Several years ago, while living in Coastal Georgia, hot flashes and global warming took control of the upwardly moving saturation of my body. That’s when my husband Babe and I began to look for a summer getaway in the mountains. It took a while to find the right town with just the right character (and characters), but finally our search paid off when a Saluda blip appeared on our personal radar screen.
Laying claim to a main thoroughfare not much longer than a football field, specialty shops and restaurants line up on one side of the street. A defunct set of railroad tracks stands sentry between the business side and a few children playing outdoors on swing sets and monkey bars in the town’s well-used playground. Squeals of laughter can be heard even when it snows. I love that sound.
Weekends often bring visitors to our midst, curious to find out how a town the size of ours has survived the onslaught of high tech as it moves toward the isolation of all people everywhere. The visitors receive friendly smiles of welcome and easy chatter, but it is difficult to portray Saluda in mere words.
“We believe Saluda is a special place,” it might be said to the visitor. Or, “Saluda is like a modern-day Brigadoon —it’s magical.”
Indeed, none of the residents have lived here for over two hundred years as in the mythical Brigadoon, but Saluda has no problem claiming to be the town time forgot. That, in itself makes it a haven for throwbacks who long for how things used to be back in the day.
In Saluda you don’t often see people in restaurants texting the person seated across the table from them. They actually talk to each other using real words. I once even witnessed a mother boldly snatching a smart phone away from her teenager. “This is called real time. Get used to it,” she admonished. Good for her!
Saluda people do some texting but they don’t overdo it because they like talking with each other. They still speak and spell the language learned in grammar school and they don’t much care what’s going on in the Silicon Valley. Saluda people don’t know a lot about fiber optics because electronics are not allowed to rule their lives, inhibit their conversations or steal their humanity.
Friendly folks chat with each other while munching on old-fashioned hamburgers, hot dogs or a made-from-scratch milkshake served up in a metal ice cream shaker.
When a visitor wanders into a local café, it’s not unusual for them to be invited to sit for a spell. A local might talk about the new grandbaby born the week before or give an update on the Historical Society project. The stranger learns about the produce sold at the Friday tailgate market. “Best doggone tomatoes since 1945.”
There could be a report on the Saluda Dog Society’s recent fundraiser when enough money was donated to build a new shelter. Information might be shared that local thespians plan a new performance during the summer.
A tear or two will grace the eyes of an older resident as he reports, “It’s official. A community barbeque will be held in the park with proceeds going to the VFW. God Bless America.”
They support the lonely veteran struggling to adjust to a life without legs. They sit in church next to the widow who feels abandoned since the love of her life is no longer by her side. They attend town meetings; they donate blood to the Red Cross and they always, always vote.
Saluda folks still use Ma Bell to ask about a friend’s son in the service of his country and they still phone each when they just feel like saying, “Hey, how’s your mama and ‘em?”
Saluda people figured out that caring and nurturing each other makes a difference.
It took Babe and me a few years to settle permanently in this magical place that is not Brigadoon but comes pretty darn close. What took us so long?
Brigadoon, Brigadoon, blooming under sable skies.
Brigadoon, Brigadoon, there my heart forever lies.
Let the world grow cold around us, let the heavens cry above!
Brigadoon, Brigadoon, in thy valley, there'll be love!
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