Building a mountain retreat

 

Whenever we can, we visit the parks and forests around Atlanta, and while walking along the trails, we experience a taste of nature. As wonderful as those afternoons are, they also remind us that our daily lives lack real exposure to the wilderness. And when we manage to find our way to the mountains and hike deep into a dark forest, my family and I rediscover something special.

During one such hike several years ago, we came upon a waterfall in an isolated and seldom visited forest in Western North Carolina. While we picnicked, our young son played in the shallow pool beneath the falls. Watching him, I was overcome with both joy and regret: joy in that I knew this vivid memory would stay with him a long time, and regret in knowing that unless we changed our lifestyle, this kind of experience would be as remote for him as that waterfall was to our daily routine back home.

And so the seed was planted. Ever since that hike, I’ve been plotting an escape to the mountains. Not a complete relocation, mind you. At least not yet. But a place to go, where we can enjoy both the remoteness of that waterfall and the comfort of our family and friends.

Here’s the challenge: The obligations of our life won’t allow us to completely disappear, and our roots in Atlanta aren’t likely to let us go. Moreover, the cost of a retreat is too extravagant for us to carry alone, and even if that investment was within our means today, by ourselves we couldn’t create the kind of community I envision.

Our retreat in the mountains will be a place of luxurious comfort and peace for adults, and one of freedom and exploration for our children. My young son and daughter will adventure deep into the woods, and I may choose to join them. Or I may let them go — alone if they are old enough, or with a group of kids and their guide — while my wife and I stay at the lodge by the fire, enjoying a wonderful meal and the good company of dear friends.

On some days, we may be pulled to the river for fly fishing or stone skipping. On others, we may stretch our legs to the top of a nearby peak. Most nights, we’ll fall asleep with the windows open, listening to the sound of water tumbling over river rocks. And occasionally we’ll join our children on their overnight backpacking adventures, or roast marshmallows with them outside the bunkhouse, where they’ll no doubt want to spend every evening.

As I write this, I am thinking it may come across as extravagant and unreachable. But I believe it is well-within reach for a group of people that share a vision. Here’s how:

When we find the right property, I intend to find a dozen or so founding families to join my family in acquiring it and developing a simple cabin as the retreat’s first outpost. Each family will have fractional ownership of the asset. That means they’ll be able to sell their stake at any time, much in the same way one might sell a regular piece of land or a home. At first, it will be a simple place to visit — perhaps just one or two families at a time. And in truth, it may never expand beyond that.

But assuming the place emerges as alluring as we believe it can, then we’ll grow from there, inviting more families to join us in the development of a gracious lodge.

For our children, picture something like the perfect summer camp, but always accessible year-round. And for us, picture the beauty and scale of the Greyfield Inn on Cumberland Island, combined with the comfort of the Old Edwards Inn in downtown Highlands and the friendly community of the High Hampton in Cashiers. And for all of us, picture a remote setting, by a beautiful river, far down a gravel road high in the Western North Carolina wilderness.

If you share my family’s longing for a special place like this, one that we can return to month after month and season after season, please register here to receive updates on our progress. The more interest I receive, the faster I’ll push the plan along. As much as this place will be about the wilderness, it won’t be possible to create it without a passionate community of wilderness lovers.

If you’re interested, please check out the other community that I’ve had a hand in developing. And thanks to Frank Kovalchek for the use of his beautiful photograph.

Circles versus Boxes

I live in nature where everything is connected, circular. The seasons are circular. The planet is circular, and so is the planet around the sun. The course of water over the earth is circular coming down from the sky and circulating through the world to spread life and then evaporating up again. I live in a circular teepee and build my fire in a circle. The life cycles of plants and animals are circular. I live outside where I can see this. The ancient people understood that our world is a circle, but we modern people have lost site of that. I don’t live inside buildings because buildings are dead places where nothing grows, where water doesn’t flow, and where life stops. I don’t want to live in a dead place. People say that I don’t live in a real world, but it’s modern Americans who live in a fake world, because they have stepped outside the natural circle of life.

Do people live in circles today? No. They live in boxes. They wake up every morning in a box of their bedrooms because a box next to them started making beeping noises to tell them it was time to get up. They eat their breakfast out of a box and then they throw that box away into another box. Then they leave the box where they live and get into another box with wheels and drive to work, which is just another big box broken into little cubicle boxes where a bunch of people spend their days sitting and staring at the computer boxes in front of them. When the day is over, everyone gets into the box with wheels again and goes home to the house boxes and spends the evening staring at the television boxes for entertainment. They get their music from a box, they get their food from a box, they keep their clothing in a box, they live their lives in a box.

From Eustace Conway via Elizabeth Gilbert’s The Last American Man.