Garden Retreat
Adairsville, GA
May 14, 2021
Gas shortages…price inflation…mideast wars…goofy haircuts…persistent malaise.
The 70s are back, baby! We have an urge to settle under a lava lamp, cuddle with our pet rock, and drop a needle on an Eagles album.
And this year, deep into May, even Jimmy Carter’s admonition to wear sweaters seems appropriate.
We keep trying to close the fireplace and stash the sweatshirts. But, despite man’s ostensible efforts to heat his planet, the thermometer refuses to rise. On Wednesday, it failed to crest 60. Last night, it fell below 50.
As we wake this morning, a chill fills the air and fresh dew covers the earth. Skies are clear, and humidity is low. Yet the setting and scenery keep us warm. For the first time in two years, we’ve returned to Barnsley Resort.
When word came earlier this week that the Colonial Pipeline was shut and that fuel would be limited, I dashed out and filled our cars. That allowed us to avoid long lines at empty gas pumps, and to get out of Dodge.
An hour north of Atlanta, beneath the ruins and over coffee, we’re soaking up the peaceful splendor and rustic charm of these colorful gardens. We arrived yesterday afternoon, for the annual meeting of the Georgia Tech Alumni Board of Directors.
After checking in, and as we awaited our cabin, I joined our good friend Peter Swire for a round of golf. The weather was perfect, the company great, and the course wonderful.
The only detriment to a delightful day was my frozen left shoulder, which continues to constrict, and is getting worse. By the end of the round, I could barely move it – an ill omen for summer golf.
After our round, our room was ready. I met Rita, cleaned up, and strolled up the gravel path toward the evening festivities.
The history of this property extends more than a century and a half. Surrounding me as I write are manor walls that pre-date Sherman, and that are adjacent to some of the few surviving antebellum gardens in any southern state.
The resort sprouted a couple decades ago. A few years later it was purchased by Julian Saul, a Georgia Tech graduate and former head of Shaw Industries, based in the nearby textile town of Dalton.
Last night, at the alumni cocktail party amid the manor ruins, Julian and his wife, Adele, recalled to me their experience with the property and some of their plans for the place.
They’ve added and refurbished cabins, created or expanded conference facilities, and upgraded the golf, gardens, restaurants, and spa. Hiking trails lace the landscape, and horseback riders periodically pop from the woods, and prance across the rolling terrain.
Throughout the reception, we mingled with familiar faces we tend to see at Georgia Tech events. In one conversation, social media came up. I wondered aloud why so many people think so many others are interested in the mundane minutiae of their daily lives.
Then…like a pious parson toward a hungover teetotaler…my wife cast a sideways glance at her hypocritical husband. When he returned a perplexed stare, Rita mentioned these missives.
She assured the people we were speaking with (and reassured me), that she enjoyed and appreciated the essays. She just found it interesting that someone so quick to criticize social media would presume to think anyone would care about his personal perspectives, his situation at work, our overflowing toilets, or our time away from home.
I can’t imagine how she ever got the idea that I do.
As dusk approached and the sun sought shelter behind surrounding hills, our drinks were refreshed, the crowd took its seats, and food filled the tables. After darkness descended and plates were pushed away, the scene shifted a couple hundred yards, to the Beer Garden…where our ensemble cast carried the final act into the small hours of a new day.
The rationale for this retreat is the board meetings that are underway this morning. They’ll continue till lunch, after which we’ll retrace our steps, and return home.
But we do so knowing brighter days are ahead. Price inflation and mideast conflict aren’t going anywhere. But…at least for one weekend…gas stations are being replenished, sweaters are coming off, and the malaise is lifting.
JD
