“It’s the American Swabia!”
Every fall, thousands of tourists extoll the multi-tinted beauties of the Blue Ridge Parkway, and the sweeping, variegated vistas offered from the summit of tragic Mt Mitchell, that famous highest peak east of the Mississippi River. But not so many know of Jump-Off rock, a retreat in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Discovered by happenstance while my family was purchasing a baby grand piano, it is nevertheless another jewel in Western North Carolina’s crown that should embellish the travel log of every tourist.
Located about an hour away from Asheville, North Carolina, Jump-Off Rock boasts an elevation of 3,025 feet. Originally owned by the Davis Family, it was made available to the public in 1925 and added to the new, upscale Town of Laurel Park.
The drive through this town itself is almost as pleasant as the succeeding experience. Our pearly-white Toyota Sienna coasts over the sun-speared, Valkyrie-reminiscent, curving road, crunching breeze-skipped leaves under its freshly-rotated tyres while shaded by trees that could have been plucked from the Black Forest of Germany. More leaves, dead but flaunting in their funereal finery of ruby, amber, and gold, swirl deliriously in its currents as it ascends the reflecting asphalt slope at a meditative fifteen miles an hour, and I catch alluring glimpses of expensive houses on either side, as well as peeks of the September-dressed mountains that put the Blue Ridge overlooks to shame.
Beyond the circular parking lot (which you may find, upon arrival, is clogged by a hefty tour bus in the process of disposing of its passengers— a circumstance that causes some impatient motorists to throw up their hands and head through the centre trees) a trimmed expanse leads to a slight rise whose mountain-etched railing fronts an aerial spread. Miniature trees with interspersed patches of jade grass and sawdust-hued fields vie with miniscule houses and black-ribbon roads to render this deliciously European panorama irresistible. Off to the right, Asheville glitters like a pile of silver beads, and the fiery ridges in the hinder-ground, boasting every tone of self-conscious orange and furious red, recede further and further back until they disappear entirely into the maple-cotton-candy clouds hovering above their last clear peaks. A sign affixed to the rail announces how far one gazes from Georgia, South Carolina, our own state, and Tennessee, and identifies the notable mountains.
In summer, the iron-grey and Shire-green landscape could have left a scene from Lord of the Rings, but at this period, it is one from my own life, caught in eternity. Standing against the illuminated balustrade, with the hefty breeze pressing my face, my contemplations naturally turn to the God who created all of this out of nothing, the fact that He had simply to think of it, to make it enter existence, and that He encompasses all of it. At such moments, one touches some part of His infiniteness.
Even for persons who are not Roman Catholic or spiritually minded, the Germanic topography is still a veritable sherbet for those who treasure beauty of the imagination and eye, as well as for dog handlers, hikers, lovers, and filmmakers.
Three secluded trails, titled Red, Yellow, and Blue in deference to their respective levels of difficulty, branch off from the assembly ground before disappearing into the surrounding shrubbery. Conveniently placed stones and boulders form steps at the trickier points, and the majority of the path is sheltered by squirrel-and-cardinal-accommodated foliage. Once again at grass level, a simple dog fountain and an iron bench beneath a slender, shade casting maple await your return, providing a metal bowl for thirsty canines, and an inviting seat for their perspiring owners, atop which they can additionally eat or read the news. Two even more inviting benches, one mimicking stone, one the real deal, individually back three gracious firs and face the impressive elevations.
Near the implement of doggy refreshment, an attractive wooden sign details the history of this location, and a small plateau to the right of the look-out once provided the perfect site for my twelve-year-old brother and film-maker in the making Dominic’s set paraphernalia: a tent for his movie, The Spear of Destiny, while the lofty crags produced a stunning backdrop before which the actors— his fourteen-year-old sister Thérèse and eight-year-old brother Chris —marched as the henchmen of the bad guy.
My eighteen-year-old brother Joseph, also in the hobby, filmed part of a trailer here, prior to being startled by our dad, who had accidentally walked on screen, unaware that the plateau and the trails interlocked.
In short (or is it tall?), Jump-Off Rock is the perfect place for tourists of all ages and interests to enjoy the glorious wonders of North Carolina in the fall. I have often compared my state to the German region of Swabia because of its misty blue peaks, but never so much as on that early September day when I visited this sequestered treasure for the first time, and discovered an idyllic space to commune with my God. The Davises were certainly lucky.
The sedge-like grass and winter-promising wind of Craggy Gardens may ruffle my sophisticated Sheltie’s mahogany-and-white fur until she is rendered a typier version of her hardy ancestors on the Shetland Islands, the dipping acres of “party-coloured” and resplendent forest spreading upon either side of the Blue Ridge Parkway may cause my dad and Joseph to dream of owning that great expanse for hunting purposes, while my little brother Isaac oohs towards the tunnels. The magnificent promenade of rose, topaz, and garnet as seen from the crest of Mt Mitchell where a preacher fell to his death may be the stars of my photographer sister’s pictures. But not one of these more celebrated attributes of the Esse Quam Videri State tugs at my spirit the way the slightest zephyr did at Jump-Off Rock. No Biltmore can match her.
My late grandfather, George Otto Nordmann, used to pleasurably and humorously affirm: “We live in some of the prettiest country in the country.”
I wholeheartedly regret that he was never able to visit Jump-Off Rock.