Just Outside Gate 6

A Story of Family, Legacy, and Lemonade at Augusta National’s Edge

Just outside Gate 6, where golf fans pour into Augusta National by the thousands, sits a modest red-brick house that never budged. While the club quietly purchased property after property, reshaping entire blocks into green space and parking lots, this house held firm. It wasn’t stubbornness—it was soul.

Built in 1955, the house at 1112 Stanley Drive belonged to Herman and Elizabeth Thacker. Traditional, hard-working, and fiercely proud, they built their life—and their lawn—with the kind of intention you don’t see much anymore. They raised a family just steps from golf’s grandest stage, but they never chased the spotlight.

Others have told this story through the lens of golf—how their grandson Scott Brown played on the PGA Tour, how the house sat in defiance beside the world’s most exclusive club. But for his sister, Haley King, that house wasn’t a news story—it was home.

It’s about pine straw and toy pianos, old-school porch rules and new-school lemonade stands. It’s about a home that raised generations of strong, rooted people—and a granddaughter who still edges the yard with pride.

Now, a fourth generation plays in that same backyard, sells lemonade from that same driveway, and carries on the quiet conviction that some things aren’t for sale. This isn’t a story about golf. It’s a story about grit, grass, and a legacy that stayed put—just outside the gates.

From the outside, the house looked like any other quiet Southern home—brick, modest, unassuming. But inside, everything had rhythm and ritual. Especially the yard.

“They had a system,” Haley said. “One day they’d edge the front. Another day the back. Pine straw went out every April—without fail.”

You couldn’t walk through the house with shoes on. And you certainly couldn’t mess with the lawn. “She didn’t even like people turning around in the driveway,” Haley laughed. “She’d put out cones at the end of the week before The Masters so no one would mess up her grass.”

The Thackers didn’t travel. They didn’t entertain fanfare. They worked hard, stayed home, and lived simply—but with enormous pride.

“The yard was their life,” she told me. “My grandpa would sneak off to Lowe’s just to get away from my grandmother bossing him. But she kept everything in order. She’d earned it.”

They weren’t loud about their legacy. But they guarded it with everything they had.

The Thackers, Herman and Elizabeth, raised a daughter, Robin and a son, Lin, in that red-brick house on Stanley Drive. It became the anchor for five grandchildren and more than ten great-grandchildren—a living, breathing legacy tucked just outside the gates.

It was strict. Old-school. But it left its mark.

“They never really laughed a lot,” Haley admitted, “but when the great grandkids came along, something shifted. My grandmother would sing this silly little song at a toy piano—‘Can you read, can you write, can you smoke your daddy’s pipe?’—and she would just die laughing at herself.”

It wasn’t about goofiness. It was about tradition.

And tradition is exactly what Haley now carries forward.

These days, during Masters Week, Haley brings her own daughter, Oaklyn, to that same driveway. The cones still go out. The lawn is still protected. But now, it’s the site of a little lemonade stand that nods to the past while waving at the future.

“Oaklyn loves it,” she said. “It’s her thing now. People know to look for her.”

Because Haley is a well-known and in-demand hair stylist, Monday is the only day she steps away from the salon chair during Masters Week. So that one day—just like her grandmother’s perfectly timed lawn prep—has become its own tradition.

The stand has even earned a name: Miss Libby’s Legendary Lemonade—a nod to Elizabeth “Libby” Thacker, the woman who once guarded that yard like Augusta National guards Magnolia Lane.

Now, as patrons pass through the parking lot near 1112 Stanley Drive, Oaklyn and her mama serve them a sip of sweetness, honoring the quiet legacy of a house that never moved, and the woman who never missed tournament prep.

And while strangers sip lemonade and pass through on their way to see the pros, few realize the story behind the stand. That it’s been in the same spot for decades. That it sits beside a house that never moved.

That Oaklyn is pouring from a pitcher full of history.

The Thackers never asked to be part of Masters folklore. They didn’t seek out the headlines, or the offers, or the attention. They simply stayed.

They stayed when everyone else moved.
They stayed when the club kept calling.
They stayed because they meant it.

Herman Thacker died where he was most at home—out in the yard he’d edged, swept, and guarded for decades. Doing what he loved most. On the land he refused to give up.

You can’t script legacy more sacred than that.

And now, long after the last weed has been pulled and the last pine straw fluffed, their legacy blooms again—in the shape of a little girl with a lemonade sign and a proud grin.

She doesn’t wear a green jacket.
She doesn’t carry a club.
But Oaklyn? She carries the story.

One cup at a time.

This isn’t a story about golf.
It’s a story about staying. About raising. About rooting.
It’s about a house just outside the gates—and the family who made it holy ground.

This is just the beginning.

All week long, I’ll be sharing personal stories, behind-the-scenes moments, and beloved Augusta traditions through the lens of someone who grew up just minutes from the gates.

Here’s what’s coming:

Monday: My own Masters memories, growing up in Augusta
Tuesday: Insider quirks & Southern secrets you’ve probably never heard
Wednesday: My husband Bryan’s wildest memories from caddying at Augusta National
…and more to come.

Don’t miss a day of it.

Subscribe to get the rest of the stories delivered straight to your inbox.