Courtesy Georgia Conservation Safari Park
“Checking in?” a voice asks from the call box at Georgia Safari Conservation Park’s Jurassic Park–like gate. We drive down a winding gravel road along high-fenced pasture, and a childlike sense of wonder creeps in. Minutes after setting our bags down in a two-bedroom luxury safari tent, it has all three of us in its grip. A vast savanna unfurls outside the sliding glass door. Is the sky really this blue all the time?
An ostrich watches as we pull the plush outdoor sofa toward the edge of the deck for a better view. The red dirt peeking through the grass is the only reminder of our actual geographic location, 60 miles east of Atlanta in Madison. We kick back with a charcuterie plate and gaze into the distance. A zebra! Our 10-year-old, Avery, leaps around the expansive deck, and the ostrich—now accompanied by three six-foot-tall friends—tilts her head. A pair of big-horned watusi cattle comes closer. We ooh and aah and snap photos as they gently lick their babies’ foreheads.
The next day we learn the inner workings of this 530-acre refuge, home to 42 species from five continents. J.T. Cline, one of the experienced animal care staff, points them out and dispenses facts as we ride through five distinct habitats in an open-air safari vehicle. (Georgia Safari Conservation Park differs from typical drive-through animal parks in that tours are guided and limited. There’s no tossing kibble out your car windows.)
A family of American bison rests in the shade of a grove. Southern white rhino brothers wallow in their mud pit. Zebra sisters Daisy and Dahlia stand regally as if sensing our admiration of their hypnotic stripes. We pass three species of grazing antelope (the park has 14), including the critically endangered addax. Providing safe haven for endangered animals is part of the mission. “You can’t save a species you don’t know exists,” Cline says.
The park opened in June 2024 after a decade of planning. It welcomes animals slowly and carefully and encourages observation and education rather than invasive human contact. The tour ends at the giraffe barn, where two-year-old Phoenix uses his tongue to pull leaves from a bouquet of hanging branches. Animal care staffer Marie Brackenbury extends a handful to Avery, who gleefully offers it to Phoenix. (He accepts.) Next door in the rhino barn, a trio of caretakers decorates the walls with Dr. Seuss–style drawings to celebrate World Rhino Day. One has etched the start of a line from The Lorax: “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot . . .”. The folks around here know the rest: “ . . . nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”
This article appears in the Spring 2025 issue of Southbound.
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