Wrens. Small town southern charm. A buzzing hamlet, a bank or two, and a fully modern Ingles. More than a handful of traffic lights and church steeples. Gnats when it’s hot in July. Sand all year long. And lawd, lawd, lawd! Miss Peggy’s Restaurant. I didn’t meet her, but I could squeeze her in a big old bear hug. ‘Nuff said.

I travelled the back roads of Georgia to get here. You might call it the Fall Line Highway, though there’s not one single road that crisscrosses the state’s midsection. Columbus is built on the Chattahoochee where the water begins to “fall” harder as it heads south. The same can be said for Macon on the Ocmulgee, Milledgeville on the Oconee, and Augusta on the Savannah.

I like to follow the trails where the view out my window is up close. Where I can buy an old coal bucket from some shop owner that I’ll never know or see again. Where I can stop and take a picture of the horizon just because. Marion actually takes all the pictures.

This part of my home state is unfamiliar to me. I’ve been to this region before but not often. This is my first time to Wrens. My first stay at the Red Oak Manor Bed & Breakfast in Harlem, Georgia. I’m here on business but I don’t want to bore you with that.

When you stay in a B&B you meet the owners and before you leave, they feel a little like family. When the Meyers bought this 150-year-old house about fifteen years ago, they converted the upstairs first. Large empty rooms with pee-pots under each bed were changed to gracious sleeping spaces with flush toilets and running water.

They took an old, dilapidated garage that had been added on years ago, expanded it and turned that space into a restaurant where breakfast is served at 7am seven days a week. Free to those that stay at the house.

This is truly a family affair. O-Ma, as she is known by her grandchildren, runs the books. O-Pa runs the griddle. Renee, the daughter, runs the hospitality. Various other related boys and girls show up from time to time to wash dishes and take orders and to do whatever else needs to be done.

There are family photos that cover the wall beside the stairs from the house down to the restaurant. Three of them are young men in military uniform. One is in the Navy, following in O-Pa’s footsteps. One in the Airforce, and the youngest is about to finish up boot camp in the Army. These are Renee’s sons.

Renee is proud of all her boys. She misses the one in South Dakota. She worries about the one shipped out to sea. She is amazed at how the Army transformed her youngest.

“He’s got a touch of Asperger’s and has always been a little withdrawn and quiet. He never liked crowds. When He got into high school, he told me that he wanted to be in ROTC just like his brother.”

I swear, Renee could talk nonstop to a telephone pole without ever skipping a breath, especially about her boys.

“I told him that could be a big challenge for him.” She was afraid that the program might be tough on him.

She told Byron, “You realize you’ll be taking the flag out on the football field for the national anthem in front of all those people. You don’t like crowds.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “I can do that.”

“The first time he put on that unform, it changed him,” she said. “And now he’s about to graduate from basic training. I can hardly believe it.”

I asked her if she’d be driving up to see him graduate.

“You’re darn toot’n I will. We’ll all go.”

Mamas sure do love their boys. Next time you’re in Harlem, stop by and say “Hi” to the Meyers for me.

At the end of a long and busy day, Marion and I felt like something different for supper other than the B&B. Maybe a drive into Augusta.

“Where you wanna go eat?”

“I don’t know. Where you wanna go?”

“I’ll go wherever.”

“How ‘bout Mexican?”

“No, I don’t feel like Mexican.”

We’ve only known each other for 7 months, and already we are having this conversation.

Lawd, save me.

She finally dug an Olive Garden gift card out of her wallet. The debate was settled. I’m glad about our choice because, otherwise, we would have never met Amber.

When we got to the restaurant, the front doors were packed, there was no room in front of the desk, and the hostess looked pretty frazzled.

While I was waiting to give my name, “Party of two,” Marion disappeared through the crowd. About the time I got up to the desk, she came back.

“There’re two seats at the bar. Let’s just eat there.”

Amber greeted us and asked if we were dining in. She’s probably in her early 30’s with jet black hair cropped short. She moves constantly, talking to everyone within her sphere. She takes an order for chicken alfredo at one end of the bar and mixes up two Long Island Teas for the guys at the other end. I’m getting tired just watching.

You can tell she’s a seasoned veteran. Nothing phases her. She’s in control of every request. Other employees come to her with questions. She handles it all without a flinch.

It turns out she served 7 years in the Marines before serving the last five with Olive Garden.

“I only left because of my breast cancer. If it wasn’t for that, I’d still be in there.”

I’m the curious type. I can’t help it. “What are all the pins on your collar?” I’ve seen fewer ribbons and pins on a Four-star General.

“Oh those. They’re my service pins with Olive Garden. I earned each one of them and this is only about half of them. If they offered a training course, I took it. If they had a job opening, I moved into that spot. I’ve done every job in this restaurant. I’m now a certified trainer and sometimes I travel around the US helping set up new restaurants.”

I wanted to salute her.

When our order came through the window, Amber brought it toward us. She hesitated and turned back toward the kitchen. Then she turned back toward us, then back, then back again.

“Your plates are not right,” she said. “There are supposed to be 16 shrimp in this dish, 10oz of pasta, and 6oz of alfredo sauce. There’s only 7 shrimp in one and 9 in the other, and both are lacking. I’ll be right back.”

This is how Amber took care of us. This is how she took care of business for OG. Crisp. Tight. Up front. No messing around. Customers first. OG store #6487 would do well to keep this gal around.

Here’s what I know. The world is full of good people. Good breakfast. Good conversations. Good hearts. Some will treat you like family. Some will extend a simple courtesy worth noticing.

Renee and Amber gave us both.