the cadence to beseech Our Lady.
The Mass itself was also uplifting. While adhering formally to post-conciliar convention, it also included winking nods to the Traditional Rite.
Mercifully, the vacuous “prayer intentions” and the disruptive “sign of peace” were entirely omitted. Best of all, Communion was offered at the rail, upon the waiting tongues of kneeling supplicants. And when the Mass ended, a Hail Mary and Prayer to St Michael accompanied the recessional as it left the church.
The moving homily focused on the power of prayer, its essential components, and how…like distant relatives or long-lost friends who make contact only when in need…it shouldn’t be relegated to the desperate pleading of a last resort.
We should pray regularly, and know that every prayer is answered. But we must also understand that often (for our own good) the answer will be “no”.
These days, there’s a lot coming down, and plenty to pray for. Sometimes, when you can’t get out from under the weight of the world, it’s best to get away, and above it all. Few places are more elevating than the rolling peaks around the Highlands Plateau.
After Mass, we grabbed some groceries, and wound our way up Whiteside Mountain for several days of secluded peace.
A couple hours from Atlanta, Highlands and Cashiers are about twenty minutes from each other. Both are charming, each with permanent populations of about 2,000. But that rises by a factor of ten during the pleasant summer months.
Last year, my aunt and uncle bought a place at Wildcat Cliffs, about midway between the two towns. Having sold their slice of Elysium beside Lake Michigan, my generous relatives are kind enough to let us mooch in the mountains.
This is a beautiful community surrounding a gorgeous golf course, with access to mountain trails and expansive views. For several years a couple decades ago, we visited this area annually. My parents would rent a house above Lake Toxaway, and invite us to join them one of the weeks they were there.
Aside from a quick stopover last summer, we were most recently here three years ago, to see my parents at another house they’d rented in Highlands. Each time we arrive, I’m immediately reminded why we came.
We are surrounded by one of only two temperate rainforests in the contiguous United States. We visited part of the other one last year, when we rode west thru the Columbia River Gorge.
But this one is unique, hosting more deciduous species than any rainforest on the planet. Each autumn, its fall foliage is visible from space. And waterfalls are everywhere, providing a soothing soundtrack to abundant beauty.
Monday, we packed a lunch for a charming two-hour cruise past four falls that feed the highest man-made lake east of the Rockies. The erstwhile valley and town over which we floated was flooded in 1940 to form Lake Glenville.
The west fork of the Tuckasegee was initially dammed to provide power for ALCOA to supply aluminum for B17s that the Roosevelt Administration was surreptitiously sending the RAF. Soon thereafter, hydropower brought indoor lighting to the Highlands Plateau.
Today, plenty of power (electric and otherwise) floods the upscale houses that grace the lake. Many are second (or third) homes owned by affluent outsiders. Most sit empty all but a few weekends every year. As we coasted past, geese and gardeners tended expansive lawns that languished by the lake. But the absent owners were nowhere to be seen.
This area receives over eighty inches of annual rain. By comparison, Atlanta gets fifty, and Seattle is soaked by only forty. From any direction, approaching air ascends several thousand feet to climb the plateau. As it rises, it cools, condenses, and nourishes the earth as replenishing rain.
Under persistent cover of leaky clouds, we kept an eye toward the sky. We emerged dry from our cruise, so a couple hours later, we pressed our luck by playing golf.
Sky Valley sits just over the Georgia line, and for years was the lone “ski resort” in that state. Economics and meteorology eventually exposed that folly, so the resort now revolves around cool mountain living on a delightfully scenic course.
Throughout a temperate late afternoon, we had it to ourselves. Rain and dusk kept at bay, and we returned to the house before darkness descended. As it did, we poured some wine, prepared some steaks, and imbibed this welcome respite with both of our sons.
These opportunities are fleeting, and becoming increasingly rare as our young men make their way in the world. But we ask for them often, and take what we can get.
For a few days, in the thin air of this thick forest, our prayers were answered…and the response was “yes”.
JD
