Ophelia Troup Dent

I first met Ophelia Troup Dent in 2002, which was a neat trick since by that time she had been dead for nearly thirty years. But I do that – I tend to “meet” people after they have died. Makes it a heck of a lot harder to get to know them, but I find out so many interesting things along the way.

Miss Ophelia's house at Hofwyl-Broadfield. Photo by Carrie Mayo.

On a trip from Savannah to St Augustine FL, I noticed a National Park Service sign along I-95 stating that the next exit led to “Hofwyl-Broadfield Plantation.” Always curious and inquisitive, I jumped off the Interstate and onto a country road that led to a fenced and gated entrance.  As I drove through coastal Georgia vegetation and hundreds-of-years-old live oaks I was filled with an expectancy that was nearly overwhelming.

I paid my admission at the Visitor’s Center, and made the walk through the white fence rails out toward the plantation house and outbuildings. The delight of the canopy of moss-draped live oaks was worth the price of admission alone; the path that leads to the buildings is completely shadowed by them.

Arriving at the main house, I fell in love instantly and already; even before I stepped through the door I knew I had found a place where I would leave a piece of my heart. I ate up the tour, marveling at the beautiful old furnishings that had been in the family for generations, and I stood in awe of the life Miss Ophelia herself had lived until 1973. And so began my quest to get to know Miss Ophelia better.

I found out some things immediately – she never married, she was very close to her family, she was athletic and loved horses and dogs (that had me, right there). She liked to meet people. She loved books. She loved art. She loved her friends. She loved to travel.

But I wanted more. After all, if life had sent my family to live in Brunswick as it very nearly did, I might have actually met this lady in person. I shiver with delight even now, just to think of it. But alas – no such luck, so I had to start from scratch.

It wasn’t easy. She is still a very loved and protected figure in her community and those who knew her are reluctant to share much. But it’s like sculpting – you chip away everything that’s not a statue and pretty soon a figure takes shape. Miss Ophelia began to take shape for me fairly quickly.

Carrie sitting on an ancient tree stump at Hpfwyl-Broadfield plantation.

Descended from a long line of strong-willed and influential Georgians, Miss Ophelia understood the concept of community and she lived it every day. Along with her sister Miriam, she operated a small dairy to keep the family farm afloat. And by “operated,” I mean, she ran the dairy. She had some part time outside help, but she and Miss Miriam were Hofwyl Dairy. As owner, manager, and delivery-person, Miss Ophelia knew her community well and immersed herself in it.

In 2002 I decided I had to have a Hofwyl Dairy milk bottle. I wanted to have some small part of Miss Ophelia and Miss Miriam‘s life close to me all the time.  I’m sentimental that way. I put out some emails and made a few calls and no one had ever heard of Hofwyl Dairy so I sort of gave up but I always hoped I’d find one. Then in 2008, my friend Carrie, who knows my obsessions with coastal Georgia history (even if she doesn’t always understand them!) made one phone call – ONE, mind you – and gave me a Hofwyl Dairy milk bottle for my birthday. I don’t think I have ever been so blown away by a gift in my life. She has been with me through my digging and researching the Dent sisters and she alone knew what that bottle would mean to me. Using her now-legendary power of discovery, she found one.

Miss Ophelia’s dedication and involvement in her community is still felt today, some thirty-six years after her passing. Many “Friends Of Hofwyl” knew and remember Miss Ophelia, and her presence is still felt in the old house. In fact, if Miss Ophelia came back to life today, she would recognize her home instantly. To the degree that it can be, it is exactly as she left it right down to the dishes in the cupboards and the counterpane on her bed.

The famous "birthday present" milk bottle.

I visit Hofwyl-Broadfield several times a year. I’m drawn to the oaks, the house, the simple life Miss Ophelia and Miss Miriam lived, with no telly, no Internet, no cell phones, no fax machines. Theirs was a life when real people came to visit and letters and cards written in longhand arrived in the mailbox. Their world was the Altamaha River and Darien and Brunswick. Their entertainment was watching the marsh between their front yard and the river – the rising and setting of the sun, the beautiful storms, and the profuse wildlife. Their home was tall hallways, open windows, fresh air, and heirloom furnishings.

I think what is most overwhelming to me is seeing her car in the garage, exactly as she left it in 1973. It’s one thing to see her possessions inside the house – her chairs and drapes and pretty things – but it’s entirely different to see her blue car in her garage right where she always parked it. It makes her real, somehow, more so than I imagined.

I am so grateful to the National Park Service staff that cares for Miss Ophelia’s home and belongings, with limited resources and doing the best they can in these days of shoestring budgets and relentless cuts.

And I am grateful to Miss Ophelia, for her foresight and her generosity in allowing us a peek into her life and her times, and the things that were most valuable to her. I hope she knows that through her gifts, she is still teaching and shaping me even long after she and I ever had the chance to meet.