The Day Evi and I Invaded a Georgia Farm

When Evi and I decided to move from New York City to Cape Coral, Florida last January, we knew we were going to take our time and enjoy the trip. I believe one reason was that we both enjoy road trips; another was we weren’t in any hurry to start our new life in Cape Coral, Florida. So we made a lot of stops and had a few adventures, and one of these damn days I’ll include them all in my oft-procrastinated book of essays. For the purpose of this blog, I’ll concentrate on one particular stop.

If it was up to me, the stop would never have happened. But I wasn’t driving as we were going south on some Interstate through Georgia. I was in the passenger seat playing on my phone when suddenly Evi screamed “COTTON FIELDS!” and got off at the next exit. I had no idea what a cotton field looked like, and I certainly didn’t know Evi was so batshit crazy about them. She pulled over and spent a lot of time playing and picking cotton.

I should note that picking cotton you don’t own is probably highly illegal. A work truck went by as Evi was committing her crime, but they just looked at her and laughed. I imagine it’s not often you see a white 6’2″ model joyfully picking cotton. They probably saw our New York license plate and thought, “well, that explains that.”

When I finally coaxed Evi back into our van, I took over driving, mainly out of fear we’d come to a screeching stop at every farm in the southeast. But instead of getting back on the Interstate, my sense of adventure got the best of me and I continued down the two lane road we found ourselves on. We were amazed at all the incredibly large fields of peanuts, cotton or whatever else that stretched all the way to the horizon. These farms were huge.

At some point, I took a random left so we’d still be heading in a sort-of southerly direction. Within a few minutes, Evi said, “Stop! Stop the car!” Off to the right, there was a beautiful green field that seemed to span forever, and she wanted to play in it. So I stopped the van, proving that taking the wheel gave me no additional power over the progress of our trip.

I had to admit, though, the field was gorgeous.

It took a LOT of shots to capture her up in the air like this.

We kind of ran around and played. The weather was amazing and the view was spectacular. It made me a little philosophical, I guess:

After climbing back in the van, we continued down this unknown road, which soon became an unknown dirt road. There was a nagging thought that perhaps we should turn around and go back to the interstate, but 1) that would’ve entailed driving 15 or so minutes back the way we came, and 2) as a verified male, I would lose my Man Card for such a transgression.

So on we went. After a few more random lefts and rights we found ourselves thoroughly lost. It was still daylight, and we had navigation if we wanted, so it’s not like we felt scared. In fact, Evi was more excited than ever.

“Oh!” She exclaimed. “Go to that farm!” She pointed to a sprawling estate with huge fields, a lake, an airplane hangar, several cottages, and a large but not ostentatious home near the entrance. There was a wooden fence around all of the property. It looked very much like a private residence of a wealthy farming family. I was not going to go. “Baby, that’s not the kind of farm you can just tour. It’s clearly private.”

“Just go! Go! I want to see it. We can just ask if we can look around.”

“Are you insane? We’re going to go ask some guy if we can tour his private property?”

“Yes yes yes! It’s amazing and I want to see it! Just go!”

If I can rewind for a minute: Before we were married, Evi once visited my hometown in Florida with me, and I was showing her around the county in my dad’s Honda Pilot. She was thoroughly enjoying herself and made me stop in a variety of random places like beaches, nature parks, and neighborhoods. At one point, she asked me to drive down this little dirt road near what is known as Suncoast Estates. Despite the cheery name, it’s not a cheery place. Suncoast is known to be populated with drug dealers, ecstasy labs, and all kinds of small-time criminals. There was no Goddamn way I was driving down that dirt road. Despite my explanations as to why we shouldn’t unless we were trying to score some meth, she got extremely upset and wouldn’t talk to me for a solid fifteen minutes. I figured, well, we aren’t currently being murdered for the money in my Dad’s change container, so I’ll deal with the silent treatment.

Fast forward back to the farm. I had no desire to drive onto this private property. But Evi was insistent in the same way she’d been outside of Suncoast. So I had the choice: Deal with the silent treatment for who knows how long, or awkwardly knock on a total stranger’s door and ask if we could, you know, invade his privacy. Neither sounded particularly exciting.

I decided that Evi won, and pulled into their private drive. As I got out of the van near the house, two large dogs came running out to me. My first thought was, “is this when I die?” But their tails were wagging. They seemed friendly, and one of them let me pet him. I made my way to the front door of the house. I had no earthly idea what I was going to ask. Should I throw my wife under the bus? (“Hey, sorry to disturb you. It certainly isn’t my choice. See that batshit crazy Russian in the passenger seat? This is all her…”) Should I say that we’re lost? Should I–

“Hi!” I heard Evi say. As I was at the front door, an elderly lady had come out of the garage near our van. I hurried back and along with my wife stuttered our explanation for being there. Not that we really had one.

“Well that sounds plum interesting!” She said in a sweet Georgia dialect. “My name is Patricia. Come on inside. I’ll make some fresh coffee.”

Evi and I looked at each other. I shrugged my shoulders. We walked inside.

The interior of the house was gorgeous. It was very log cabin-like, with low ceilings and lots of rooms. She gave us a tour of the whole place. She was apparently alone, and let two total strangers in the house. I’d feel scared for her if it wasn’t Evi and I who were the supposed threat.

“My husband is out there working on his boat,” she said pointing out her kitchen window towards the lake, where I could barely see a brawny older man doing, well, something. “Hopefully he’ll come up soon so you can meet him.”

That thought actually scared me a little. What if he came inside, saw us, went for his shotgun, and said, “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? ARE YOU TRYING TO TRICK MY WIFE LIKE THE LAST PEOPLE I HAD TO KILL AND BURY?”

I tempered my fear and had a seat that Patricia offered. She started regaling us with stories about her life and how she came to live on this giant farm. I don’t recall all of what she said, but she definitely told us she owned a plane and had a pilot’s license. I guess that explained the hangar.

Her husband did eventually walk in and, well, didn’t shoot us. His name was Donnie, and he didn’t seem surprised at all to see us. In fact, they said we weren’t the first strangers to drop in unannounced.

“It’s just the way we do things here in Georgia,” he said. “In fact, we have two cottages out on the property that we let friends stay in whenever they like. If you want, you can stay in one tonight.”

Honestly, as crazy as that offer was, if it were later in the day, I would’ve considered it. But it was still early afternoon and we would’ve lost a lot of hours on the road if we would’ve committed to a night’s rest just then. I turned it down.

“Well,” said Patricia. “If you’re ever this way again, please come stay in one of our cottages.”

“How much do you charge?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t think of charging any money. Would you like some cookies? I just baked them yesterday.”

I sampled a cookie. “These are amazing.”

“Well, take some with you.” She grabbed a ziplock bag, stuffed several cookies in it, and handed it to Evi.

I couldn’t believe it. Evi and I got more or less lost, randomly ended up on a farm in the middle of nowhere, walked in a stranger’s house, and got offered free room and board, coffee, and cookies to go.

Funny, the twist and turns of life, if you’re willing to go off the beaten path.

We exchanged contact information, wished Donnie and Patricia well, and went on our way.