When Karma came to the Biltmore Mansion
In 2018, while at my sister’s wedding in Florida, I was making small talk with an old friend of mine. I mentioned, “Well, in a couple of days we’ll be making the 3,000‑mile‑ish drive home. Do you have any suggestions for new things to do on the way?”
His eyes opened a little wider and he replied, “You have to see the Biltmore Mansion. A buddy of mine took the tour and wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
For me, I had only heard the Biltmore name during the two or three seconds I was paying attention in history class. So I said, “Do tell.” After getting the basics, I did some research and thought, heck yeah, and worked it into our route home.
When we entered Asheville, we checked into the Motel 6 and stayed the night before going to the mansion. The next morning, we entered the main gate of the 8,000‑acre estate — and still had about three miles to drive before even reaching the main parking area.
I jumped out of the car to get the details of the tour and figure out a plan for how my mom and I could make it work with both dogs: a German Shepherd named Karma and a part–Great Pyrenees named Albert Einstein. I learned the cost of the tour was $80 a piece, no dogs allowed, but we could walk the dogs around the grounds and gardens.
Mom said, “You should go and take pictures of the tour, and I’ll stay with the dogs and see a slideshow of what you took later.” So I thanked her for babysitting and headed off to experience and document how the “other half” lived.
In my excitement, I hopped on the tour bus that drives visitors up to the mansion door. The bus driver said, “Everybody, look at this gal in the Beatles T‑shirt and how happy she is to be here.” I then noticed the giant grin on my face, and giggled.
At the door, I was handed an audio device that played information about each room. From there, I marched with the other ants through the stunning libraries, bedrooms, dining room, and into the servants’ quarters, as well as the pool and bowling alley.
After the tour, I jumped back in the car and gave Mom a short synopsis of the experience. Then we took the dogs for a walk through the grounds and gardens. Before leaving, I said, “Can I get a picture of each of the dogs in front of the mansion?” Mom replied, “Of course — I’ll hold the other one.”
As soon as I finished, an older gentleman walked up and asked, “Is there a way you could take our picture?” I said, “Sure,” looking at the couple standing there. “Turns out I’m a photographer.”
He said, “Great,” then motioned to ten or so people standing off in the distance to come over and get ready for the picture. I said, “Whoa.” It turned out to be a senior citizens’ group visiting the mansion.
I steadied my hand under the pressure of getting the perfect shot and snapped a few with his phone. “Okay, how’s this?” I asked. He showed the picture to the group. Next thing I knew, five hands reached out with their phones, wanting me to take another with theirs. I knew I had their approval. They all laughed, and he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll text it to them.” Then he thanked me.
Mom and I walked back, loaded the dogs into the car, and took our time driving the five miles to the East Gate — and then we were on our way.