Originally posted on FB, August 2022 • Updated to include research for my novel.

• Written by Lesa Quale Ferguson•

I live in the Burned-Over District, a stretch of New York state where spiritual visions like Fruitlands once blazed. The Second Great Awakening swept through the frontier of upstate and western New York, igniting a wave of tent meetings, fiery sermons, and a quest for salvation. Utopians, zealots, and dreamers spread across the region, setting it ablaze with spiritual fervor.

Oh, I have a soft spot for Lily Dale, even if I don’t fully buy into its mystique. This quirky, gated lakeside community isn’t far from my old college. I’ve visited a few times, listened to mediums, and even found some comfort in their words—something my grandmother never did. When she brought me there as a child, she chain-smoked through the sessions, terrified of a ghostly touch.

What draws me to Lily Dale is how it clings to its strange history, caught between past and present, where old beliefs mingle with new hopes. It’s a tension I explore in my novel too—how we inherit dreams and ideals from those before us, even when we aren’t sure where they’ll lead.

Recently, Lily Dale has been trying to reinvent itself. HBO did a documentary, and now the old homes have fresh paint, and the shops have tidied up their old trinkets. It feels like a place trying to sweep away its past to appeal to modern seekers.

I visited with my camera, seeking out the forgotten corners that still hold the town’s original charm. An elderly medium shared stories of his early visits, his encounters with Dan Aykroyd, and even an appearance on Oprah. He seemed optimistic about Lily Dale’s future, dreaming of another Great Awakening.

Even as I listened, I felt conflicted. I’ve always loved Lily Dale’s dusty charm and hidden edges. I yearned for the unpolished version that once terrified my grandmother—or maybe just a ghostly tap on the shoulder from her. Writing about my own Burned-Over District, I feel like a medium myself, trying to conjure new stories from old embers.

While I appreciate the town’s preservation, I miss its raw energy, its defiance—how a wraith of the past still lingers, ready to ignite a new story. As I photograph these places, I see how our stories are shaped by what we remember, what we leave in the shadows, and what we breathe new life into. Like those before us, I’m drawn to the strange visions that find their way into the present.