Spotted Fawn Farm

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Spotted Fawn Farm Spotted Fawn Farm is a 60 acre agritourism getaway and wildlife and farm animal rehab center on Lake Hartwell.

We have four vacation rentals and an event pasture and barn for weddings and celebrations. 60 acre family owned farm on Lake Hartwell in Hartwell, GA specializing in conservation, rehab and vacation rentals.

I realized I never updated about our little piebald, Helen, so here’s her story:Once we released all the fawns, she was ...
10/10/2026

I realized I never updated about our little piebald, Helen, so here’s her story:
Once we released all the fawns, she was so mopey and sad to be left behind.
To refresh, piebaldism is said to occur only in 1% of animals. It comes with the added misery of hu**ed spines, crooked legs, Roman noses and occasionally even hermaphroditism. I have only had one other fawn who had a tiny patch of white (although she had all the other problems) and I’ve never heard of it in the rehab community before. Suddenly, over the past few years it’s everywhere. So many other rehabbers are getting calls with full or partial piebaldism. If I were a person to enjoy metal headwear, I might think something unusual is being introduced into nature but who am I to say? There are a lot of white deer on my radar now.
Back to Helen who, although diminutive, is SPICY. She was not overly imprinted or lovey with us but was glued to her “sister” (not really related but in the rehab pod).
She just wanted to release with her herd and live a normal life. Unfortunately, as I’ve mentioned before, she would be viewed as a prize by both hunters and coyotes alike.
It was so hard to know what she needed. She was especially bonded to another doe, who was especially bonded to me and who laid by the fence, nose to nose with Helen, as they discussed me and why I was so tall and weird looking. Why couldn’t I just produce 100 bottles every day?
Helen is fully capable of running and foraging and so a place with a pen would have been cruel.
Once again, our friends at Hartwell Safari came to the rescue. We have sent another dwarf and a sulcata tortoise to them and we got a sheep from them. They helped me move my farm 10 years ago and I feel so comfortable and happy to have her there where they know every animal and love them.
At the last minute we took her bff along, knowing it’s a safe place to live a long life. Separating them just seemed wrong as does stay all their lives with their mothers. These little girls have never known life without the other.
There are acres and acres and acres of fenced property where they can live normal lives with other deer and be safe from predators.
All of the other 10 fawns released are thriving and doing their thing, with two of them still showing up occasionally and having to be told the goat milk bar is closed. Poor little guys.
A very successful close to this years’ fawn story. If anyone visits the Hartwell Safari, please tell our girls hello.

09/24/2026

Remember how I predicted there is always that ONE fawn who finds me and skulks around? Yeah. This happened out of the blue this morning as all our doors are flung open enjoying the cool breezes and it’s exactly who I predicted. The pretty girl. She cannot comprehend why I pretend she’s invisible. Alas, being tough is so hard, especially as I am a spineless pushover for the most part.
Another few days and she’ll join back up with her herd. She’s already finding my flowers distasteful and giving my bottle service ZERO STARS.
Phoebe, meanwhile, whispers to her as she pretends to chase her off, “Sorry for this! It’s just the job. I’ll see you by the muscadines later and we’ll lie in the sun together and gossip.”. And they will.

09/19/2026

I sometimes open my mailbox to receive items I’ve ordered late at night. Sometimes they’re a surprise.
I absolutely do not remember ordering the “large bucket o’ bandits”.
To say this gave me a jumpstart is an understatement. These rascals have no problem wrenching the heavy metal lid off the barrel and helping themselves to dinner.

09/16/2026

Griffin is my favorite soul on this planet and our dogs adore him just as much. Sometimes, though, love turns violent. Edith Jane is willing to lose an eye if it means getting all the snuggles from Griffin.
The other day I had a spectacularly bad day and was bemoaning my situation and my husband, who just says what he needs at the time, a true salesman if there over was one, pointed at Griffin and said, “How can things be bad when you have that cat?”. This has cracked me up for days. He doesn’t share a need to point out every cat in every driveway we pass or exclaim over shop cats but over 10 years, Griff has worn him down with rodent gifts and intense staring sessions.
Even with 1000 little pinpricks on my chest from biscuit making, I have to ask, how sad are people without a cat? Unfathomable. Maybe the distribution system find you today. Wednesdays are the perfect time to adopt a cat.

09/10/2026

P**f! Begone!
But not exactly.
I always await Labor Day as the day I release fawns. All the weekenders get up and leave the lake early Monday morning, angrily throwing trash and kids into their cars to fight traffic back to Atlanta. This gives me the calm day to gently usher the babies into the wild.
But not exactly.
Our Labor Day began with my neighbor doing target practice, which sent the whole farm into panicked chaos. BOOM BOOM BOOM. Horses running, donkeys crying, my dog cowering under the bed.
Upon finally opening the door, four of the babies walked quietly out while the other eight, being released here by another rehabber, ran jumping around in circles, failing to note the exit.
About that time I received a phone call from someone calling from my daughter-in-law’s phone telling me she’d been in a terrible accident. Yall, I’m the one mother-in-law on earth who adores her son’s wife with complete abandon. I think she is the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas, a good egg. The thought of her hurt just scared us to death. What a gift in life to have someone love one’s child and she is nothing short of perfect to us.
So we leave the release, in stalled progress, and rush to the hospital. (Now she is finally home and resting and I feel all the giddy gratitude in the world that she will recover over the next few weeks. What a fright!)
Back to the release the next day and there are 10 out and 2 still sitting in the pasture wondering what the hell happened with room service. Another day of shooing and leading them out.
The next day and everyone finally sneaked out unobserved. So far, now three days later, there have been no stragglers finding their way up to the house, no dazed and confused spotted fools, I mean fawns, wandering the streets asking for bottles. They are quietly assimilating into nature and I’m sneaking down leaving watermelon rinds and a few cups of food to lead them back to the creek and catching glimpses of glowing eyes through the leaves when I’m back there at dusk or early before the sun is up.
I got a video of my guys leaving, and the zooms of joy from my smallest buckaroo, (before the shtf) and I feel as if we have hit the point where they are all thriving out there.
I know I have just jinxed myself and one will show up at my door, but it’s been an emotionally draining and worried week and I feel as if it’s time to focus on how grateful I feel for a sweet little fawn season and their wild and beautiful lives spread out before them and I feel the same exact sentiment for my son and his wife. I’m just so damned thankful and happy to be where we are today and want to also report that, for the first time in weeks, I can be seen in public with no bits of leaves or forage hiding in my hair and no part of my body is currently sporting a bee sting. Win!

Let’s talk about time and how it absolutely doesn’t make sense.I’m at the point with the fawns where I wake up around 6:...
08/30/2026

Let’s talk about time and how it absolutely doesn’t make sense.
I’m at the point with the fawns where I wake up around 6:30 and think, “It’s time to make the biscuits” and haul myself out into the world, half in my jammies, but with a bra and hair clip, and drive around to forage. I’ve decimated my 60 acres. I’ve accosted neighbors and strangers to clip their roses, snip their privet and sneak some hosta leaves. I’m seen in the gloom, driving along with my dog Phoebe, leaping over ditches along the road to pull vines and limbs. Much like when I had kids at home, I’m exhausted thinking about what these babies would enjoy for dinner.
I’m thankful to have a pear orchard and a muscadine arbor for variety. I’ve always tried to stick to natural forage but, I confess, I’m sneaking them a scoop of alpaca food as well because I just can’t keep up. They are hungry hungry caterpillars.
This morning, I told myself, 20 minutes, GO, as if I was a kid being coerced into doing a task. It was 44 minutes. Three times a day. I’m over it.
Time is funny because there are stretches where life is so full of joy and fun and it goes by in a flash, all golden and filled up with bubbles and there are times so damp and olive green that one can’t see even a spark of light in the distance. But it still moves along.
Next week, another rehabber is bringing a few of her babies and we will release them together and, bam, this season will be over and I’ll remember it with fondness and nostalgia. I’ll see them from time to time and then we will move away from each other in our lives, they as wild animals and I as a person who constantly vacuums and buys plants.
I guess time is on my mind today as my husband and I have reached the milestone of our 40th anniversary today. Yesterday he said, “We’ve made it” and I said, “We have 18 more hours, don’t push it” as he dramatically hacked an allergy cough every few minutes. (Why are men’s coughs and sneezes so dramatic?)
Just like these fawns, we were just babies when we started out; we knew nothing about real life. I was just a year out of my teens. All those years weave a golden tapestry of memories, babies, friends and laughter, along with some dark spots of time, with loss and sadness, like a good leopard print.
So happy anniversary, Buddy Hays, what a long strange trip it’s been. 💚

This is why I can’t have nice things. Wood duck attitude. Nothing says ruining the water for water plants like a sassy d...
08/21/2026

This is why I can’t have nice things.
Wood duck attitude. Nothing says ruining the water for water plants like a sassy duck.

08/19/2026

Our two female geese desperately want to raise a family but have failed over and over. They posted up in our duck pen a while ago, sitting on duck eggs, much to the concern of our ducks, who didn’t really mind about the eggs, but didn’t like the fat squawky ladies sharing their little house. Still, the ladies persevered and hatched two black chickens. We had no other black chickens to lay the eggs, especially in the duck house, so we’re all confused yet pleased.
I’d like to post a modified quote from Katt Williams here but it might not be prudent.
Anyway, everyone is happy and even gander David Duchovny (why don’t you love me) claims proud parentage.

Address

Hartwell, GA
30643

Telephone

+14042194806

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