When Sarah Bryan and her husband, Oscar Heard, took possession of the old homestead in the 1920s, they shaped it into a sanctuary, christening it Camp Heard. On the side of the main house, they built a detached kitchen, joined to it by a covered walkway, its timbers open to the soft Georgia air. Soot clung thick in the ceiling, a dark shroud woven by years of woodsmoke curling from the old stove, its blackened breath settling heavy in the rafters. A stove-pipe hole and a pass-through window, uncovered later, spoke of days when hot meals crossed that modest span to feed the gathered souls.

By the 1950s, progress arrived with plumbing and electric lights, cabinets and modern appliances crowding the kitchen, and the house’s first—and only—bathroom took form. Somewhere in time’s passage, the walkway was enclosed with aluminum windows, catching sunlight and turning into a sunroom, where one might sit and watch the seasons shift.

But the addition, gnawed by termites’ silent hunger, stood apart from the original house, a later chapter in its tale. When restoration came, those tasked with the work moved with care, modernizing without wounding the home’s spirit. They crafted a new kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, blending past and present, so Camp Heard stood renewed yet true to its roots, bearing the Heards’ vision and the land’s quiet endurance.