We decided to take Highway 17 South and follow the signs.  We had our handy GPS to get us in the general vicinity, but we knew from experience we would need the local signs to actually bring us to the front door.

In the car in front of us was a couple we have grown to love.  We met years ago at a conference through Tom’s work and have come together all over the country in beautiful places ever since – places where friendships grow easily and fond memories are made.  Today was yet another memory, but one with a bit of a sting to it.

David and Sharon Hettinger

You see, our dear friend, David, is retiring, and this is their last conference.  We planned a surprise to honor him for his years of dedication and loyalty to our industry.  He was taken back by all the attention, as his wife stood silently in the back of the room – eyes brimming with tears.  This would be the last meeting of this kind and neither of us wanted our time to end.  So we prolonged the inevitable with one last excursion – we stayed over an extra day in order to tour an historic plantation in Southeast Georgia.

As we walked down the dirt path amid ancient live oak trees stretching as far wide as they were tall, we reminisced.  We laughed.  We stopped to take a few pictures.  And then we saw it;  the large white clapboard plantation home.  It was obviously old, but well kept.  It stood as sentinel facing the vast marsh as if it were keeping watch for the family to return who once called this place home.  But they would never return.  The last family member died in 1973 and the property was donated to the State of Georgia as is – with all the furnishings too.

When we approached the front porch we rang the bell (not a doorbell, but a real bell with dangling rope to make it ring.) to let the docent know we were there.  The door opened and out came a man who looked as worn as the house, and just as content.

“Whoa, no need to ring the bell – we’ll start the tour at the top of the hour.  I’m not a wind up toy mind ya!  But I’ll sit a spell and talk until the others come.”

It was useless to tell him our watches all said it was five after the “top of the hour”.  We were obviously NOT on the same time schedule.  We were on time in the present; he was on time in the past, where he had obviously lived most of his days for the past twenty years.  We didn’t have the heart, or the chance to tell him we were the only ones on the property.

It was ironic that his frame matched that of the old oaks surrounding the house.  He, too, was as tall as he was wide and had a scruffy white beard that mimicked the Spanish moss hanging from the tree limbs.  He added to the history in his own way.  As he stood to show us the 800 year old live oak on the side of the house, we took in it’s size and beauty.

Finally, he was convinced no one else was coming and welcomed us through the front door promptly at fifteen past the hour, but who was counting? 🙂  Each room was full of antique furnishings, pictures and momentos of days gone by.  He even showed us a half full bottle of very old Kahlua.  The last family member to live here was the daughter who had never married.  She died as an old woman in the pink velvet chair in the parlor where she always took her morning tea.  Our docent shared as if he was the one who discovered her lifeless body.

I asked why she never married and our hosts face lit up.

“Ah – she never married because women in those days followed their husbands wherever they went.  A house would be a burden, even more so this large plantation.  Ophelia loved her home and so chose to never marry, rather than to risk losing her precious home and land.”

This truth made me sad.  Yes, the property was beautiful, but was it worth giving up a future for?  I love my home, but it’s because of the people who live here – not the place itself. The Plantation and surrounding property was left to the state because there were no heirs to inherit it.

As we finished the tour and headed back down the dirt path, I realized something.  Every where we go we leave an imprint on those whose paths we cross.  Our dear friends have left an imprint on our hearts we’ll never forget.  In the same way this old home remembers fondly days and people gone by.  I’ll always remember this day and the memories Tom and I made as we listened to an old man on the plantation share in his own quirky way, how his heart has grown attached to this place.  I’ll remember sharing it with special friends, and thank God for such relationships to attach our hearts to.

Who are the people in your life who have left a lasting imprint?