Towne Lake, Meet Woodstock

When I moved here to Towne Lake over a decade ago, I was glad to see that Atlanta had created this wonderful little bedroom community just to make it easy for Atlantans to get a good night sleep before driving back to the city each morning. They carved it out of virgin wilderness where nothing had previously been, they gave it the name Woodstock for some reason, they made a nice, long interstate for us and even gave us a Publix.

But a funny thing happened recently. I missed my turn onto 575 and had to go under that bridge. You know the one. 

Lo and behold, I found a road there. Out of curiosity, I followed it, thinking perhaps Atlanta had built some kind of shortcut to 400. But no, and this is the strange part.

Good readers, you will never guess what I found. It was a town! A tiny, sleepy, quaint little town! There were shops and restaurants and spas. I talked to the residents. You might not believe this, but they were under the impression that they were citizens of Woodstock, even though it was way outside Towne Lake. I questioned them further on this new development. It turns out many of them claim to have lived here long before Towne Lake existed.

Before Towne Lake? But why? How? I thought before Towne Lake there was nothing but trees and bears and coyotes.

Shaking my head in wonder, I explored this small village. Juanita at showed me actual pictures of the town from the elder days, from the long-ago time.

At this point, many of you are probably scoffing in disbelief, and muttering, “Bah. Such rubbage.”

But I intend to find out more about this new revelation. So far, I have explored the and found it tasty. I have explored the various antique shops and found them “ghosty” and filled with the past. I have explored and found it trendy, but just for women, so I slunk away. I also explored and found it colorful and filled with odors from my youth.

I mentioned this little adventure to my neighbors, but was met with jeers and laughter.  They informed me that they have driven their golf carts from one end of the golf course to the other and have never come across any such little town.

“Woodstock is a myth,” they say. “Town LAKE is where I’d rah-thah stay.”

But no matter. In my search for truth, I and my faithful guide, Bwana, will explore deep into the wilds of Woodstock, from whence I will send back what information I can safely gather.

-The Lost Towne Laker