The Miller-Green Lodge was established in 2015 on this beautiful land that has been in our family for more than 70 years. We take pride in providing a one-of-a-kind experience for our guests, and invite you and your family to stay at our luxury vacation home for an unforgettable experience.
Pecan Island is a unique environment that offers unlimited adventure with opportunities to get in touch with nature and wildlife that the whole family can enjoy. You can take part in fishing, hunting, birdwatching, boat tours, and Jeep or ATV excursions, and so much more!
Below are some special comments from our previous guests that have stayed with us over the years. They made lasting memories at Miller-Green Lodge, and we hope that you will, too.
The sky is deep purple. It’s my first morning at the lodge. The light in the East is slowly gathering its strength. This is my time of day. It’s been such as long as I can remember. My ritual is to grab a coffee and head outside no matter where I find myself. This is when I reflect, consider, count blessings, plan and decide whatever needs to be decided in my life. It’s time without interruption, a tranquil time– no phone, no television, no computer, no voices except what nature provides and that ephemeral voice that speaks to me from within.
I sit on the east deck of the lodge, check the sky which is still darkening the expanse of marsh, and listen to the cacophony of frogs, their chorus broken by the distant howl of coyotes and what I imagine is the grunt of rummaging hogs. Shining my Q-Beam, I catch the sparkling glint of eyes at the upper level of the cattails– deer for sure at that level. Lower down, other glinting comes from what I imagine must be a coon. My, my! That inner voice is speaking to me. It says, “Be happy you’re alive to see this. Today I may show you something you’ve never seen before, something wonderful.” Indeed it did.
Miller-Green is a dreamscape of flat stretch, all brown, gold and green hues, fields of water lilies, marsh water colored blue if you view it from a distance and black close up. Driving the jeep down the dikes and roads, wildlife scatters– marsh chickens racing on bandy legs, nutria easy to disappearance, deer bolting up from the shade of canes and what I figure are interspersed Hackberry Trees. The deer seem to move more from being inconvenienced by my presence rather than fear. They run and hop along in front of the jeep for quite aways until deciding they’ve had enough and take sharp turns into the marsh. Even then, they pause and stare, as if asking me who I am.
I feel as if I’ve wandered into a different version of a Jurassic Park. Countless species seem to offer friendliness, yet there is the looming presence of more alligators than I can count. Joey Hebert– call him my “orchestra conductor” –accompanies me on my second ride, pointing out the alligator nests where some very big mommas slither up from the murk and give us a challenge. This is definitely time to remain in the jeep.
Clouds begin gathering and roiling on the far horizon and the scent of ozone spices a rising wind. With the wind, the floating turf undulates. The canes sweep back and forth like a fan held in a woman’s hand. Joey says, “Maybe we want to head back. She’s coming in.” Lightening flashes from afar and distant thunder rumbles like caissons. We aren’t too far from the bay boat moored near White Lake, and I’m not about to head back. There’s too much too see, and I’m greedy to see it all.
The distant storm appears locked in place. We motor through a snaking trennaise narrowed by hydrilla. The hydrilla, green and lush, strikes me as some exotic food to be chopped and diced to sweeten an oriental dish. White Lake, so called, strikes me as somewhat humorous. Surely, someone was pulling a leg when naming it White Lake, because it’s the color of milkshake, or better yet, a childhood medicine. Ahead of us are Joey’s crab traps and trot lines which we pull and bait. Then, we fly across a glass surface to the nearest gas platform. Pelicans are parked there. They don’t much care for the interruption. Off they go, landing on the water not far away in skid and slide.
Before long, I’m back in the lodge. The sun’s climbed a quarter of the way to its zenith. I want to make a few notes, but my mind’s buzzing like the clouds of dragonflies I saw everywhere. Sitting on the west deck, a patter of rain begins sprinkling the water by the deck below. “Marian’s deck,” Joey tells me. The wind rises and in minutes the rain comes down in fish-colored sheets. Then it stops. The clouds roll away, removing the mask on the sun, and the sun beats down, creating a steam bath.
Yes, I rise and hear that inner voice every morning. It calls. It announces I might see something wonderful today. Today, it was true to its word. Why does it call? The better question is why I must answer.
I’ve known men who had heart, some big and some small. I’ve seen big hearts in small men and small hearts in big men. Joey Hebert’s heart outsizes his body. He gave me a good look at Miller-Green through his eyes, and his eyes are sharp. He taught without me realizing he was teaching. He looked up, not down, and he looked wide like a wide-angled lens and slowly brought the focus close. Quentin said, “Bring him a case of Coor’s Light,” which I did. He made rather short work of it with my able assistance.
I know one thing for sure: if I’m ever in a street fight (and I don’t plan on being in one at my age), I would surely like Joey next to me. He’s a loveable, human wrecking ball. We had a high time sipping and telling jokes. Words fly from his mouth like bursts of a machine gun. His bushy “cowboy” mustache and swagger were a throwback to guys in my infantry squad decades ago.
Joey made it clear there was nothing too much to ask. He said he’d be right next door, leave us alone and to simply call if we wanted anything. If we needed anything, he’d get it. How about this, I said? We’ll play around and you play around with us if you have the time. One more thing, we’re pretty good cooks, so how about you have dinner with us? He said, thanks, but Shelley, my fiancee is coming by, and so is Bugas Dugas, friend and fishing guide. We have plenty, I said. Bring them.
That evening we met Shelley and Bugas Dugas. All ate with us. I absolutely love the outdoors, food, a good Martini and some occasional tobacco. I came well-stocked. My mother taught me that you feed the ones you care about. When you get right down to it, the kind of feeding she talked about involved more than food. So it went with Joey. Joey became our friend.
Before my journey to Miller-Green, Marian mentioned a book at the lodge which recounts family history, beginning with Eugene and Angeline Sturlease, her dad’s parents. What a treasure! They say a picture is worth a thousand words and here was history depicted. What struck me immediately is how much Marian resembles her mother, Edna. Her father with the lamb draped over his shoulder was something out of a movie. Looking at the book and being in the place where Dr. Miller rode his horse and ran cattle gave everything much illumination. I saw his rawboned toughness. I wished I could have met those in the pictures and felt so blessed having met Marian and Quentin. How absolutely profound was Dr. and Mrs. Miller’s vision! Quentin with his concept for the lodge is life come full circle in that tradition.
July 1 and the boys and I are packing up. It's time to head home and get back into our normal lives. I never cared much for goodbyes. I shake Joey’s hand, thank him, and he says, “You have my number.”
"We’ll be back," I tell him, "count on it."
I’ve said that many times to folks I met on the road of life. Sometimes, the promise was kept. I start up my pickup and down the road we go to the gate on Hwy. 82. I’m driving very slowly, still recording in my mind. I’m making sure I never leave.