The Oaks Bed and Breakfast

The holiday season has come and gone and with its passing, new memories are honed.  The year of 2009 will no doubt be historically looked upon as the year that financial difficulties affected us all.  But Christmas ‘09 will forever hold special memories of the wonderful guests that have become like family.

People often ask me, “How are summers in Saluda?” I can answer in a word, mild. I have come to know July as having comfortable overnight temperatures, perfect for restful-healthy sleep. We have yet to need the air conditioning. Recent guests from Florida pulled their blankets from the closet to insure a cozy slumber.

Over the years, I have been fortunate to call many fascinating places home. In all these places, I have encountered knowledgeable and intelligent people, the finest of which I call friends.

Before we became residents of Saluda by taking over The Oaks Bed and Breakfast, my wife and I would stroll Main Street and visit its shops and restaurants. It was here we heard the stories and developed an appreciation for the people who told them. We learned where the train depot was originally situated before it was moved to where it sits today and how the locomotives chugged through town on their way down the Saluda Grade.

The snow fell without a break.  When it was over, the hills had been covered in a plush blanket of fluff.  To this point it had been a mild season with nothing more that a single dusting.  Two weeks ago, the temperatures were in the 60’s and next weekend they have predicted the same.  Today, a cheerful fire welcomes guests to the Library, Parlor and breakfast while icicles decorate the turret like glistening crystal swords.

Was a time when restaurants and shops closed for the winter and the only folks on Main Street lived here year-round.  Guests that have visited The Oaks Bed and Breakfast these past few months have shared a unique parcel of life in the Blue Ridge.  Music is still alive in the night and it seems a little easier to get a beer and a table.  Infinite vistas appear out of nowhere with unobstructed clarity.  In the resolute darkness of the country night, the lights of the residences sitting high on the mountain seem to twinkle and shine, competing with the stars and making it difficult to discern where house lights leave off and the heavens begin.  Some nights, here on the mountain, the stars are so close you feel like you can wear them like a crown.  Stars like diamonds and planets like rubies and gems.

Winter views in Saluda offer a panorama of boundless mountain vistas.  On occasion, a flurry of snow swirls weightless around the holiday lights in the antique village, giving the effect that we are living in a snow globe.

As the temperatures dip, town folk plan for the holidays.  A traditional kick-off to this most joyous of seasons is Saluda’s Hometown Christmas – a gathering on Main Street that offers a storybook vision of Christmases.

Winter is a special time to visit the Mountains of Western North Carolina. The autumn leaves have all fallen and their handiwork creates a colorful patchwork quilt that decorates the forest floor.

The gifts that autumn bestows upon us are many. Cooler temperatures allow us to sport about in the fashionable new sweaters and jackets we received last Christmas. On a beautiful 50-degree day, a lengthy bike ride or a vigorous hike can be undertaken without the serious threat of dehydration and with all the trees vacant of their foliage, the view goes on forever! Unobstructed panoramic vistas now appear where previously a lush jade curtain had hung. On a recent drive to Columbus for pizza, the fading light of day ignited thousands of glistening lights, the evidence of distant cities and towns — a view you might have only experienced from an airplane in flight.

On a recent walk from the inn down to Main Street, past Lullie Lane and Smith Hill, I discovered the raspberry bushes that line the sidewalk along the way. Branches heavy with ripened fruit sagged nearly down to the ground. The morning air is cool and moist and the sunrise golden as pure mountain honey.

Heralding my approach from the top of a tall forgotten locust, the local birds chirp wildly, sounding the warning of an approaching stranger. Ahead I recognize a pyramid shaped rock – a miniature monument – perched deliberately upon another stack of rocks, placed there by another passerby.

My first experience was only days after my wife, Donna, and I had taken ownership of The Oaks Bed and Breakfast on Greenville Street. We were living among a labyrinth of cardboard boxes. Before the task of unpacking was to commence, I decided to make my way to the front verandah to clear my head with a breath of invigorating Blue Ridge Mountain air.