From time to time, I dwell on the works of Faulkner. And when I do, my mind turns—inevitably—to my college years in Dahlonega. I remember halcyon days of lounging on a bench outside the historic brick courthouse, The Sound and the Fury or The Collected Stories open in my lap, as I let the morning settle around me. The dew still clung to the grass, yet a soft sheen of sweat gathered on my arms and neck. I called it atmospheric then and was fanciful enough to mean it.
With a Southern Pecan coffee from the Picnic Café in hand, I tried to outrun the silence of an empty campus. I settled into the town’s center, hoping proximity to life might feel like participation in it. But as I lost myself in Faulkner’s isolates, reprobates, misfits, and reluctant heroes, I began to see the truth: even in the heart of a small town, belonging was never guaranteed.
Carving a Foothold
However, some people build belonging instead of waiting for it to arrive on a nickel-plated dinner tray. Tracey Smith, owner of The Yellow Daisy Bed and Breakfast, understands that true belonging begins with service to others. She welcomes guests with the warmth of Emily Post, then serves a breakfast that could win a nod of approval from Ree Drummond.
With every scone served and floor swept, she grounds the 1915 home in daily acts of care. In those quiet rituals, she anchors herself not only as its proprietor but as a steward of its story—a story that mirrors Dahlonega itself: steeped in history, shaped by change.
When she first stepped into the house, Smith felt the weight of that story. The previous owner had reached a turning point, caring for a husband in declining health. The house needed someone new to carry it forward. Smith, newly an empty-nester, stepped in with quiet purpose.
She recognized the moment for what it was: a passing of the torch, a home waiting for its next chapter. She brought the Yellow Daisy into the modern era with eclectic, cozy touches—repainting rooms, revitalizing interiors, and curating a revolving collection of local art. As a longtime designer, she honored the home’s history while layering her own story into its walls.
A Curated Pastiche of American Memory
The Yellow Daisy delivers a visual narrative that evokes nostalgia and novelty, layering rustic Americana with globally inspired sophistication. Each room echoes a different chapter in the design anthology of the 20th and early 21st centuries.
In the Eucalyptus Suite, twin beds dressed in nubby woven linens rest beneath a striking wall of handwoven baskets—a minimalist Scandinavian gesture tempered by the warmth of West African craft. Beyond the bedroom, The Buffalo Loft emerges in moody, cinematic detail. Though it connects to the Blue Skies Suite, it asserts its own character: saturated tones, a Tiffany-style lamp casting an amber hush, and velvet-draped furnishings arranged against bold, storybook wallpaper. The room nods to the Arts and Crafts movement, refracted through the whimsical lens of Wes Anderson’s understated eccentricity.
The Morning Glory and Lavender rooms lean into cottagecore romanticism, with quilted bedspreads in sage and indigo, wooden dollhouse furniture, and shiplap reminiscent of a Nancy Meyers film.
Original hardwoods, antique armoires, and pressed botanical prints add lived-in warmth throughout. Occasional nods to Shaker simplicity—tactile linens, ironstone pitchers, and wood-paneled walls—evoke a 1920s Appalachian homestead reimagined through a Serena & Lily lens. Even the dining room tells a story, anchored by a rustic farmhouse table surrounded by carved high-back chairs atop a Persian rug that would please both Ralph Lauren and the editors of Cabana.
This is not just a bed and breakfast; it is a curated pastiche of American memory and Southern hospitality—wrapped in fresh eucalyptus and soft lamplight.
The Exterior
The Yellow Daisy Bed & Breakfast sits with the quiet confidence of a genteel matron. Its buttercream paint and crisp white trim echo the cheerful sweetness of its name. The Edwardian farmhouse greets visitors with a deep wraparound porch draped in potted plants and American flags. Rocking chairs and wicker seating invite guests to stay awhile and bring a book. The landscaping is deliberate but never showy—beds of flowers and neatly trimmed hedges soften the walkway, while mature maples provide shade and color.
Out back, the yard unfurls like a yawn—broad and unhurried—into a gentle green slope bordered by quiet woods and a scatter of Adirondack chairs, each one angled toward the hush of the trees. A small outdoor stage stands ready for gatherings and performances, while a firepit area suggests the festivities often stretch into twilight.
The Cuisine
At the Yellow Daisy, breakfast arrives with the ceremony of a visiting diplomat. Plates emerge layered with thick slices of French toast under a dark, glossy berry compote. Alongside sit peppery sausage patties, crisp bacon, and golden potato hash—each element cooked with the care of a home kitchen and plated with the eye of a Venetian hair stylist.
Other mornings bring spinach frittatas, cinnamon-laced pastries, or biscuits soaked in sausage gravy, served with fruit and pitchers of ice water brightened with lemon and mint.
The table settings define the atmosphere. Hosts layer charger plates in etched porcelain, green majolica, or dark enamel atop quilted placemats. Linen napkins sit folded beside hammered flatware, blue hobnail glassware catching the morning light.
Centerpieces change with the seasons: wildflowers in spring, pine boughs in winter—always styled with eclecticism. Brass candlesticks, ceramic birds, and fresh herbs give the long dining tables the look of still life in use—romantic, yes, but never precious. Here, breakfast doesn’t just start the day. It anchors it.
Tracey Smith and Sarah Clarke
Tracey Smith welcomes guests the way a magnolia tree welcomes spring—gracefully, naturally, and without fuss. Her handshake is confident, her smile genuine. Even after a near mishap—caused by a computer charger I had left trailing across the floor—she doesn’t flinch.
No raised eyebrow, no sigh, just an easy laugh and a gentle pivot. Generosity, in her case, is not a performance but a reflex. It extends to others—including Sarah Clarke, founder of Dahlonega Belly Dance and host of the Beauty of Belly Dance retreat.
As the two women talk through the event’s details, it becomes clear that Tracey offers not just her space, but her wholehearted support. Every time Clarke mentions a potential hiccup, Smith meets it with a sincere offer to help.
Clarke, for her part, brings the vibrant energy of an artist and the grounded vision of a community leader. Known locally as the spirited founder of Dahlonega Belly Dance and a leader in the Dahlonega Arts Alliance, she is orchestrating her second annual retreat—a weekend of movement, connection, and artistic expression.
This year, the Yellow Daisy serves as its stage. Just a short walk from downtown, the retreat features instruction from three of North Georgia’s most dynamic belly dancers, catered meals from Roundabout Deli, artisan cocktails, and self-care offerings including massages, reiki, and tarot readings.
More than a weekend getaway, the retreat offers a warm gathering of women—seasoned dancers, curious newcomers, and everyone in between. Both Clarke and Smith—performer and designer—share a mission: to elevate the arts and nurture creativity in Dahlonega.
The retreat is one of many events held at the Yellow Daisy. In addition to weekends of dance, the home has hosted Bible luncheons, weddings, rehearsal dinners, baby showers, wreath-making classes, and even a good old-fashioned hoedown.
Conclusion
“I feel like it’s a home away from home. We really take care of them,” Tracey Smith says, and it’s not just a sentiment—it’s a lived ethic. A constellation of five-star reviews on Yelp and TripAdvisor attests to that care. Soon, even more travelers will take note as the Yellow Daisy is featured on Staycation Sports, streaming via Pluto and Apple TV.
Faulkner once wrote, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” Sitting on that old bench as a college student, I didn’t yet understand what that meant. I searched for kinship in novels, for presence in proximity. But the Yellow Daisy reveals a quieter truth: belonging doesn’t come from a place alone. It comes from the graciousness offered at a well-set table, a porch that invites you in, and a host who ensures you’re not just visiting—but settling in.
Carly McCurry is the publisher of The Cute North Georgian magazine. Her work appears on NowHabersham.com in partnership with Now Network News.
