XII 
FLAT ROCK COMMUNITY, AN IDEAL OF THE PAST 
THE easiest though least romantic way for us of 
Traumfest to scale the rampart of the Blue 
Ridge, and storm the magical heights beyond, is to 
take the train that goes to Asheville. Out of the 
gorge of the Pacolet, that in the season of flowers and 
in the right light is a fitting gateway to the imagined 
world above, the train climbs with the help of two 
engines, and reaches Saluda, cool and breezy, — a 
favorite summer resort for the Southerners of the 
low country, although it has none of those large es- 
tates and signs of a courtly past that so charmingly 
distinguish Flat Rock that lies farther along the way. 
The village of Saluda lies at the end of the Saluda 
Mountains, on whose slopes are born the headwaters 
of the Saluda River that follows down a little valley 
back of Hogback and Rocky Spur, and whose name, 
Saluda, or Salutah, means "river of corn," the valley 
of the Saluda for many miles being, indeed, that 
most charming of nature's fancies — a river of corn. 
Just beyond Saluda the train crosses the becom- 
ingly named Green River, and then on, around, and 
about it goes till the Blue Ridge is fairly surmounted 
and we are on top of it, as well as on the widest stretch 
of plateau in the whole mountain region. One gets 
glimpses of blue heights through the pine trees, and 
