On occasion, Sewanee beckons.
On a crisp early autumn morning, the sun through the trees filled me with a fresh wanderlust that is charmed and rare in this current year of pandemic. I needed to get out of the house for a few hours and the call of Sewanee was sweet.
Sewanee – The University of the South, is barely eighty minutes from my front door; the drive, through rural roads and towns, is one of carefree pleasure. 
On this most recent drive, I realized that I missed the siren call of cotton fields this year. In a normal year, I see many cotton fields in their fluffy glory on regular trips to the Shoals. When I first moved to north Alabama, there were still impressive cotton fields within the city limits. In my eighteen years in this place, those have almost all disappeared.
Upon crossing the Flint River, I rediscovered this year’s missing cotton-growing culture in communities, outside the city limits, with evocative names like Buckhorn and New Market.
Eventually, the two-lane enters Tennessee and, after going through Winchester and Cowan, the road begins to climb the Cumberland Plateau to the village of Sewanee. The place is not enchanted, but it certainly gives that impression. Brigadoon comes to mind.
The University of the South is a haven for writers and one quickly feels the draw, exploring the campus, the surrounding virgin forests, and the quaint business district. Tennessee Williams left his estate to the University as a memorial to his grandfather, who attended the School of Theology in the late-19th Century. The University’s School of Letters has an active program in creative writing and annual writers’ conferences are renowned events. The literary magazine, The Sewanee Review, is the oldest continuously published quarterly in the country and has held a leadership role in literary art and criticism over its century-plus existence.
As tempting as those writer credentials are, I go there for the peacefulness of the place, to walk the grounds among the massive Gothic-style stone buildings of the original quad and their connecting cloisters. Even with classes in session, the campus is quiet and contemplative. Occasionally, a begowned student or faculty member is spotted rushing across campus – a member of the University’s “Order of the Gown,” still practicing the ancient tradition of the daily wearing of academic robes for class and campus activities.
After spending some time wandering around the peaceful campus, it is my habit to sit for a spell in the grandeur of All Saints’ Chapel. On this most recent visit, an organist was playing the Chapel’s magnificent organ and sunlight was streaming brilliantly through the stained glass. I took a seat beneath the rose window near the back and listened. It was just the organist and me in the massive space defined by vaulted ceilings and traditional ecclesiastical architecture inspired by the great cathedrals of Europe.
In one of the cloisters, there was a flyer, crudely hung with masking tape, announcing a student organization-sponsored “Flash Scream” for 8:13 p.m. on October 14.
“Wherever you are,” it said, “Whatever you’re doing / Just take a moment to scream.”
I noted the time and, even though I was eighty minutes away from the Domain that is Sewanee, I let out a therapeutic scream at 8:13 precisely on Wednesday, October 14. It seemed to help for a moment or two. If anyone else decides to host a “flash scream,” let me know. I’ll be happy to participate. 
Professional Southerner 