Driving onto the grounds of Satolah Creek Farm is like being caught in a unique moment of time – a pre-digital age where the narrow road to the destination is paved and shadowed by trees. Cows and donkeys graze nearby, and I spot more buildings than I expected; all are rustic, yet inviting. One has wide porches, while another features the decorative wood trimmings reminiscent of an old barn. A large farmhouse stands in the distance, surrounded by smaller structures. Everything is separated by sprawling, grass-covered fields and bordered by rough-hewn wooden fencing.
Looking around, I recall what I have read about the history of the farm, located on the other side of Highlands, just south of Macon County in Rabun County, Georgia. It began in 1905 as a working farm and was acquired in 1988 by Ron and Pippa Seichrist. When I meet Pippa, she fills me in on their story.
“I grew up in Florida, and after graduating from Rollins College I enrolled at the Portfolio Center in Atlanta to study design. The day after graduation, Ron, my professor and the school’s founder, tossed me a folded note. It read, ‘Since I can’t flunk you, will you marry me?’ I was stunned. I had never thought of Ron that way. Later that day, as I was leaving, I found him waiting by the front door. Before I could speak, he said, ‘I meant what I wrote.’ My heart stopped. I managed to say, ‘Can we have lunch first?’ He laughed and said, ‘Yes, we can.’
“Over lunch, he explained that he had kept his feelings to himself, not wanting to disrupt the student-teacher relationship. But since I was moving away, he had to take the chance. It took 127 asks, but eventually, I said yes.”
Pippa said yes, knowing they were meant to build an extraordinary and unexpected life together. And they did. They started a design school in Miami, which eventually expanded to 15 locations worldwide. But on weekends, they turned their attention to the farm they had purchased outside of Highlands, restoring its original structures — the farmhouse, the root cellar, the smokehouse. Over time, they added more: a barn, a pottery studio where Pippa creates “dog face jugs” that have become favorites among collectors, and a woodworking shop where Ron fabricates furniture and signage for the property.
Their daughter, Olya, was adopted from Ukraine. When she was 6 years old and had learned enough English, she told them she had two brothers. The Seichrists quickly found her middle brother, who had been adopted by a family in Spain. It took five years to locate and adopt her older brother.
The children spent much of their childhood on the farm, so it was no surprise that when Olya decided to get married, there was only one place that felt right — Satolah Creek, which is the name the couple chose for their farm because of the Cherokee-named creek on their property.
By then, her parents had sold their business after a 30-year run and retired to the farm. But to host the wedding, the property needed updates — most significantly, the old stable had to be converted into a guest house and event space. It became their most ambitious project yet, resulting in what is now the Carriage House.
Creating a venue
Pippa undertook the transformation during COVID, working without an architect or designer and relying instead on the skills and sensibilities she and Ron had honed over decades of creative work. The floors, made from reclaimed wood, had holes from age and wear. Instead of replacing the boards, Pippa filled the gaps with walnut halves, creating small heart-shaped details scattered throughout. Ron built the dining table and the beds. Pippa crafted chairs, including one from wood that has been squeezed by honeysuckle vines.
Every object in the Carriage House has a story. On the bedroom mantel sit small wooden ducks, carved and gifted by a Brazilian advertising mogul. Above the master bed hang painted eggs, sent from Ukraine by the biological mother of their adopted children, each one carrying a different meaning. The choices in the house were not made for decoration; they were made with purpose, each piece holding a personal connection to the Seichrists’ lives.
The family wedding was the first held at Satolah Creek Farm, but it would not be the last. Soon after, other individuals began asking about hosting their own weddings there. By the end of 2024, eight couples had exchanged vows on the property. This year, at least 20 more will do the same. The farm was never intended to be a wedding venue, and that is precisely what makes it so appealing. It does not feel staged or built to fit industry trends. It feels lived-in and personal, because it is.
The property spans 45 acres of forests, pastures, and gardens. Miniature Highland cows, a Clydesdale horse, and donkeys roam the fields. June, Pippa says, is the most beautiful month, when the gardens and wildflowers are in full bloom. But Satolah Creek Farm is more than just a backdrop. It is a place layered with history.
The root cellar, once used for food storage, has been transformed into a museum. The lower level preserves the lives of the original owners, showing how they lived off the land. The upper level traces the farm’s evolution, including its Cherokee roots and its transformation under the Seichrists. Nearby, the Farm Gallery showcases folk art depicting animals native to the region, each piece accompanied by Cherokee stories and historical notes.
For those staying on the property, the experience extends beyond a one-day event. The Carriage House, with its handcrafted details, serves as a retreat for wedding parties. The Blackberry House, a three-story cabin in the woods, accommodates up to 14 guests, making it ideal for family gatherings and multi-day celebrations. Visitors can take pottery lessons with Pippa, whose work is sold in galleries, or they can work with Ron in the woodworking shop to carve custom walking sticks.
There is also fishing in the stocked pond, trails leading to waterfalls, and even a playhouse originally built for Olya that is now open to visiting children.
The Seichrists never set out to create a wedding business. They are not event planners or venue operators. They are designers, builders, and artists — people who have spent their lives shaping spaces with their own hands. That philosophy extends beyond their work and into their family.
What began as a working farm became a private retreat. What began as a private retreat became a place where people now gather to celebrate.
Satolah Creek Farm was not created for weddings, but it has become a place where people want to be married. Not because it was designed that way, but because it was not.