They built me with intention. With sunlight in mind. With the hush of trees & the hum of the farm as my constant companions. I rose from this land slowly, deliberately, in a place where nature still leads and people follow gently. They call it Pendergrast Farm—Atlanta’s quiet revolution in sustainable living—and I was shaped to be its heart.
I stand here, wrapped in modern farmhouse grace, looking out across the organic farm and the Common Green, my double front porches open like arms ready to welcome. I watch the seasons shift in real time. Tomatoes reddening in the heat. Herbs brushing fragrant against the breeze. Children racing down the green, neighbors trading stories, the farm team harvesting baskets of color that will soon arrive at the doorsteps of the families who call this sanctuary home.
This is no ordinary neighborhood. Only twenty of us stand together, rooted around the farm like a small forest of homes, each crafted to honor the land rather than replace it. Behind me, protected woods rise and fall in soft waves. Trails twist under cathedral canopies. A stream murmurs its endless song. I hear it all—the footfalls of early-morning walkers, the laughter drifting from the saltwater lap pool, the quiet exhale of someone finding peace on their screened porch.
Connection is our language here. At the Common House, I watch neighbors gather: clinking glasses in the kitchen after a cooking class, unrolling yoga mats at sunrise, lingering long after book club ends because no one wants the night to be over. Downstairs, sawdust drifts through the Maker’s Space from someone building a bookshelf, while another paints sunlight into a canvas. Creativity grows as surely as the vegetables outside.
Inside me, there is calm. Ten-foot ceilings breathe upward. White oak floors move warm beneath bare feet. Light finds its way into every corner—soft in the morning, golden by late afternoon. My disappearing glass wall opens wide to the farm, dissolving the boundary between inside and out. When the breeze moves through, I feel like I inhale the whole landscape.
My kitchen is where life gathers—custom cabinetry steady and quiet, a Thermador range ready for feast-making, a vent hood with strength hidden behind beauty and a pantry large enough to keep the rhythm of daily life humming. Nearby, a built-in wet bar waits for laughter, for shared bottles, for evenings that run long and spill onto the porch. I hold space for work too: an office nook tucked just out of the way.
Upstairs, I shelter rest. My primary suite is a sanctuary, vaulted ceiling stretching skyward. The screened balcony holds morning coffee and slow conversations. In the bath, the double-headed shower washes away the weight of the day, and the deep tub invites stillness.
I have room for more stories, too. Below, my terrace level opens to the world through its own private entry and courtyard—a haven for someone who needs independence, for guests who stay awhile, or for the possibility of a future rental. However people come, I am ready for them.
I was built to honor the future. Solar-ready. EV-ready. Foam-insulated from the ground up. Crafted not just for comfort, but conscience. They made me to last—not just as a structure, but as a promise.
And though I live tucked just off Briarcliff, in the quiet between Emory, Decatur & Atlanta’s endless rhythm, I am something rarer: an intown retreat with a countryside soul. Standing here, rooted in green space and community, I hold serenity that surprises those who find me.
My builder has finished their work. They’ve polished every detail, every board, every beam. They’re ready to let me go. They’ve even whispered that they’ve lowered my price—one last invitation for someone to step into my story.
Now, I wait. Porch doors open. Lights warm. Foundations steady. For the right person who will walk inside and feel it instantly—that this isn’t just a house.
This is a way of living. And I’m ready to embrace them.