Prologue. Located in the heart of “Quail Country,” Pebble Hill Plantation is a 2,000- acre hunting preserve, one of more than seventy such plantations in the region known as the “Red Hills.”  These rolling, sand covered, clay hills begin just above Thomasville, Georgia. They end south of Tallahassee, the capital city of Florida. The region is home to remnants of the vast stands of longleaf pine that once dominated the landscape of the Great American Coastal Plain. The longleaf domain arches along the Atlantic from southern New Jersey to East Texas and includes the southern half of Georgia. It is historically and ecologically significant.

This open forest was the corridor through which westward expansion was pioneered. In historical accounts, by Spanish explorers it is referred to as a “desert” because of its relatively open stands, wiregrass, and ferns -initially viewed as a vast and empty wilderness.  Amazingly, grazing lands beneath the trees carried the cattle-ranging traditions of our Celtic forebearers from Scotland, Ireland, and Wales to the heart of Texas. The source of strong timber and naval stores, the plain supplied much of the raw material used in building our nation. Longleaf pine was used in the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge and was cut into boards to floor the houses, schools, and factories of Victorian America.

 As a historian who was born in Burke County Georgia, the “Bird Dog Capital of the World,” I was primed to accept the appointment as the foundation’s first Executive Director in 1983. This is not intended as history-merely an account of some of the trials and joys I experienced during my decade spent in this romantic place I came to love.

Eagle Rock’s Escape

Appaloosa horses are associated with the Nez Perce Indians, one of the last peoples of the west to beforced into reservations. They have worked to revive interest in the breed as a symbol of their courage and horsemanship as a people. The horses usually bear striking coats that include distinctive spotting. Pebble Hill Plantation was home to Eagle Rock, a spectacular example of these horses. (Photo from Wikipedia.)

One of the most popular of the many animals on display at Pebble Hill Plantation in the 1980’s was a great Appaloosa stallion. He had been a favorite of the plantation owner, Mrs. Parker Poe, known to all as “Pansy” When I began my assignment there, Eagle Rock was being held in his own paddock and housed at night in the enormous cowbarn. The accomotions were arguably-at least from a horse’s perspective -luxurious. Built to house a great herd of Jersey cows by Pansy’s mother, Mrs. Harvey, the brick building was inspired by the architecture of Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, with large varnished wood and iron stalls and cork covered floors (to cushion the feet of the prized Jersey cows) and an inner courtyard with serpentine walls -a perfect showplace for prized cows and horses.

Mrs. Harvey had purchased a horse farm in the Kentucky Blue Grass region that she called “Shawnee Farms” next to the Shakertown historic site. She acquired a horse van which her chauffer would drive south in the winter, north in the summer to assure that her favorite horses enjoyed the best climate and grazing.

Eagle Rock was one of her daughter Pansy’s favorites. Eagle Rock’s name apparently was inspired by that of the the 4-H camp site in North Georgia that featured a prehistoric rock assembly resembling an eagle. Pansy, like a mother, supported many worthy causes and financed the re-assembly of the somewhat scattered remains on the site.

Eagle Rock was clearly no ordinary horse. Stout and strong, he was also gentle and spirited. Life alone in the paddock -fancy as it was -was no life for him. He was a free spirit. Loneliness and confinement did not agree with him, despite the fact that he was in his senior years at about 25 years of age. Horses and mules, like parrots are a lifetime investment.

Eagle Rock was quite the escape artist. At the first bracing chill of fall or first breath of spring air, Eagle Rock would leap over his paddock fence. Sometimes, too, visitors would open his gate to pet this remarkable creature -and leave the gate open behind them out of neglect or sympathy. Eagle Rock would use such lapses to escape. We tried various strategies to keep him confined. We tried putting a companion horse in his paddock, but this made him not only restless, but contentious. He bit them. Ultimately, we followed the advice of a horse farmer and tried the old strategy of putting a donkey in with him. This worked to an extent. It cured his loneliness -most of the time. But it did nothing to curb his rambling impulses.

One spring morning, Clyde, the courteous and modest gentleman who cared for the livestock, called me to report that Eagle Rock had leapt over his fence once again and was “on the lam.” Our carpenter , Gary -an agile and strong guy, offered to help me recover “Rock.” I was half awake when Gary grabbed a rope and we piled into his pickup truck.

Finding “Rock” was not difficult. He had stopped to graze in a sunlit, grassy spot two hundred yards from his stall. Gary stopped the truck about twenty feet from our escapee and gently approached this 1200 pound mass of muscle and sinew. Rock was calm as Gary place a lasso over his head. Gary gently fed out the rope as he walked back to the pickup, ran the rope through the driver’s window, then got in the truck and wrapped the rope around his arm. When Gary slammed the door of the truck, it brought Rock to a state of full alarm. He bolted away from the truck. When the rope ran out, Gary was jerked out of the truck window.

Thankfully, Gary was a slender and fit young man who flew out the window with ease. Rock drug Gary’s hundred and thirty-five pound body along as if it were only a tether ball . After about forty feet, Rock suddenly stopped to begin grazing again. Gary, having dodged potentially lethal trees and stumps, righted himself and cautiously walked Rock back to his paddock. Rock followed without protest. I felt pretty useless driving the truck back to the barn. I was a bust when it came to wrangling stallions. In fact, I am not a good horseman at all -though I confess that while I am not a good rider I have had many satisfying conversations with horses, even owned one or two. More about that later.

Gary was unhurt, thankfully, and I am sure had an exciting tale to relate to his wife and young son when he got home that night. We never found a strategy that worked to keep Rock confined. I think we just conceded that he -like us -deserved a romp in the wild once in a while. We also agreed that no trucks would be involved in future efforts to recapture him.