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Plantation Fit for the Kings

I was gonna blog about my adventure back into the antebellum period yesterday, but honestly, I was too dern exhausted from all that four wheeling:

It is a home in a small southern town that one will drive by and suddenly the veins in ones neck will begin to jump. Why? Because there’s not too many of us that live in a magnificent 1873 antebellum mansion on 52 acres complete with a pool ~ the cutest pool house cabana ~ ever, a four stall horse barn complete with tack house an ironing house, smoke house, and oh yea ~ slave quarters.
Not that slaves still live on this plantation ~ but there is a good story about the shack itself. Up until the late 1990′s the shack was still occupied by a woman named ~ What was her name? ~ Hmmmm.. Let’s just call her Atta. Atta was a 89 year old black woman who was killed by a reckless driver while crossing the street late one night. Apparently, Atta was toting a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, a token of her love, to her 25 year old boyfriend, who co~ inhabited the slave quarters with her…… It was late. And dark. Poor Atta. What’s that saying? Love hurts? Still, you gotta hand it to Atta…to be 89 and have a 25 year old lova…. Now you see why I’m calling her Atta. ATTA GIRL!!!!!!!
 Back behind Atta’s love shack, we tumble amongst cedar trees, past forgotten walnut groves and into an enchanted forest that now breeds flying squirrels, deer, fox, even forming it’s own self made bird sanctuary. The plantation owner described how it took 17 dump truck loads to clear out the remnants of numerous turkey houses not to mention the matted debris of wooded mess that had been neglected for 50 or so years.
Next we navigate our very cool 4×4 four wheelers through open fields, past a fully stocked bass pond and  mudded through trenches (well some of us did ~ one of us had on her brand new $175.00 suede boots and abandoned the four wheeler when a mud puddle creek come into view.)
Coming to a clearing we are right slap in the middle of 35 well manicured acres where the king of this fine plantation would one day like to See a civil war reenactment. These fields are also a playground for the Kings; entertaining large crowds of guests all gathered for oyster roasts, pig roasts, or lots of hamburgers for the kiddies…. Another dream The King still entertains is to hold a Harley Davidson rally ~ but that’s still in negotiation’s with the lady of the house.
Our tour does not stop at the grounds themselves. We are invited into their beautiful three story brick castle which consists of 14 fireplaces, a third floor man cave, and a for the lady of the house; a closet fit for a Queen. Custom built with lumber cut and milled from the property itself, this King produces a closet for his Queen what any other princess could only dream of.
Perhaps the biggest wonder of all was the hospitality family themselves ~ the kings of their fine plantation ~ welcoming us in. They didn’t know us from up. You see… we had feverishly ventured up the long dirt driveway in quest of a restaurant. “There used to be a restaurant….next door.” They tell us. Oops. Waiting nervously for sirens and blue lights to come bulleting over the pecan orchards (which incidentally produced about 500 pounds of pecans during it’s last collection) we are prepared to be turned away ~cast out like peasants ~ who can blame them? After all, how did they know I didn’t have a loaded pistol hidden up under my petticoat? Ok ~ my way too tight Miss Me jeans gave me away, there was absolutely no room for a loaded pistol. But we weren’t cast away. We were not asked to leave.  We were asked to stay. Within 7 minutes of meeting, we were invited in to take a peak into the lives of The Kings, proving that there is still; even today: Wonderful, kind and gentle Southern hospitality

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