A Dream of the Mountains
Regardless, Dad believed deeply in the goodness of simple, honest folk, and quietly disdained the high life his parents enjoyed. He spent over thirty years working for Coca-Cola, marketing “sugar water” to the masses—and when he retired in 1996, they looked north for a place to settle.
Lake Arrowhead: The First Attempt
Years earlier, in 1974, Mom and Dad had purchased property at a new man-made lake in the mountains of North Georgia. Lake Arrowhead was still in early development just outside the tiny town of Waleska. They bought a lot on the smaller of the two lakes, hoping to one day build a cabin there. That dream never came to fruition. With six kids in private school and a paycheck that didn’t quite keep up, they were forced to sell the lot sometime in the 1980s.
Alpharetta and Windward
When retirement finally came, they once again looked for property—but this time, Mom put her foot down. She decided that friends and church came first. So, they moved only as far as Alpharetta and built a beautiful home in Windward.
It turned out to be a disaster. The house was too far from Mom’s community of friends—many of whom lived in Decatur, Tucker, Social Circle, or Loganville. None of them were up 400. Nearby churches weren’t the right fit either. And although the neighbors they met were lovely, the neighborhood itself felt cold and empty. Most everyone was working full-time and raising kids, their lives on a tight loop of commutes and after-school activities. No one ever seemed to be just out for a walk. The place felt like a ghost town.
After a few years, they packed up and moved again—this time to a smaller neighborhood in Duluth, carefully chosen to be closer to friends and church.
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Dad’s restored Brumby Rocker—finally where it belongs
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The unassuming Brumby Chair Company storefront in Marietta
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Paul Wellington with my chair in the Brumby workshop
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Several antique chairs being refurbished—white chairs date to 1879
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All Brumby's get stamped with this on the arm: “Made by Brumby Chair Co – Marietta GA
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Dad’s chair in its weathered state, prior to restoration
A Chair With Meaning
So how does this all tie into the Brumby Rocking Chair?
When Dad retired from Coca-Cola, Mom drove over to the square in Marietta and bought this chair as a retirement gift. She imagined him sitting on the back deck, grandkids in his lap, reading Dr. Seuss. (He and the grandkids loved Dr. Seuss.) Their Windward home had a long-distance view with hills far off in the distance. Dad, rocking in that chair with a glass of iced tea in hand, could imagine himself in the mountains he’d always dreamed of.
The Years in Duluth
After they moved to Duluth, the backyard became more of a private tree-lined oasis—but it lacked the mountain illusion Dad had always cherished.
It was during this time that I moved in for a couple of years, when Dad became ill. I remember one evening vividly—not long before his scheduled surgery—as he sat alone in the rocking chair, slowly moving back and forth… just staring out at the trees.
Slowly rocking.
Pondering, no doubt, the big questions.
When he finally came inside, he looked at me—really looked at me.
He knew I’d been through some hard years, and that things were turning around. Alyson and I were finding our way back to each other, and I could tell that meant the world to him. His expression was one of quiet pride, maybe even relief.
“Life is short, David. Take care of yourself. No matter what happens with Alyson—and I hope it works out, because I think it just might—make sure you take care of you, first and foremost. For yourself, and for your kids.”
He paused. I knew not to say anything.
“And… no matter what happens… promise me that you’ll take care of your mother.”
“I will,” I stammered.
His Final Days
Dad’s surgery was long and tedious, but successful. Sadly, he passed away just a couple weeks later from a brain aneurysm. He likely never knew what happened.
And with that, the chair was forgotten. It sat on the back deck for years—
alone, weathered, and grieving in its own way.
Deprived of his steady presence, it began its own slow decline—sun, rain, and time conspiring to strip away its finish, loosen its joints, and dull the warmth it once carried. The proud Brumby, once a fixture of our family’s rhythm, now simply endured—day after day, season after season—hoping for a reason to matter again.
Life After Loss
Alyson and I eventually remarried. We bought that house from Mom, and she lived with us for seven years until her peaceful passing at home.
When we moved to Gainesville, I brought the old Brumby Rocker with me. It was in terrible shape, but I couldn’t let it go. It was a touchstone—too important to discard. And when Alyson and I finally moved into the mountain home we had dreamed of for 36 years, the chair came with us once more.
The Restoration
As I began looking it over, preparing to restore it myself (where would I even start?), Alyson gently suggested: “Why don’t you reach out to Brumby?”
I did—and within days, Paul Wellington replied: “Absolutely. That chair was made in the 1990s, it’s seen some rough days, but we can bring it back.”
The quoted price was more than Mom originally paid, but I didn’t hesitate. A new Brumby costs more than twice that today. Five months later, Paul called with the good news.
“Your father’s chair is ready for the purpose it was always meant for—it’s going to be so happy on your back deck.”
I spent a beautiful morning at the Brumby Chair Company in Marietta, learning about its rich history—it’s the oldest continuously operating business in Georgia—and I got the sense that the Brumby family is a good one to work for.
Where It Belongs
And now, finally, Dad’s chair is where it always should have been - on the back deck of a mountain home, overlooking the Blue Ridge.
In the evenings, as the wind moves through the trees and the old Brumby gently rocks in the breeze, I can sense Dad's presence right here on the porch with us.
The view from our back deck.
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