Everywhere I’ve lived (all in or very near the southern Appalachians) there has been some feature of skyline that has oriented me to where I was in the world, some high and prominent rocky fold or spire on the skyline that tells me I am exactly here. High places orient us. Perhaps, too, it is the sense of permanence that we draw from when we “lift up our eyes unto the hills from whence comes our strength” as the Psalmist said.
We are drawn to that which we can see from anywhere while the stories of our lives unfold, as if those high places look down on our petty problems, seeing them in the perspective of the ages, putting our month of despair or sorrow into the context of their million years of uplift and erosion.
We gravitate towards skylines with character. In this part of the world, we feel the gravity of mountains, and if we don’t live on them, we want to look at them. But there can be places where so many want to see one of these beautiful mountain landscapes or high prominences that over time, the decks and picture windows and vaulted glass walls of one new home look out on the decks and glass walls of the next and the next. And in the end, the charm and character of the landscape is lost. Precious places can become prostituted to profit, turned into a mere selling point, and priced out of the experience of those whose lives have been told in the shadow of these special places for generations.
You yourself can buy a piece of Floyd’s unique skyline and own the Buffalo lifestyle. It’s simple. Sign here. Scroll down to chose your view.
Beautiful green ridge top parcel with grandiose four-season view of Buffalo Mountain. Strong western mountain views with neighboring orchard and nature conserve canopy. Views to the east include nearby mountain range. Quiet cul de sac with level building envelope offers exceptional plan diversity. Community panorama and four-board fencing complement the Buffalo lifestyle. 2.55+ acres. $615,210.
The pull is strong. And expensive. And in not many more generations, the view–of the Norhteast coast, the Rockies, the Pacific Crest, the Grandfather Mountains of the east–may be owned only by those few able to pay for it.
How do we decide as communities what is precious, even in what we see from our back roads and living room windows, and then, how do we protect those high places so our children’s children don’t look out on roof tops and swimming pools, strip malls and cell towers? How do we keep these grand hills from becoming grandiose, protect our special places from becoming more than mere commodity, and nurture them as a source of solace and strength long into the future?