At noon I entered Virginia’s Blue Ridge Parkway, and as I drove along that scenic and bendy byway I quickly remem- bered how unlike my native Southeastern Pennsylvania this high-spired and deeply-cleftwilderness is fromthe gen- tly rolling fields and farmlands of my own Piedmont- situated plateau some forty miles west of Philadelphia.
Here, steep declines pointed me down into rhododendron lined ravines. Inclines jetted me up toward cloud-wisped elevations rivaling my own state’s highest summits. Road signs directed me to stunning 3,000-foot overlooks,or they gently cautioned me to watch out for the occasional deer or black bear. For an hour I marveled from behind my wheel at this distinctive, pristine and almost primordial region – the great Appalachian spine of the East Coast.
At one o’clock I pulled up to the north gate of Primland.
“Welcome! Are you checking in with us?”asked the young and fresh-faced female security guard stewarding over this private retreat.When I told her that I was she pointed the way up a winding road leading almost mysteriously into the hinterlands beyond. “Just follow the signs!”
So I followed – and followed. I drove three winding tree- lined miles, and then three
more.All of this – every lofty mountain and sweeping sward and every single stick and stone I was seeing all along this seemingly never-ending mountain ridge and down into the bucolic valley below – could it all really be a part of Primland?
Suddenly, 12,000 privately-owned acres - all of that grand scope and scale - came into perspective as I began to glean how vast this privately-owned sanctuary really is…
How big is Primland? Contextually, it’s roughly the size of Bermuda. Physically, it’s crisscrossed by over 100 miles of roads and
trails.Veritably, it’s one big oxygen factory.
The spindly carpet of endless forests that were just-green- ing in the still-crisp mid-April air emitted fresh pine-laced scents, which wafted in through my open car window. My vision caught sight of emerald golfing greens off in the now near-distance; perfectly manicured fairways, and the occasional sugar powdered sand
trap.All of this began to come into view and, soon enough,before me,at the top of a majestic promontory, the lodge at Primland splayed out like a hidden golf course-framed sanctuary.
All of it felt so far from civilization as to remain utterly remote, yet close enough to Interstate 81 as to give the
80 May June 2016
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