Gamelands and ‘Southern’ Hospitality
A hidden lake amid the pines of the Sandhills Gamelands
The North Carolina Sandhills
In the Northeast – yes, I think Maryland is in the Northeast -- in addition to parks with their playgrounds and picnic shelters, we have the occasional nature conservancy. These bits of largely undeveloped land are set aside to give space for wildlife; humans seem only grudgingly allowed. I’m not complaining. My farm lies adjacent to just such a conservation area and I absolutely adore that the parking lot is micro-sized so only a few hikers can insist I share it at any given time. In the South, there are far more expansive public lands. But, as my dad used to say, they seem to “emphasize another syl-LA-ble” when it comes to labelling these spaces, calling them gamelands. It makes it seem like land preservation is more about human enjoyment than wildlife survival. Well okay, enjoy gamelands this human will.
In my past experience, forests are dense and close, cool and dark. I love them but I also love leaving them and stepping back out into the light. I’ve never really understood the term ‘open woodland.’ How can it be open and woods at once? The Sandhill Gamelands are, in fact, the quintessential open woodland. Covering tens-of-thousands of acres west of Raliegh, this rolling terrain is covered with massive longleaf pines. They soar overhead yet light easily reaches the ground through their lacy canopy. And, what ground it is -- the deep duff of shed needles smells like incense and renders silent the passage of horses leaving only the whisper of the wind overhead.
I’ve often said the saddle is my church and riding the Sandhills is a truly a religious experience.
Just one of the thousands of mighty trees littering downtown Aiken
Aiken, South Carolina
When I think of the ‘Grand Ole South,’ certain images come to mind – live oaks arching over shady streets, stately colonnaded houses banked by magnolias. Aiken has all that. Ironically, if you look into Aiken’s history you learn it wasn’t part of the Grand Ole South at all, but rather a working class railroad town discovered by Northern sports enthusiasts who decided to create a ‘winter colony.’
Today, it’s still very much that – a place where Northerners – particularly those with an equestrian bend – come to recreate and/or retire. At Aiken’s heart is the largest urban forest in the country -- 2,100 acre Hitchcock Woods. That’s what put Aiken on our itinerary. Unfortunately, Hurricane Helene also put it on hers and sent a massive tornado through the heart of the city.
In the days leading up to our planned arrival, I was in regular contact with Catherine, whose home lies adjacent to Hitchcock Woods and includes stabling for guest horses. We decided to come simply to maintain the timing of our itinerary (traveling with horses doesn’t allow for much flexibility). But driving through town, the number and size of toppled trees made question the wisdom of that decision. And, the damage only intensified as we neared our destination.
Catherine welcomed us on her sixth day without power, yet she seemed more concerned about our inability to ride. We told her the horses could use the rest but woke the next morning to a text -- she’d found us a place to ride. We picked up the horses and headed out to Whispering Pines, where we were greeted by Maryanne, another northern transplant. Maryanne pointed out trails that wound by her pastures and down the center of a neighbor’s cotton field. She’d accept nothing but our thanks for the opportunity to enjoy her farm.
Moments of hardship often show you people’s true nature. With the heart of their city in tatters, everyone in Aiken expresses gratitude. They look at the footage from Asheville and feel blessed that the only real loss is the park that defined them, or a roof, or a car. After gratitude invariably comes concern for our damn holiday. South-born or Northern transplant – graciousness seems to run in the veins of all who call Aiken home.