The first thing I noticed about Cassadaga was the sunflowers. During my spring break trip down to Florida, they seemed to appear everywhere. These bright yellow flowers are a symbol for the Spiritualist movement, a movement that helped create the Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp back in 1894. Roughly fifty miles from Orlando lies this camp, which still boasts a surprising number of individuals who claim to be able to communicate with the dead. I can’t say that I believe in the dead coming back to talk to the living, but after this trip, I’m slightly more inclined to believe that parts of them linger long after they have left.
I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to explore the cells at Alcatraz in San Francisco, CA, and fly across the nation to check out the Ghostbusters’ Firehouse in New York City. Both locations are supposedly haunted, and while they may have evoked an eerie feeling in me, it was nothing compared to what I first felt walking down the main street of Cassadaga. This town radiated a warm energy. Despite only consisting of a handful of houses, an Italian restaurant named Sinatra’s, and a haunted history museum, there’s a magical Southern charm to this place. One of the first stops my boyfriend and I made was to the Welcome Center. Inside, you can purchase tarot cards, crystals, and pendulums, and check out their photo album of confirmed ectoplasm sightings. Inside, we were also greeted with a “Healing List” laid out on the coffee table. Every Thursday morning at 10:45 am, the town hosts a healing circle where they send prayers across the world to people in need. They invite guests to leave the name and zip code of a loved one in need of some spiritual guidance, love, and protection. The camp also has created a fairy trail, a handful of meditation gardens, and a wind phone to connect with the dearly departed.
Walking through this historic, picturesque little slice of paradise, I began to understand why some might believe souls would want to return here. Even for the living, there is something almost magnetic about the town. Something that makes you slow down, lose track of time, and linger a little longer than originally planned. For me, it offered a rare sense of solace. And just as we were about to head back home, I glanced above the doorway of the last building we visited. Written in Sharpie was a simple message: “Everyone brings peace here. Some when they arrive, some when they depart”. I stood there for a moment, letting the words settle deep into my soul. Whether or not the dead return to Cassadaga, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something there follows you when you leave.
