Look forward to finally having time to focus on the people and experiences that matter most to you.
At Friends Homes, maintenance and other everyday chores are taken care of, leaving you free to enjoy life. Take a class through our lifelong learning program. Go for a swim at our new wellness center. Pursue your hobbies. Explore your faith. Volunteer in the community. Or enjoy a delightful meal with friends at one of our four dining venues. Our community o ers more activities and a refreshing, whole-person approach to wellness to give you more options for an active, engaging lifestyle.
And with charming studio and one-bedroom apartments, bright villa apartments, and spacious townhomes and cottages, you’ll find the right-sized space to make you feel at home.
Join us for an upcoming event to experience life at Friends Homes firsthand and learn about the limited number of apartments available. Call or visit us online to sign up for a tour today.
Three backyard buildings allow room for growth, sanctuary and entertainment
80 July Almanac By Ashley Walshe
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volume 13, no. 7
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Except for a blip of time between entering high school and graduating from college, I’ve been a dog owner for most of my life. Even during those teen years, when my parents repeatedly said no to a puppy, I bought myself a fish and named it Dog. You could say I am a dog lover, but there’s one hound who completely stole my heart.
Before we began having kids, Chris and I were happily a onedog family. We’d gotten Charlie, a beagle who preferred his own company over anyone else’s, early in our relationship. But just a few months after our nuptials, a friend informed me about a litter of “bagles” — basset beagle pups — in need of homes.
“I think Charlie needs a friend,” I tell Chris on the phone, nervously bobbing my knee. What I really mean is that I need a friend.
“He’s perfectly fine as a loner,” he replies. But he knows me better than that. So he asks, “What’s going on, Cassie?”
“Weeeeell, Cyndee told me about these basset beagle puppies that are absolutely adorable and need homes and I just thought — ”
He interrupts, “Are you at the shelter right now? You are, aren’t you?”
“Oh God, no. If I was, I’d be calling to tell you we already have a puppy,” I answer.
He pauses while my foot tap-tap-taps, and then answers. “OK, but this is your dog.”
Two days later, we bring Jake, our white-and-tan bagle, home. He darts through the door, long, velvety-soft ears flapping behind him, and greets Charlie, who sniffs a bit and then promptly ignores him.
But I’m smitten. I feel a connection on a soul level with this pooch as I gaze into his dark brown eyes, which appear to be lined in charcoal. And, as it turns out, we’re kindred spirits when it comes to chow. As I gain a whopping 40 pounds the next year while growing the first Bustamante baby, so does Jake. (In our defense, we thought bassets were just “big-boned” canines.)
At his next check-up, the vet, shocked by his 75-pound weight, puts him on a diet. Knowing how much he loves to eat, I decide
to implement a more rigorous exercise routine and cut back his food a little less than recommended.
And so begins our love affair with long, early-morning walks together. Through the marshlands of Louisiana, by the rivers near Annapolis, Maryland, and up-and-down countryside hills of western Maryland, we walk. For 13 years, we walk, adding two more dogs — Catcher and Snowball — to our little crew.
We walk until arthritis takes over Jake’s spine and he can no longer join me and the other two pups, until the vet tells me that I need to let him go. “He loves you so much that he will stay with you, in pain, as long as you allow it,” she tells me.
On his last day by my side, I walk him to the bus stop to retrieve the kids. We take it as slowly and as cautiously as we need to, taking breaks every now and then. But we need one last walk together, no matter how short.
Back at home, we all stroke his ears, nuzzle his pitch-black nose and tell him how loved he is. And we say good-bye. Almost two years later, I say good-bye again as we prepare to leave the house where Jake and Charlie are both buried in the backyard, for the greener pastures of North Carolina.
These days, I still walk with my dogs in the quiet stillness of the morning and, while I miss Jake, his spirit is never far. In fact, many mornings, Catcher will incessantly turn around as if he senses someone behind us. When I look, no one’s there. But if I listen carefully on windy mornings, I can hear the breeze flapping Jake’s ears. OH
I learned that the last Sears department store in North Carolina, which happens to be right here in Greensboro’s Friendly Center, was closing. Out of simple curiosity, and a dose of nostalgia, I went to pay my respects.
Truthfully, I hadn’t set foot in our local shopping center’s Sears since purchasing a new Craftsman lawnmower there more than five years ago. Happy to report, it’s been a fine mower.
Before that, my last visit to Sears was probably as a kid in the mid-1960s when, fueled by the firm’s famous “Wish Book” Christmas catalog, every kid I knew haunted the toy department at the downtown Sears retail store during the run-up weeks to the holiday. My first bicycle came from Sears, and was later parked outside the store the year my buddy Brad and I innocently drifted from the toy department into the adjacent lingerie department to stare in wonder at the display mannequins in all their undergarmented glory. As she escorted us to the exit doors, the unamused clerk with the pointy-blue eyeglasses refused to believe we were simply looking for presents for our moms.
That iconic downtown store, in any case, is now a giant hole in the ground, awaiting construction of a swanky office building as time, life and commerce march resolutely on.
Let’s pause and have a moment of fond reflection for — as Smithsonian recently described it — “The retail giant that taught America how to shop.”
Sears began modestly in 1887 when a former railway lumber salesman named Richard Sears moved to Chicago to partner with an Indiana watchmaker named Alvah Roebuck to launch a catalog selling jewelry and watches. Both men were still in their 20s. Six years later, they incorporated as Sears, Roebuck and Company, putting out a 500-page catalog that sold everything an American farmer or thrift-conscious housewife could ask for at a “fair price,” shipped directly to the customer.
In a nation where most Americans still resided on farms or in
small towns, this marketing model exploded like a prairie fire, fueling the growth of urban factories. Even Henry Ford was said to have studied the Sears marketing model for making and selling his cars. The company’s first stock certificates were sold in 1906. “If you picked up a big enough chunk of stock when the company went public,” writes Investopedia, “you’d never have to work again.”
The first Sears retail store opened in Chicago in 1925. Four years later, on the eve of the Great Depression, the company was operating 300 stores around the country. By the mid-1950s, the number topped 700. By then, the corporation’s reliable Kenmore appliances, lifetime-guaranteed Craftsman tools, DieHard auto batteries and Allstate Insurance were beloved household names in America’s ballooning mass consumer culture. The stores followed the consumer’s migration from Main Street to shopping centers and, eventually, suburban malls.
Perhaps the company’s most enduring product line was introduced in 1908 when a Sears executive named Frank Kushel came up with the idea of kit houses sold through a specialty catalog called “The Book of Modern Homes and Building Plans,” offering 44 styles of mail-order homes ranging in price from $360 to $2,890. Generally shipped by rail, house packages provided everything down to screws and nails, including pre-cut and numbered framing lumber, flooring, doorknobs, wiring and plumbing.
Between 1908 and 1947, an estimated 75,000 Sears kit houses — from Bungalow to English Cottage, Craftsman to Queen Anne — were shipped to Americans. Old House Journal notes that unknown Frank Kushel’s Modern Home Program wielded as much impact on the development of American architecture as famous contemporary Frank Lloyd Wright.
Sears boasted that its houses were built to last, explaining why thousands of them remain highly prized, lovingly restored jewels in older neighborhoods across America, relics of a bygone golden consumer age.
By the 1970s, the firm owned the tallest skyscraper in the world in Chicago, was among the first to introduce home internet services, and jumped into the real estate, credit card and
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financial services businesses.
Perhaps it was too much for the gods of commerce to tolerate. Critics pointed to the company’s legal affrays over sex and race discrimination and a business model fueled by corporate hubris.
In 1993, just shy of its 100th anniversary, Sears discontinued its famous catalog. Walmart was now the nation’s leading retailer, and Americans were suddenly buying things “online.” One year later, a former hedge fund guru named Jeff Bezos started up an online book service called Amazon, pretty much putting the finishing nail in the coffin of the historic brand. After 75 years on Wall Street, Home Depot took Sears’ place on the Dow Industrials. As the company’s sales steadily spiraled downward, a forced marriage with K-Mart in 2004 failed to stem the hemorrhage.
In January 2017, shortly before I purchased my Craftsman mower, the iconic tool brand was sold off to Stanley Black & Decker.
Less than a year later, in October 2018, Sears filed for bankruptcy.
Last December, the company emerged from bankruptcy but announced the liquidation and closing of all its remaining stores. According to reports, less than a dozen made it to this spring. Only one in North Carolina.
Which is why, out of some strange, old fashioned sense of brand loyalty or happy memories of lawn mowers and provocative lingerie mannequins, I felt a final farewell trip was in order.
Bright yellow “Going Out of Business” banners festooned the building. I wandered through looking at the remaining stock items. Fifty-percent bargains were everywhere. I looked at Kenmore refrigerators, top-line Samsung dishwashers and GE Elite ovens, all half-price.
I decided on a lightweight Craftsman toolbox to remember the place by, a steal at $27.
On my way out, I paused to chat with a clerk, Janice, who has worked for Sears for more than two decades. “It makes me really sad to think that Sears is going away for good,” she said. “Like millions of Americans, everything in my house as a young married woman came from Sears. I guess nothing lasts forever, does it?”
She surprised me with a sudden, feisty grin. “You know, I think if we’d only stuck with catalogs, by golly, we’d have beaten Amazon and still be going strong!”
I loved her company spirit. I wished her well.
Then I went home to mow my lawn.
Whenever the math of this world doesn’t quite add up — when the sad subtractions outnumber the hopeful additions, or vice versa — I find temporary comfort by mowing my lawn. Crazy, I know. But it briefly puts things in perspective.
Besides, my Craftsman mower never lets me down. OH
Jim Dodson is the founding editor of O.Henry
Cameron Aydlett joined Triad Financial Advisors in 2001 as a paraplanner after initially starting her career in education. As the top female financial advisor in the Greensboro community, she is meticulous in her efforts to always serve as a fiduciary for her clients and as an excellent mentor to her peers. CEO of TFA Patrick Rush says, “Cameron’s concern for the overall team and the health of the firm in general have always been very genuine. She’s incredibly loyal, honest and humble, while also being a very empathic listener. Cameron has all the qualities that make a great financial advisor, and she’s the epitome of a team player.”
Cameron does also have a softer side when she speaks of her daughter Brittany, her four grandchildren and, of course, her passion for Arabian horses. And let’s not forget about her favorite partner-in-crime, T-Dub!
The Dog Days of summer are upon us, but don’t sweat it. We’ve got some ideas to help you keep your chill.
1. Enjoy breakfast al fresco before the temperature peaks. Our choice: driveway-fried eggs with hot sauce. Those little black specks? Seasoning.
2. Looking for some old school fun? Forget rollerblades. It’s all about fan blades this year. Sit in front of an old-fashioned floor fan and talk directly into it and listen to the magic happen. Even AI sounds more human than you!
3. Go skinny-dipping. Don’t have a pool? Your neighbors won’t mind, especially if they’re not home.
4. Tackle that summer reading list. We suggest something hot and steamy. You know, just like the weather.
5. Finally, email that friend from middle school who signed your yearbook with “Stay cool” to let them know you did, in fact, do just that.
"A spirited forum of Gate City food, drink, history, art, events, rumors and eccentrics worthy of our famous namesake"
Walk past my friend Evan’s house, where the lawns are all but manicured, and you’ll likely do a double take. Beneath the dappled shadows of majestic oaks, his yard is decidedly unkempt, almost wild, but with something clearly intentional going on. Over there, punctuating what most people see as weeds — including joe pye weed, a rainbow of other wildflowers and dandelions — an endangered Schweinitz’s sunflower (purchased, not plucked) is thriving. And, look, there’s a plum tree — and figs ripe for picking nearby, flanked by blueberries, blackberries and elderberries. My friend’s a permaculturist, going on his sixth year of transforming his yard into something akin to a small botanical garden. Like more than 3 million people in 140 countries, Evan is managing his land in a supportable, nondestructive manner, in order (according to him and the Encyclopedia Britannica) to mimic patterns found in surrounding natural ecosystems while reducing waste, preventing pollution, protecting wildlife and improving the land’s biodiversity. “If something doesn’t flourish, maybe it’s telling me it doesn’t want to grow under the conditions in my yard,” he tells me. Among his nonstarters are miner’s lettuce, pine nut seeds, ramps, borage and garlic from seeds. “I’m trying to figure out what this natural system wants to do that can also benefit us, without changing the way that the system works.” Although it may look like it’s
Surrounded by washtubs brimming over with boiled eggs, this crew of five Cone Mills workers preparing for the 1915 annual Fourth of July company picnic might just be wondering whether attendees really want that much egg salad. May we suggest an epic game of egg toss?
a no-sweat proposition, Evan has toted — quite literally — tons of mulch to create meandering pathways around his yard. Building berms from fallen logs and plant debris, he’s created “hugelkultur” mounds, the organic equivalent of raised beds. He spends hours in his vegetable garden, but, if something languishes, he just plucks it up and replaces it with something that flourishes. “Permaculture can take the fear of failure and shame out of gardening,” he says. “Experiment and learn. Make sure it’s fun. And remember, nature is messy.” Which sounds to me like a pretty good maxim for navigating the rest of the world.
— David Claude Bailey
“I was born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia,” writes Gadisse Lee, who got her B.F.A. from UNCG in 2022. “At 6 years old, I lost my birth mother and brother, and one year later my father died of tuberculosis. My sister and I were sent to an orphanage, and eventually adopted and flown to North Carolina. Through my photographs, I grapple with ideas of loss, isolation, displacement, loneliness and survival.” Lee’s photos will be featured at GreenHill beginning July 22 in Living in the Ordinary World, a retrospective covering the work of photographer John Rosenthal over the last 40 years. Lee’s photos are among those of 10 photographers whose work Rosenthal, a Chapel Hillbased photographer and essayist, chose to have showcased along with his own work. Rosenthal’s photos will include early black-and-white images of New York City, his renowned series on Hurricane Katrina and more recent color photographs of coastal landscapes. Of Lee’s work, GreenHill Curator Edie Carpenter says simply, “Gadisse Lee is an incredibly talented young photographer,” but her work speaks for itself. Info: greenhillnc.org
(June 21 – July 22)
Your capacity to experience the gamut of human emotions is extraordinary. And yet, while you’re busy making an Olympic sport out of mood swings, those who love you are left floundering. This month, prepare to stick a landing that will dazzle even your most grounded of companions. Use this sober moment to communicate your heart’s desires. Because here’s the gold: Your high lifts up the world.
Leo (July 23 – August 22)
Try not to pick at the scab.
Virgo (August 23 – September 22)
Step one: Relax your shoulders. Step two: Seriously?
Shoulders first.
Libra (September 23 – October 22)
May as well enjoy the ride.
Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)
Cut yourself some slack.
Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)
The sign couldn’t be more obvious.
Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)
The heart always knows.
Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)
You’re in the clouds again.
Pisces (February 19 – March 20)
But is it your monkey? Your circus?
Aries (March 21 – April 19)
Just because it’s uncomfortable doesn’t mean it isn’t good for you.
Taurus (April 20 – May 20)
Cleanup on aisle life.
Gemini (May 21 – June 20)
You’ll hear what you want to hear. OH
Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla.
We will have door prizes and each store will have their own Prize basket. A grand prize basket full of all kinds of yarn, books, gift certificates, etc. will represent the 9 shops.
“Do you know what this is?” the woman asks, holding up a pot of frosted, wilted foliage.
“Dusty miller,” I say.
“Does it have a flower?”
“No, but it’s pretty as an accent plant. It kinda shines a light on the plants around it.”
She studies the plant tag for a moment, puts the pot back on the discount rack in the big box garden center and moves on in search of more color.
Right behind her, a young couple with a shopping cart full of fading dusty miller — and minds full of landscaping plans — swoop in to snag the passed-over pot.
A few steps away, another couple, acting as a two-person bucket brigade, shuttles droopy half-price hostas from the top shelf into their buggy.
“I like your garden clogs,” another shopper tells Hosta Mama.
“Oh, thank you,” the woman says mid-handoff, looking down at her feet to remind herself of what she put on this morning: orange-red clogs made from foamy plastic.
“Are they Crocs?” her admirer asks (newsflash: Crocs are back).
“No, but they’re the most comfortable things I’ve ever worn,”
says Hosta Mama, invoking the name of another discount mecca. “Seven dollars at Gabe’s.”
“Whaaaaat?” says her questioner. “Where’s Gabe’s?”
“Off Wendover,” interjects Hosta Papa.
“Go get you some,” says Hosta Mama.
For the plants and the patter — two of my favorite things — this is where I like to hang out: in the botanical “emergency room,” where garden centers large and small dispatch plants with one root in the grave.
Deathbed daisies.
Forlorn ferns.
Crispy caladiums.
Puny petunias with thready pulses.
It’s not just the low prices that draw me to the way-back, where bar codes have been slashed with Sharpies. Though I’d be lying through my lilies if I said that didn’t matter.
Inflation has hit gardeners hard. A packet of seeds can run $3 easy. Starter plants — whether destined for plate or patio — are dear, too.
Tally the costs from seed to shelf: planting materials, labor, electricity, water, fertilizer, transportation, to say nothing of the front-end display and maintenance by folks who drag around those infernal watering hoses, the equivalent of speed bumps to
those of us who like to drive our carts at a frisky clip.
Ca-chunk, Ca-chunk, @&#%$.
Anyway, that’s how you arrive at $10 or $20 or more for a two-and-a-half quarts of bountiful blooms and fulsome foliage, all of which nourish the eyes and soul, but dang. Multiply that times a border or two if you want to understand why my price-point peeps and I hang out in the ER where we can lop off 20, 30, 40 or 50 percent — even more when the dog days pant their humid breath in our faces.
Last week, I snagged a few plants near the entrance of a garden center, only to find the exact same specimens — a few days older and worse for wear — on the discount racks for much less.
Bazinga. Adrenaline hit.
So there’s that. But that’s just a part of it. The other aspect is community, a feeling of kinship among the compost crowd that touches more than the pocketbook.
It has to do with promise, potential, imagination and hope.
Does a plant contain enough green in its leaves, enough spring in its shoots, enough buds on its stems, to bounce back with a little love and a lot of Miracle-Gro?
Can you envision what it could be?
Do you know how to get it there?
Often, the people who frequent plant-based ERs are good at this kind of triage. My mom, a seasoned greenie who turned me on to this niche sport, taught me how to suss out survivors by looking, touching and, yes, sometimes by talking to the patients.
“Whaddya think?” I whispered as I caressed a scorched fern just a few weeks ago. “Can we do this?”
I saw and felt the answer in the limegreen curls close to the plant’s center. But even if the answer is yes — as the fern affirmed — that doesn’t mean you can be stupid about it.
You have to offer the right place. The right soil. The right light. The right moisture. The right season. The plant will tell you if you’re on target.
As legendary Greensboro garden designer Chip Callaway once told me: “There’s a difference between thriving and surviving.”
He was talking about plants, though he could have been talking about people, too.
Another Chipism: “Don’t be afraid to fail.”
Translation: Good gardeners lose a ton of green — in all senses of the word — on the way to becoming good.
Over the years, I’ve lost more floundering flora than I’ve saved, though my efforts are bearing more fruit these days.
The most humbling thing? I’ve had nothing to do with a lot of the saves.
More times than I can count, distressed perennials have saved themselves — eventually — even if they appeared, to my eye, to perish.
I’m thinking of one particular tea olive, a flowering evergreen shrub, that was in critical condition when I lugged it home along with some sickly companions last fall. I stuck them in a favorable spot. The mates caught on. But the outlier flatlined.
I was certain of it, pronouncing the bare branches DOA this spring.
I marked the corpse for the shovel, to be pried out and cast on the fire pit of good intentions.
Then other priorities sprung up, and the shrub fell off my radar.
Finally, I got around to it. I dragged a shovel to the gravesite to exhume the body, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but clusters of vivid green leaves sprouting near the base.
Well, snap my peas.
Add one more condition to the list of gardening must-haves: the right amount of patience.
I granted the straggler another year. It won’t be pretty for a while.
Except in the hothouse of my mind. OH
Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry. Email her at ohenrymaria@gmail.com.
Jim Bunn is grateful for all the fun, friendship, and purposeful living he enjoys at Arbor Acres. “There’s something here for everybody—concerts, lectures, movies, croquet, volunteering, fine dining. You name it.” Jim enjoys walking around the beautiful community, visiting with friends, then tending the beauty in his back yard, where he’s planted about 20 rose bushes. “This place nurtures you, at the same time it inspires you to nurture and to help others.”
a friend that a work of art you love is worthy of his or her attention can be disheartening.
You: “See the inner darkness and the outer brightness of the painting, how the sense of circumambient air drifts evenly through the scene?”
Friend: “How much is that thing worth anyway?”
Our unabashed enthusiasm is too often dashed by indifference. Or, worse yet, by that Antiques Roadshow inclination to ignore anything other than a painting’s monetary value.
Given our confusion as to exactly what art is and what it means, it’s little wonder we tend to reject uninvited suggestions as to what we should like or dislike. That’s the challenge facing art critic Laura Cumming in Thunderclap: A Memoir of Art and Life & Sudden Death. Since childhood, she has been enamored of A View of Delft, With a Musical Instrument Seller’s Stall, by Dutch artist Carel Fabritius (1622-1654). Now she wants us to love it, too.
Cumming has been the art critic for The Observer and was a senior editor of the New Statesman magazine, both British publications. Her book The Vanishing Velazques was a New York Times bestseller. In her latest offering, she writes with keen insight and obvious affection for the Dutch masters — Rembrandt, Vermeer, Avercamp, Ruisdael, De Hooch, etc. — but the focus of her memoir is on the less celebrated Fabritius, known for having painted The Goldfinch, The Sentry, as well as A View of Delft. Fabritius is considered a minor Dutch master, primarily because so little of his work survives, but Cumming maintains that he’s no less accomplished than Vermeer and Rembrandt, and that he’s deserving of greater recognition. Unfortunately, precious little is known about Fabritius’ life, and it’s assumed that most of his paintings have not survived. We do, however, know about his death.
The “Thunderclap” in Cumming’s title alludes to an explosion near a convent in the city of Delft, where 80,000 pounds of stored gunpowder exploded on Monday, October 12, 1654. The detonation injured a thousand, destroyed hundreds of wooden homes and left a hundred people dead, including Fabritius, his apprentice and the subject of the portrait he was painting at the time. Fortunately, his best-known painting, The Goldfinch, was rescued from the rubble.
Although Fabritius was a student of Rembrandt, he’s seldom mentioned by his contemporaries, and documentation concerning his personal life is sparse. His wife and child died early, and, like most Dutch painters, Fabritius was deeply in debt. His isolation is reflected in The Goldfinch, his lesser-known The Sentry and two brooding self-portraits, which are little enough upon which to base a lengthy aesthetic exposition. “I go round and round this tiny tale,” Cumming writes, “this life circling out from the village of Middenbeemster, ringed with mystery. It is a man’s whole life. Yet I can get no more of him, except perhaps through his art. He is like a suicide who takes his secrets away with him.”
The “memoir” element of Thunderclap focuses on Cumming’s father, James Cumming (1922-1991), a painter of “semi-figurative art.” Cumming admired her father’s artistic dedication, but his inclusion in the narrative seems mildly intrusive when explicating the likes of the Dutch masters. Certainly, his influence is felt in the love Cumming has for art, but the connection to her narrative is tenuous at best.
But Cumming recalls with pleasure the art she discovered growing up in Scotland, and the magnificence of the paintings she observed on a childhood visit to the Netherlands. The bulk of her beautifully written text is devoted to explicating the art produced by those Dutch masters, and the book offers colorful images of the paintings she explicates.
Americans, for all our lack of aesthetic depth, are nonethe -
less capable of appreciating how art relates to our everyday lives. Grant Wood’s American Gothic, for example, is an immensely popular masterpiece that illustrates through the subtle use of symbolism most of our aspirations and contradictions — the individual vs. collective wisdom, religion, the American Dream, the virtues of hard work, the relationship between the sexes, upward social mobility, etc. — and the subtle social criticism in Childe Hassam’s Washington Arch in Spring is apparent to any careful observer. Ethnocentric tendencies aside, it’s possible to discern much about the cultural history of a foreign country by studying its art. This is where Cumming’s insights are essential.
Her description of De Hooch’s The Courtyard of a House in Delft is representative of her work: “. . . the brickwork lying in its separate courses, the paint exactly imitating mortar; the dusty blue of the weeds and ivy, the clear light of the street; then the wonderful set of rhyming shapes — the scarlet shutter on one side, its wooden counterpart on the other; the oval window in the stonework and its glass twin in the hallway, the recession of
arch inside arch inside arch that takes the eye right through the corridor and out in the street of Delft.”
Reading Cumming’s meticulous descriptions opens the reader’s perception of the accompanying paintings. Her precise prose takes readers on an excursion through the Rijksmuseum and the Golden Age of Dutch Art. It’s a tour worth every ounce of effort. No book, especially a book on art, is for everyone. But Thunderclap comes close. Keep an open mind. And if you’re not interested in art, you can take solace in the fact that the masterpieces Cumming presents are priceless, deserving of a jubilant Antiques Roadshow “Wow!” with the turn of every page.
Thunderclap: A Memoir of Art and Life & Sudden Death will be in bookstores in mid-July. If you find it enthralling, you might also enjoy Donna Tartt’s 2014 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Goldfinch. OH
Stephen E. Smith’s latest book, Beguiled by the Frailties of Those Who Precede Us, is available from Kelsay Books, Amazon and The Country Bookshop.
By late August, the Hydrangea paniculata in Blowing Rock reach their peak. These white, cone-shaped beauties — along with their ball-shaped relatives (Hydrangea macrophylla) — are abundant in neighborhoods and gardens throughout town. (A fan of North Carolina native plants, I’ve landscaped our place with Hydrangea quercifolia.)
Greensboro textile magnate Moses Cone and his wife, Bertha, were serious conservationists who played a major role in this visual delight.
In 1900, the Cones began to plant a variety of native and nonnative plants on the grounds of Flat Top Manor — their 3,400acre estate overlooking the town of Blowing Rock.
According to the National Park Service, among the shrubs and trees the Cones planted were “PeeGee” hydrangeas (Hydrangea paniculata “Grandiflora”, or PG), imported from Japan — popular with
American landscapers in the 19th century.
Some of the Cones’ original hydrangeas can be seen on the southern side of Bass Lake, one of the water features of the estate, now Moses H. Cone Memorial Park.
For the blossoms of these century-old shrubs, we can thank the Blue Ridge Parkway Foundation and volunteer Bob Stout — now chairman of BRPF.
Moving from Charlotte to the mountains after his retirement from a 40-year career in food service, Stout says, “I needed something to do.”
And do he did.
Working with the National Park Service as a volunteer under the direction of now-retired NPS interpreter ranger Chuck Robertson, Stout and other volunteers — like my Blowing Rock friend, Greensboro native Eric Miller — began to clear the Bass Lake hydrangeas of the wild shrubs and pines that had overgrown them.
The clearing process was followed by careful pruning of the hydrangeas and, later, soil improvement.
If you’re planning a fall foliage trip to the mountains, you might want to add an earlier excursion to your calendar.Image courtesy of the Dorothy Stephenson Norris Collection, Digital Watauga Project
“I’ve personally counted some 460 of the original PeeGee hydrangeas,” Stout proudly adds.
But you can find hydrangeas all around the Blowing Rock area.
Susan Sweet has lived with her husband, David, in Greystone — a neighborhood outside Blowing Rock that overlooks the eastern continental divide — for the past 16 years. There are many hydrangeas in Greystone, but Sweet, a past president of the Blowing Rock Garden Club, insists she doesn’t know anything about growing them.
“I just sit back and enjoy the show,” Sweet says.
And she always takes note of a PeeGee in a neighbor’s yard.
“It’s always so full of blooms,” Sweet says. “Some are as big as a good-sized water pitcher!”
While she may claim ignorance about cultivating hydrangeas, Sweet knows plenty about preserving them.
For years, she harvested hydrangea blossoms for the Blowing Rock Women’s Club. Members collected hydrangeas late in the season to create dried arrangements, selling them at Blowing Rock’s “Art in the Park” events to raise money for local students’ college scholarships.
“You have to cut the blossoms at just the right time,” Sweet explains, “when they’ve turned pink, but haven’t started to turn brown.” She and fellow volunteers gathered hydrangeas in bunches of about five, hanging them upside down under shelter.
“You want stems at least two feet long,” she adds. “The blos-
soms dry out in about a week and hold their color beautifully.” The dried arrangements will last for an entire winter.
Sweet’s fellow women’s club member, my mountain neighbor, Jane Meyers, remembers another tradition, the “Hydrangea Ball” at the Blowing Rock Country Club. Meyers moved to town with her late husband, Mark, from Coral Gables, Florida, in the late ’80s.
Meyers tells me when she attended her first hydrangea ball in 1994, she and her husband realized that “these people really know how to party!”
Mandy Poplin, director of membership, marketing and communications at BRCC, says the hydrangea ball was always “the last big, formal party of the summer.”
BRCC member Valerie Purcell is a physician who lives in Blowing Rock’s historic Robert O. Colt III house with her husband, Peter, also a doctor. She tells me that the ball, a black-tie event, was “very, very successful for many years.”
Poplin adds that the party is now called the “President’s Ball.”
“We still incorporate hydrangeas into the ball decorations,” Poplin continues. “When those blooms start showing tinges of pink, we know winter’s coming.”
So don’t you miss the tradition of Blowing Rock’s hydrangeas this season. They never disappoint. OH
Ross Howell Jr. is a contributing writer to O.Henry magazine. Please send your garden or history ideas to ross.howell1@gmail.com.
I used to think that all produce was the same. But when it’s grown on local farms or even in your own backyard with a lot of love and care, you definitely can taste the difference.
When I was growing up, I didn’t particularly care for tomatoes. My mom would make BLTs and she had to watch me peeling them off the sandwich. They say your taste buds change every seven years. I’m not sure how true that is, but as I get older, I’m learning to love what my mother knew was one of nature’s sweetest, yet savory fruits. Sure, eat them raw, but roasting them, as in a tomato tart with Gruyère cheese, brings out their sweet, robust
flavor. Either way, you can’t lose.
When it comes to summer meals, I want something light and refreshing. This crispy tart checks those boxes, with basil adding a sweet, peppery note. And the addition of three kinds of cheese — buttery Gruyère, cream and Swiss — helps balance the sweet and sour of the tomatoes. I’m all about having the perfect combinations of textures and flavors when it’s time to eat. After all, a winning recipe is all about balance. And, please, adapt it to your own taste with your choice of cheese and herbs. Trust your intuition and go with what the heart wants when you’re in the kitchen.
There’s no right or wrong way to do anything when it comes to cooking. My only rules? Don’t overthink and have fun. I hope this recipe will be something you can enjoy creating — and eating! — in your kitchen this summer.
1 puff pastry sheet
1 egg, beaten
3 ounces cream cheese, brick style, softened
1/3 cup shredded Gruyère cheese
1/3 cup shredded Swiss cheese
3/4 teaspoon dried basil or 1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil
2-3 medium tomatoes, sliced
Grated parmesan and basil for serving
2 tablespoons fresh basil for serving
2 tablespoons grated parmesan for serving
Salt and pepper to taste
1. Preheat oven to 400°F. Place the puff pastry on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Cut into six pieces. Use a sharp knife to score the edges of each piece of the puff pastry leaving about an inch all the way around.
2. Brush the border of each piece of puff pastry with the egg wash.
3. In a small bowl, combine the cream cheese, gruyère cheese, Swiss cheese and dried basil. Add salt to taste.
4. Spread the cream cheese mixture onto each piece of puff pastry, using about a tablespoon per piece.
5. Slice the tomatoes about a quarter of an inch thick. Place them on a plate or surface of your choice lined with paper towels. Salt the tomatoes. This will draw the moisture out of them and intensify the flavor. Let them sit for six to seven minutes.
6. Layer the tomatoes onto each piece of puff pastry. Season with pepper. Bake for 20–25 minutes or until the edges of the puff pastry are golden brown.
7. Top with fresh basil and parmesan if desired. OH
Jasmine Comer is the creator of Lively Meals, a food blog where she shares delicious, everyday recipes. You can find her on Instagram @livelymeals.
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How do I know this?
Because no less than Corey Rzucidlo of the Federal Air Marshal Service messaged me. Via LinkedIn.
“Your background is impressive,” he writes, “and I encourage you to learn more about the Federal Air Marshal (FAM) role. No law enforcement experience is required. We provide excellent federal benefits, extensive training and extraordinary opportunities for growth.”
Corey’s message was welcome news, the Balm of Gilead, at a time of professional insecurities.
The fact that the Feds want to enlist me follows on the heels of a bank meeting where my advisor, John, reviewed IRAs, SEPs and other “instruments” I’ve, um, underfunded. The graph of my investments plunged lower than a Kardashian’s neckline.
“You mean, you write as a full-time job?” John asked pointedly.
I practiced effective silence.
John recalibrated. “I mean, how cool is that?”
He probably didn’t mean cool
But back to the new U.S. Marshal opportunity.
Finally, someone noticed the toolkit we writers uniquely possess. Wondering which quality tipped the scales, I conducted a thorough self-analysis. “Self,” I asked, “what did a Federal Air Marshal recruiter see in you that compelled him to reach out?”
Was it punning? Or cunning?
Had he read my take-off on Grace and Frankie? Or did Mama Buys a Horse get flagged during transportation searches?
Whatever had attracted it, there was Corey’s unmistakable interest. Other qualifications were self-evident:
True, I’ve flown on airplanes. Hither and yon. Excepting the Poles, South America, the Middle East, Asia and Russia.
True, I make scrupulous note of fellow passengers and assess each as they board, with special focus upon footwear and accessories.
It is also true: A writer’s imagination could help anticipate thorny in-flight situations. Plus, having heard confidences during
countless interviews, discretion is my middle name.
While Air Marshals might possibly be given pause by a recruit of my physical size — rather petite — and demographic, think of the cover it affords!
Why, middle-aged women are practically invisible! Agents of chaos and such would never be suspicious of me.
Should push come to shove, I could probably be tucked into an overhead bin.
But I also know when to shut down nonsense. As for recent incidents when passengers punched flight attendants? Not on my watch, I assure you! Or, say, a passenger attempts to wrench open the emergency door? No way, Jose!
Another strength: admission of failures.
On 9/10/2001, I absentmindedly packed a vintage cake knife into my carryon — en route to a South African wedding.
It is also true that I accidentally returned from London with a forgotten apple in my pocket. The darling beagle tracking me upon my stateside arrival was not friendly simply because he recognized a dog lover when he saw one. Nope, he simply smelled a smuggler with furtive fruit.
Surely, such oversights shouldn’t be dealbreakers.
Applicants to the Federal Air Marshal Service must be a U.S. citizen or nationalized. Check. You must have a favorable background investigation. Check. A polygraph exam must be completed in Washington, D.C., or Atlantic City in New Jersey, of all places.
Wait. Are polygraph experts in Washington and Atlantic City uniquely qualified to detect liars and cheaters?
Also, Federal Air Marshals must demonstrate “defensive tactics and physical control techniques.”
My husband is happy to be a reference.
Selective Service registration is required. Whaaa? Seems the age minimum is 21 and maximum 40.
But there are exceptions! Current or prior service in law enforcement is one.
Surely, my dedicated Community Watch service counts for something?
Meanwhile, I’m reading up on the art of concealment — who cares if it was about undereye darkness? — and cannot wait until John gets a load of my new opportunity.
It happens that the United States government needs writers monitoring America’s airway. We are uniquely qualified.Cynthia Adam is a contributing editor to O.Henry magazine.
By wiley CaSh photogR aphS By m alloRy CaSh
Tom Ward went to the beach to die. He and his wife, Mary, both natives of Long Island, New York, had been living in Durham for 11 years when he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, more commonly known as ALS, a disease that affects the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. Over time, people with ALS lose control of their muscles, including the muscles used to eat, speak and breathe. Most die of respiratory failure within three to five years.
“I didn’t know how long I was going to live,” Tom says one afternoon in late May while we are sitting in his living room in Wilmington, several of the gorgeous paintings he’s completed over the years hanging on the walls around us. He smiles a wry smile. “And I kept thinking, It’ll be too bad if I croak in Durham.”
“We’re beach people,” he says. “We love the beach. When we were young and dating, even after we were married, we spent a lot of time on the Long Island beaches on the South Shore and the North Shore. So when I got the diagnosis we came out to Wilmington and looked around. And that’s how we got here.”
Only 10 percent of those diagnosed with ALS live beyond a decade, and Tom can be counted among those few. His disease is mercifully slow moving, and some days he feels well enough to take a trip to the beach with Mary’s assistance to paint en plein air; Fort Fisher is a favorite spot. Other days, when his body does not feel like his own, he works from home, taking his motorized wheelchair into his studio, where he moves onto a padded chair positioned in front of his easel. Throughout his battle with ALS, and its attendant and unpredictable ups and downs, painting has
been a constant in Tom’s life. So has Mary’s support and advocacy. In 2016 Mary was named a fellow by the Elizabeth Dole Foundation, whose mission it is to empower and support the military caregivers who care for America’s ill, wounded or injured veterans. A former Marine (Is there really such a thing as a former Marine?), Tom, like other veterans, is two times more likely than a civilian to develop ALS. Mary has spent years advocating for caregivers like herself and for veterans like Tom, even authoring three books on issues from navigating veterans benefits to service dogs to her own’s family’s experiences with war after the couple’s son served in Iraq and Afghanistan.
But it’s not in her national efforts that Mary’s support for Tom is most apparent. It is more evident in the small moments of their day-to-day lives: her leaving the conversation to get him a glass of water; her gently correcting his memory or assisting him as he parses the details of one of my questions. And Tom is just as devoted to Mary as she is to him, supporting her through two graduate degrees and careers as diverse as a public school teacher and a hospital administrator. It was the latter position that
caused the couple to move from New York to Durham after she accepted a job at Duke Hospital.
But as much as their relationship is based on intangible evidence of love and support, the larger moments still loom in their shared past, perhaps none larger than the moment in 1993, after 13 years of marriage, when Tom contracted encephalitis and, after a lengthy treatment, showed signs of cognitive impairment that affected his executive functions. Suddenly, a man who’d served in the Marines and forged a career in risk management for an insurance company in Manhattan was having trouble parsing step-by-step instructions and remembering simple tasks like picking up their 9-year-old daughter and 10-year-old son from school. Tom’s symptoms forced him to retire from a busy job, and he suddenly found himself seemingly without purpose for the first time in his life.
“When our kids were growing up, I had to appear to them to be industrious in some way,” he says. “That was just my personal rule. I couldn’t sit on the couch and give into the thing and let that thing rule me, let the fatigue rule me.”
A year or so into Tom’s battle with the long-term symptoms of encephalitis, he and Mary found themselves in an art gallery not far from their home in upstate New York. Tom had always appreciated art, but he’ll be the first to admit that he didn’t know much about it.
“I thought all painting was called impressionism,” he says,
laughing. “I didn’t know there was something called classical realism or other styles of painting. I thought impressionism meant painting like someone would think all cars are Chevys without knowing about Buicks or Pontiacs or Peugeots.”
Even though Tom didn’t know much about painting, that day in the gallery he couldn’t help but be struck by the work of an artist who signed their paintings “V. Walsh.” Tom approached the gallery owner and learned that V. Walsh was a woman named Virginia. On impulse, Tom expressed an interest in studying under Walsh, and he left his phone number with the gallery owner. Within a few weeks he and Virginia Walsh were setting up their easels side by side, a master and an apprentice with zero experience.
I ask Tom what drew him to Walsh’s work, what it was about her paintings that day in the gallery that caused him to make a decision that would change his life.
“She turned a form,” he says, referring to a painter’s ability to give the illusion of depth on a flat surface. “It was a painting of a plum that had a quarter sliced out, and the slice was laying as a half-moon shape on a tabletop. It was the light striking the flesh of the plum and the color that she put there. And then you could see the interior of the plum where the slice had been removed. Her use of color was just so perfect. It just grabs the eye. That’s what made me say, ‘Wow, that’s it. I want to do that.’”
Walsh agreed to work with Tom, but their time together got off to a rocky start. It was Walsh’s practice to educate by example,
and she and Tom would regularly set up their easels and paint en plein air together for hours at a time. She was particular in the way she wanted his paints and materials organized, but to her frustration, Tom seemed unwilling to comply. Walsh ended up calling Mary in frustration to break the news that she couldn’t work with Tom because of his obstinate disposition. When Mary discovered that Tom hadn’t shared his struggles with executive function with his new mentor, she told the teacher that her pupil wasn’t being obstinate; he simply didn’t have the ability to comply without explicit, patient direction. Things went more smoothly after that, and Walsh and Tom continued to work together, painting outdoors through a number of seasons to exhibit for Tom the exquisite yet too often unnoticed changes the natural world undergoes when one truly pays attention.
Both his attention to detail and his deeply felt portrayals of the natural world are evident in Tom’s work almost 30 years after his lessons with Virginia Walsh, though sometimes his ALS makes it difficult for him to render detail as easily as he once could. Take the use of his palette knife when he works with it, rather than a brush, to apply a smooth layer of paint to the canvas.
“I’m just not getting the cut of the knife in a way that portrays what I’m seeing in my mind,” he says. “That’s ALS. The thought in my brain that tells my hand what to do either gets lost completely or is received in a garbled fashion. So my hand’s not really doing what I’m asking it to do.”
But, just as he has throughout his life, whether as a Marine or a businessman or a new painter struggling with organizing his paints and materials, Tom finds a way to adapt. And, as usual, Mary is by his side. No matter what comes next, it will happen to them together. And it will happen by the sea. OH
Wiley Cash is the Alumni Author-in-Residence at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. His new novel, When Ghosts Come Home, is available wherever books are sold.
Mama never traveled light. She traveled with intentions. Those encapsulated champagneand-caviar dreams and included sequins, suits, wraps, strappy heels, scarves, earrings, necklaces, belts, handbags, daywear, nightwear and leisure wear for God knows where.
Working at a consignment shop meant Mama apparently bought just about everything that happened to be in her size.
Travel light? Mama traveled heavy, whether visiting friends in Spartanburg or family in Switzerland. Regardless, she packed foam curlers, curling iron, enough hairspray to asphyxiate a ballroom full of people and a complete palette of makeup.
Taking Mama on a lark to L.A., something negotiated while she recovered from heart surgery, I learned a thing or two.
Never rent an economy-sized car when shuttling Mama.
Her suitcase — nicknamed “the coffin”— fit into the land yacht, her lumbering Lincoln — but was way too big to fit into the rental car I picked up at LAX.
The coffin could only fit through the rear doors when turned sideways and hefted across the rear seat. Mama patted her hair, commenting on the traffic, while I shoved her other bags and my single one into said trunk. And the West Coast traffic?
It is possible to be both sweaty and cold when terrified
Flop sweat trailed from my temples as we merged onto the freeway. Then Mama began musing about a good comb-out.
A comb-out? She had gotten her hair done the previous day. But Mama had standards, which weren’t going to slip here in the
land of “swimmin’ pools and movie stars.”
Passing a billboard, she visibly brightened, wondering about getting into a Wheel of Fortune taping.
I reminded Mama that my realm of influence was, well, nonexistent. The only two people I knew in Hollywood, Suzy Turcot and Sherwood Jones, were not lolling around swimmin’ pools. Suzy worked in lighting (on a hit sitcom and films) and Sherwood had edited the Olsen twin videos when they were kids, plus some feature films.
Barely aware of palm trees and iconic scenery, I glumly realized Mama wouldn’t be pacified with Gray Line star tours and museums. She wanted hair, makeup, action!
Prompted by her screaming “Stop,” we pulled into a Beverly Hills inn with Mama’s carry-on bag at her feet, a huge purse in her lap and the coffin filling the back seat.
Mama adored the spacious Italianate, frond-filled lobby. On a sideboard awaited freshly squeezed juice and stage-perfect fruit.
The lobby bore little semblance to our bargain-rate Lilliputian room. The coffin sprawled once it was inside, consuming the floor space. It would only fit beside my twin bed. Opened, it belched finery.
The first night I stepped right inside it while fumbling to the loo, entangled in Mama’s diaphanous garb.
She also brought court-worthy ensembles. Mama adored true crime, once accompanying me to Union, S.C., as I attempted to sniff out a story about a murdering mother. (She disarmed the lock-lipped townspeople with grandmotherly inquiries — Mama knew more about the murders than Nancy Grace.)
Which is why, on day two in L.A., donning a pantsuit, Mama mentioned Brentwood. After studiously following O.J. Simpson’s trial, Mama pointed out gory details as I clenched the steering wheel.
Mama Macabre.
Days in L.A. became a whirl of celebrity crimes and my traffic misdemeanors — when I found the police department to protest a whopping parking ticket, I pointed out it was featured in Beverly Hills Cop.
On a subsequent trip with a small entourage including my sister, our first to Vegas, we unwittingly booked a tattered hotel slated for demolition. And yet, Mama had filled the coffin with clothes suitable for Monte Carlo.
Her sparkly garb would have thrilled Raymond in Rain Man, but was overkill at the slots. If Mama noticed fellow gamblers in sweatshirts and worse, she didn’t comment.
Here I learned something new: Beware of a casino’s largesse.
Slurping down free cocktails, we shrieked with jubilation as the slot machine began screeching and flashing like a fire siren. Jackpot!
“How much did you win?” Mama gasped, adjusting her sequined top.
“I can’t count that high,” I shouted. Gawkers gawked. The machine spit coin after coin. “Forty quarters!”
I ordered another Bloody Muddy, weighing an upgrade to the Wynn with my winnings.
Ten dollars.
Regret, I realized by daybreak, thy name is stupid drunkenness.
It wasn’t even enough to buy Mama another glitzy consignment shop top.
The next day, chastened by my wanton ways, I reconnoitered and visited the Guggenheim Hermitage in the Venetian hotel. It was a “jewel box” tucked into the Venetian’s lobby, featuring works from both Russia’s State Hermitage Museum and
the Guggenheim, which was as jarring a fish-out-of-water Vegas experience one might have. It echoed with my footsteps as only one other person — a guard — was inside. It soon closed due to lack of attendance.
Imagine.
Meanwhile, Mama rejoined my sister in the casino, inspired, rather than dissuaded, by my “windfall.”
While walking along the strip back to our dumpy hotel, I noticed a wrecking ball had been indiscreetly moved into place. It seemed a metaphor straight out of a Wes Anderson flick. Then a stranger handed me a yellow flier advertising cheap flights over the Grand Canyon
I squinted in the overwhelmingly stark sunlight in amazement at this, the perfect antidote to the artifice of Vegas: A natural wonder.
On approach, the other passengers and I donned headphones playing the musical theme to Grand Canyon to fine effect. Better than the Guggenheim — a natural work in a staggering landscape.
As I stood on the precipice of this magnificent hole, my eyes welled. Meantime, back at the casino, Mama’s eyes shown with joy, too, when the one-armed bandit dispensed a bounty of coins. Enough winnings for a new pair of pantyhose.
We both won, Mama breathed out that night, dressed in a splendid cocktail frock. Her very best. OH
If you happen to look out the window and see a flash of white at your hummingbird feeder or flowers, you may not be seeing things. Late summer is when I receive at least a report or two from hosts who have glimpsed a rare palecolored hummingbird. Given the number of people who feed hummers here in North Carolina, birds in unusual plumage tend to get noticed. And given the network of bird enthusiasts I am familiar with, reports of unusual hummingbirds find their way to my phone or computer pretty quickly.
White hummingbirds include both leucistic (pale individuals) as well as true albinos (completely lacking pigment). Gray or tan hummers are more likely than full albinos. Light-colored individuals have normal, dark-colored soft parts such as dark eyes, feet and bills. Albinos, on the other hand, are very rare. These snow-white birds that sport pink eyes, feet and bills have been documented fewer than 10 times in our state. Only three have been banded and studied closely here to date.
It is not unusual for people to think they are seeing a moth rather than a hummingbird when they encounter a white individual. They do not realize that these beautiful creatures are possible. As much as we now know that they do exist, we know
very little about white hummingbirds. Opportunities to study these unique individuals are few and far between. What we do know is that they tend to appear in July or August as young of the year and do not survive into their second year. White feathers are very brittle and likely cannot withstand the stresses of rapid wing beats and long-distance migration. Another curious characteristic is that all of these eye-catching birds have been female. So it is likely that, for whatever reason, this trait is genetically sex-linked.
The first white hummer that I managed to band was a creamy bird in Taylortown a number of years ago. She was an aggressive individual that roamed the neighborhood terrorizing the other ruby-throateds. The first true albino I documented was in Apex in Wake County, and that individual was even more aggressive; chasing all of the other birds that made the mistake of entering her airspace. For me to have a chance to study a white hummer, I must get word of it quickly before the bird heads out on fall migration. I have missed more than one by less than 24 hours.
The last white hummer I had the privilege to examine close up was an albino a decade ago in Washington, N.C. A mostly white hummingbird gave me the slip in Charlotte four years ago. So, I am way overdue to band yet another. Who knows who I might encounter this season? Each one is so unique. I simply hope to at least hear about another of these tiny marvels before all of the hummingbirds in the central part of our state have headed south. OH
By Billy ingR am
“I never thought my cotton gin would change history.” – Eli
I have a shelf in my library devoted to books about growing up in and around the Gate City. That bookshelf just got a little more crowded with the recent addition of a brand new release, Cotton Mill Hillbilly, written by 90-year-old, first-time author Gerald A. Smith, a project he entered into reluctantly.
“My daughters were after me for about six months before I said I would do it,” Smith confesses. “They said, ‘We don’t know anything about your early life.’ They suggested very strongly that, if I valued my life and I wanted to keep eating, I should start writing.” It took him less than six months to complete 302 breezy pages. Raised in Siler City in the 1930s, population 1,775, not counting the livestock, Smith was “surprised it all came back to me once I started.”
Ever hear someone say, “We grew up poor but we didn’t know it?” Not in this telling. “My daddy was a drunk. You couldn’t depend on him for anything,” Smith explains. “We were really poor. We didn’t even have water in the house.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true during inclement weather. “When it rained we had buckets all over the floor. If you got up during the night you had to watch that you didn’t step in the buckets.”
As a youngster, his family had no means of transportation. So, one Saturday his older brother and father ventured out with $125 to buy an automobile. “And they came back on a Czechoslovakian made motorcycle,” Smith says. “That started my career on motorcycles.” Over his lifetime, “I’d have one right af-
ter the other and just keep upgrading,” eventually ending up with a top-of-theline Triumph.
Siler City was the only world Gerald Smith knew as a young’un. “Greensboro was like going overseas, it was so far away,” he recalls. “My dream was to work at Hadley-Peoples, one of the biggest employers in town. I grew up in their mill houses for the first 16 years of my life.” In high school he took a mechanics position for HadleyPeoples’ petticoat factory, where, some years later, he would meet his future wife, Esta. “It got so hot inside and they had no air conditioning. You could see the lint flying out the windows.” The labor was grueling, the benefits miniscule. “But you had to work somewhere,” says Smith, who earned around $40 a week at the mill. “My brother was at Western Electric in Greensboro and he was making $20 a week more than I was.”
At his sibling’s suggestion, in 1960, Smith went to work at Western Electric in the Pomona district, where “they manufactured top secret, future products. I remember a machine called a Hysteresis Loop. You put a piece of metal on the machine, it gives you a loop and you record the loop.” A couple of years later, an ad in the Greensboro Daily News for “technical minded people” at IBM caught his eye. After interviewing 125 people for one single position, IBM management told Smith they needed to meet his wife before committing.
“Esta was a housewife at the time. She’s beautiful and she knows all the etiquette and everything,” Smith recalls. “She was waiting at the door, greeted them, served refreshments and joined in the conversation. After an hour they got up and said, ‘We’ll make up our decision and let you know.’” As the two recruiters began exiting they stopped and enquired, ‘You still want the job, Gerald?’ I said, ‘More than ever.’ They said, ‘Well, you’re hired.’ They told me later they hired me because of Esta.” Settling in Greensboro — hard
Whitney
times a vanishing point in his motorbike’s rearview mirror — this country boy joined the ranks of the button-down corporate world. “I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t have any suits. I had to go in debt,” Smith says of his Mad Men-era uniform. Wherever he went, ranging out as far as Danville, Virginia, to repair IBM office products, “I had on my suit, crisp white shirt, the shoes had to be shined and you better look good.” Equipped with a proprietary set of tools tucked into a briefcase, employees at his destinations often mistook him for an executive or a doctor, so they routinely waved him through. “I’d go out to Cone Hospital and get right into the area where they kept the radium and isotopes and see all this stuff around and wonder whether this is gonna kill me or not.”
IBM instituted a robust suggestion program with a bonus of up to $50,000 for any employee who submitted a costcutting idea that was adopted by the company. “A lot of times we’d be running short of money and they’d present me with a suggestion award.” Smith won 21 of these bonuses before being promoted to field and distribution services manager, allowing him to retire in 1990 and devote more time to church activities.
Looking back, he wonders if maybe he had a bit too much time on his hands, like the time he discovered a baby bird lying on the ground after a windstorm. “This little bitty thing, he just
wandering billy
cracked open the egg when he fell and the mother wasn’t there,” Smith says. “Different people said, ‘Feed him some egg yolk.’” Using an eyedropper, “I raised him from the egg to a bird old enough to fly.” He named the bird Nod (bonus points if you get the Andy Griffith Show reference, Wink, Wink). While strolling the neighborhood, Smith tied a string on one of the birdie’s legs and attached it to his baseball cap, using that hat’s bill as a launching pad in an effort to teach the fledgling to fly.
His walks with Nod got the neighbors talking, so much so that Channel 2 dispatched Arlo Lassen to document this Birdman of Hamilton Forest for the 6 p.m. news. Before Nod flew the coop for good, he made a final electrifying appearance: “One morning a telephone guy was coming out to do some work on the lines.” Smith was on the front porch waving to the repairman when Nod flew off a wire, landing on top of his head. “That repairman said, ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before!’”
In so short a space, there’s no way to do justice to the mischief and mayhem contained in this madcap memoir. I recommend you dive into Cotton Mill Hillbilly yourself, available where books are sold and on Amazon. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if some savvy producer turns Smith’s story into a movie.
After 90 revolutions around the sun, despite his soulmate, Esta, passing away in 2010, Gerald Smith isn’t slowing down that much. “I got my driver’s license renewed a few weeks ago,” he tells me. “I thought maybe I’d have trouble taking the eye test. I really can’t see that good, so I spent a couple days memorizing eye charts.” Sure enough he passed and was even grandfathered in for a motorcycle license. He quips, “I might buy me a new Harley or something.” He’s joking, of course . . . at least I think he is. OH
Billy Ingram’s new book about Greensboro, EYE on GSO, is available wherever books are sold or pulped.
For more than 50 years, we’ve been helping our guests and their families achieve
The creek is old and its banks are steep. Its flow never stops its work of remaking. Clay like this wants to keep its form though scoured by the storm-carried silt, pitted as by earthbound lightning strikes. Water is turned by jutting granite, milky quartz, even soft sandstone, all of it red with rust going green as first the ferns unroll their fronds and vines tease the air with soft thorns the way childhood returns in old age.
A friend told me how his mother, who is now constantly looking for her home, who can’t recognize him or his sister, was happy to play ball with his toddler, with his new puppy. She tossed the ball against the brick patio wall with a spin. The dog and child ran with confused joy. Sometimes they fell over each other. His mother always caught the ball. She was the only one who seemed to know exactly where the ball would bounce.
— Paul Jones Paul Jones is a professor emeritus at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. His latest collection of poetry is called Something Wonderful.
It was a solemn promise Evan Morrison made to his grandmother on her deathbed that would lead to one of the most improbable outcomes imaginable. He’d just returned from grad school in the City of Light and was looking after her. “She asked that I stay here and make Greensboro a better place,” he recalls. Morrison had no way of knowing then that his pathway forward would result in the return of denim manufacturing to our city. Ensconced in his office atop the historic White Oak Mill, he tells me, “We’ve had so many retirees come here just pouring tears, knowing that this still is happening.”
Denim isn’t just in our jeans. It’s in Greensboro’s — and Evan Morrison’s — genes. Growing up in the Gate City, he attended Buttons and Bows day care in a converted mill house where the walls were adorned in navy and gold, the colors of Cone Mills. His mother worked at Moses Cone Hospital and an aunt was a pattern maker at Blue Bell.
What led to Greensboro becoming the denim capital of the world? The path was forged in the 1890s when two brothers with an entrepreneurial spirit moved to the city and built, first, Proximity Manufacturing Company to produce denim, and then, 15 years later, White Oak Mill, the largest denim mill in the world and the largest cotton mill in the southern United States.
Life was unimaginably rugged in the latter part of the 19th century, which found Americans in need of clothing that could hold up against the elements and rigors of farming. Recognizing that largely untapped market, Baltimore wholesale grocers Moses and Ceasar Cone relocated to Greensboro in 1895 to take advantage of that opportunity. A year later, Cone’s Proximity Cotton Mill, so named because of its adjacency to growing fields and cotton gins, began weaving denim for work clothes. Over the next decade, Cone added two more Greensboro plants, Revolution Cotton Mills and White Oak, producing flannels and denim 24/7.
In a loft above Coe Brothers Grocery on South Elm Street, Hudson Overall Company was formed in 1904. Business was so
brisk, the outfit opened a much larger denim factory a block away on South Elm and Lee Street (now Gate City Boulevard) in 1919. Renamed Blue Bell, it became the world’s largest overall manufacturer. Over time, it bought up various regional brands, including Casey Jones Overall and that company’s nascent, largely unrealized Western line, Wranglers. Blue Bell hired Ben Lichtenstein, aka Rodeo Ben, a famous tailor to professional cowboys, movie and bluegrass stars, to design what they called Blue Bell’s Wranglers brand. Introduced to the public in 1947, the name was later shortened to Wrangler.
Organized, it’s been said, by disgruntled Blue Bell employees in the 1930s, Greensboro Overall Company began operations on Carolina Street, manufacturing less expensive Blue Gem coveralls. Both companies’ products were made from Cone fabric. Blue Gem’s label with the radiant gemstone states proudly, “Made of CONE deeptone® DENIM.”
By the 1940s, Cone Mills was number one in the world for denim production, world leader for indigo consumption and world output leader in denim fabric. Levi Strauss & Co. in San Francisco was becoming increasingly dependent on Cone for its 501 line of blue jeans that had become an unlikely fashion statement almost overnight.
At White Oak during the peak years, 3,000 looms were aligned in rows down a cavernous corridor stretching outward so far that if you were positioned at the end of the line, bent down to floor level, and looked forward, the curvature of the earth would only allow you to see where the floor and ceiling converged.
Already in possession of the Lee brand, VF Corporation acquired Greensboro Overall Company and Blue Bell in the 1980s. The Blue Bell label was scuttled while the company focused on Wrangler. VF’s strategy? If their products couldn’t beat the number one jeans manufacturer, Levi’s, having both the number two and three spots would result in more combined sales. It worked and, by the time VF relocated its headquarters to Greensboro in 1998, it had become the world’s largest publicly traded apparel company.
As Evan Morrison pondered the future following his grandmother’s passing in 2013, “I knew I wanted to work in denim. That’s what our city’s known for.” At that time, there were only eight denim mills operating in America. Locally, Cone’s White Oak Mill was running full tilt with several months lead time. “Made in the USA was a major selling point then,” Morrison recalls. “I thought, ‘Well, there’s no brand in Greensboro making jeans or denim products out of cloth woven in Greensboro. So if we start a business like that, we could be the only one of our kind in the Western Hemisphere.’”
Morrison partnered with William and Tinker Clayton to create Hudson’s Hill in 2013 to market clothing and accessories made from Cone denim. Things were going well until, in 2017, Cone announced that their only active mill, White Oak, was ceasing operations, despite producing 1 million yards a year with 46 weaving looms running nonstop. With that closing, a 122-year legacy of denim manufacturing in Greensboro came to an abrupt end with no reasonable expectation that it would ever return.
“It was like, ‘Oh my God, what are we gonna do?’” Hudson’s Hill’s business model had just imploded. “I cold-called and met
with the new owner of the property, Will Dellinger, who owns JW Demolition.” Morrison posited that Cone denim’s methodology was the equivalent to Coca-Cola’s secret recipe. “This is the house that made Levi’s, Blue Bell, Lee, OshKosh and Carhartt famous — when a pair of blue jeans became iconically American. People immigrating to the U.S. have a vivid memory of their first pair of jeans. It was a symbol of a better life.”
In 2019, with an agreement in place to lease a portion of the White Oak Mill, Evan Morrison and a group of business professionals across the state formed a nonprofit called the White Oak
Legacy Foundation, or W.O.L.F. Morrison approached Cone Denim, asking if they could take possession of the remaining two looms at White Oak with a promise that somehow they’d figure out a way to put them to good use. “We drew up a deed of gift that basically says they’ll give them to us through the nonprofit.” When Cone donated those last remaining looms, Morrison points out, “Essentially, they gifted them to the city. So the people of Greensboro now own our history. W.O.L.F. is the nonprofit that cares for it.”
An abundance of Cone Mills veterans in the area possessing a
Original founders of Denim 101 Jill Amidon Strickland and Bud Strickland, shown here, helped W.O.L.F. relaunch an education program in 2021 through volunteering. The rebooted Denim 101 has become so popular that every course has a waitlist. When the couple first launched the program several decades ago while working for Cone Mills at White Oak, Bud worked in product development and Jill worked in quality assurance.
decades-long understanding of supply chains and contacts helped W.O.L.F. map out a workable business plan. “So we started renovating these looms in December of 2019 and, by March of 2020, we were ready to fire them up,” Morrison recalls of the initial run. “We wove our first couple of inches and then, of course, all the plastic parts that had dry rotted broke. So it took another month to find all those parts and rehab the machines to get them back up and running.” By May, those looms were weaving five days a week, “but they don’t weave very fast.” For Morrison, that presented a challenge. “I have an M.B.A., and an entrepreneurial spirit. So let’s figure out how to do as much as we can with what little we’ve got.” Know how to spot a true entrepreneur? “I do all the machine fixing and all of the rebuilding myself,” Morrison says.
W.O.L.F. has four defining pillars: Make, Remember, Learn and Create. Working looms represent the “Make” portion of W.O.L.F. “Remember” is being manifested as an American Denim Museum downstairs at White Oak on the heels of Morrison’s previous historical installations at various locations over the last decade. Cruise around town and you’ll spy statues of pairs of blue jeans put in place when Evan Morrison first coined the moniker, Jeansboro, now synonymous with our city.
“The ‘Learn’ side is Denim 101,” Morrison explains. “There used to be a big event here called The Denim School. Designers would come for a couple of days and learn, from bale-to-fabric-to finishing, how things actually got made.” By chance, his across-the-street neighbors, Bud and Jill Amidon Strickland, founded that program in the ’80s. “I asked them to come back on and help us. We’ve put on six sold-out programs and everybody from Gap to Levi’s, Lee, Wrangler, Cone Denim, Cotton Incorporated, with students from N.C. State, A&T, UNCG all attending.”
The “Create” aspect means staying on the cutting edge, just as Cone Mills was recognized worldwide for modernizations. “The first air-conditioned plants,” Morrison points out. “First to develop ‘S’ jeans, which is like a recovery denim that has stretch but doesn’t stretch out. First to weave denim with the new, natural indigo being grown in the United States. So many firsts.”
That spirit of innovation lives on at White Oak. The first pair of jeans in the Western Hemisphere woven on shuttle looms with hemp as a component was recently developed there. “Last year, we wove some of the first ever bio-based, plant-based indigo,” Morrison notes. “It doesn’t use any chemicals, just natural elements.”
To attain a custom shade of denim for a more distinctive look, 20,000 linear yards of yarn has to be ordered. “We can only handle about 4,000,” Morrison says. In order to act big but stay small he came up with the idea of “weft out.” In a typical pair of jeans, “the blue that goes through the loom is called the warp and it gets filled with what’s called weft.” Generally, that weft is white, creating the lighter hue you see inside your jeans. “I thought, ‘What if we just flip the fabric backwards?’ So we started Weft Out, which is our trademark, using filling yarn to create a custom color.”
Morrison unfolds a bolt of a fabric revealing an astonishing effect — vibrant hues of turquoise, gold and orange, with indigo playing a supporting role on the back side. “This is something that we sell to really high end fashion companies for $3,000 [per pair of] jeans. It does take a lot more time.”
A little closer to home than $3,000 jeans, one hopes, is the aforementioned Hudson’s Hill, where Evan Morrison began this journey ten years ago, a stylish storefront situated next door to where Hudson Overall/Blue Bell was established well over a century ago. Stocked exclusively with products made in America, with a hefty percentage produced right here in North Carolina, I liken it to shopping at the Ralph Lauren store in Beverly Hills, albeit more compact.
Inside Hudson’s Hill, hip haberdasher J.R. Hudgins points
out a line of jeans not likely found outside of New York or Los Angeles, saying, “Tellason is like an entry level gold standard for the shop right now, affordable for an America made pair of jeans.” A grouping of classically styled jackets catches my eye. “These are from a company called Mr. Freedom,” Hudgins says. “I love them because he’s a French designer who has a very Western aesthetic but with a European cut, higher cut arm holes, much trimmer body, not as boxy.” There are, of course, store-branded jeans and jackets constructed from found dead stock: “Fabric Cone Mills or another local producer stopped making and we found enough to make some pants or jackets out of it,” he explains. “Once these sell, that’s it.”
E-commerce aside, Hudson’s Hill’s local customer base is augmented by visitors here on business from larger cities and abroad. “That’s the clientele for a lot of the higher ticket items,” Hudgins says. “Yes, if our store was in Brooklyn, we’d probably be a lot more successful. But we couldn’t do things the way we do if we weren’t here in Greensboro.”
Headquartered on Green Valley Road, Cone Denim still operates factories in Mexico and China, and — as you read this — it’s relocating its headquarters to Revolution Mill. The circle of life and all that. And still innovating with Flash Finish technology and Mission Zero Waste to be more eco-efficient.
Adjacent to Evan Morrison’s workspace/studio at nearby Revolution Mill, old Cone manufacturing equipment sits on display. “I might be leaving my work at the end of the day, kind of frustrated because something's gone wrong,” he tells me, “and I’ll walk out of my office and look over and there's a granddad [crouching down] with his grandkid telling them, ‘I used to work on these machines in this building when I was a young person.’ And that's the tackling fuel, to quote The Waterboy.” OH
Those interested in Greensboro history might find Billy Ingram’s book, EYE on GSO, to be perfect summer reading. Available from bookstores and on Amazon.
Just months after the employees of the combined Proximity, White Oak and Revolution Mills celebrated their fourth annual picnic in 1908, newspapers around the country proclaimed that Moses Cone, the “Denim King,” was dead at the age of 51. However, weaving and manufacturing of denim in Greensboro was still in its infancy.
Having left no last will and testament, under North Carolina law, 50 percent of Cone’s estate would have to be surrendered to the state. His brother, Ceasar, and Moses’ wife, Bertha, negotiated with state officials to park his holdings into an account, allowing Bertha to live comfortably until her death in 1947.
Per that aforementioned agreement, that trust was then donated, along with a sizable patch of centrally located real estate, for the construction of a hospital to be named for Moses Cone. But there was one stipulation: If the Cone name ceased to be associated with the hospital, ownership would revert to Moses’ living descendants.
That’s why, no matter how many times Cone Health may be purchased, merged or rebranded, the name Cone will always be front and center.
Greensboro’s own Wrangler jeans are taking a noticeable star turn on hot TV series like Yellowstone and Stranger Things. Truth to tell, if you recognize any label or logo in the scene of a television production, it’s almost certainly paid for.
Product placements are a bit more subtle today than back in the 1980s when characters would play an entire scene in front of a Pepsi machine. Or, think back upon ET’s intergalactic hunger for a relatively unknown candy, Reese’s Pieces, considered the first mega-successful product tie-in of all time after M&Ms passed on the opportunity.
Wrangler’s first product placement campaigns started back in 1947 when their rough-and-ready denim jeans were first introduced to the public, leather labels stitched on the backsides of big name rodeo stars to reach the targeted rugged individual demographic. To a certain extent, that still holds true.
Wrangler is only one of a number of Triad companies that have been purposely inserting their products into scenes and sponsoring television programs since the medium’s earliest days. With deep pockets, Big Tobacco was one of the first industries to see the potential in television. In fact, in the 1950s and ’60s, sponsors had more control over the content of TV programs than the networks did.
Headquartered in Greensboro, P. Lorillard Tobacco Company sponsored classic shows like Ted Mack’s Original Amateur Hour, which found Old Gold’s Dancing Cigarette Pack and The Little Matchbox tap-tap-tapping across the small screen in the early1950s. Lorillard’s Newport logo was featured prominently on ’60s sensations like The Price is Right and Petticoat Junction.
R.J. Reynolds took an integrated sponsorship approach with seamless transitions as a primary advertiser on The Flintstones when that cartoon series debuted in 1960. “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should,” especially when Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble would sneak around the cave to light one up while the wives continued doing all of the chores. Camels became synonymous with The Phil Silvers Show.
Reynolds’ Kent cigarettes sponsored The Dick Van Dyke Show. Cast members happily puffed away in one minute skits while Steve McQueen stepped out of character to peddle Viceroys on Wanted: Dead or Alive. Vicks VapoRub,
Top: Stranger Things
Left: Walker
Rght: Yellowstone
manufactured (until 1985) by Greensboro-based company Richardson-Vicks, was another ubiquitous TV advertiser in the 1960s and ’70s.
In 1952, Greensboro’s Burlington Industries became the first textile manufacturer to advertise on television. By the 1960s and ’70s, its brash, bold, percussive spots became woven into the fabric of nighttime television, punctuating programs like The Waltons and The Mary Tyler Moore Show. When Burlington did its yearly opinion survey in 1975, 70 percent of those sampled recognized the brand from watching television.
So the next time you spy a pair of men’s Greensboro jeans on a Western-themed show like Walker or Outer Range, know that Wrangler is continuing a decades-long tradition of Triad firms influencing the television programs we watch in both large and small ways.
In the summer of 1974, Brenda Burgin Ross, a new graduate of UNCG, said her goodbyes to family in the North Carolina mountains before undertaking a 5,000-mile journey into sub-Saharan Africa. While many of her fellow graduates might prefer a lark abroad, she chose a life-changing experience using her new degree in Liberia, a small country no larger than Ohio.
“I was pretty sheltered,” she says. “I grew up between Marion and Old Fort, east of Asheville. I had never been out of the U.S. before.”
She mocks herself, saying she added extra vowels to words like right, light and night as riiight, liiiight and niiiight when she first arrived in Greensboro. Ross noticed other students pronounced the same words differently, in a clipped way, with a short “i” sound. “I kept my mouth shut in the beginning.”
Ross had entered UNCG as a math major, then changed to nutrition. Once armed with a degree, she signed up with the Peace Corps, requesting placement in Africa.
The gregarious, green-eyed brunette favored lowslung bell bottom jeans and clogs. She was known to her college friends as Burgin — a step toward her new identity.
In June of 1974, just shy of her 22nd birthday, Ross arrived in Monrovia, the capital city of Liberia.
Over six weeks at a Peace Corps training site, volunteers “learned some language, but mostly learned
about cultural traditions, local foods, and were given ideas and materials to use in my work as a health volunteer.” The trainees learned a smattering of the nation’s 16 different dialects, although English is the country’s official language. Ross purchased basics such as plates, cups, pots and pans, sheets, towels, and kerosene lamps. Before traveling with an official from the Ministry of Agriculture to the village of Juarzon, she stocked up on “oats, flour, sugar, tins of butter and cheese, and powdered milk”
Ross traveled light, with just a medium-sized suitcase and backpack. Other volunteers filled their
cases with toilet paper; she packed contact lens supplies, books, camera equipment and minimal clothing, leaving toiletries and nonessentials behind.
They made their way south over rutted dirt roads with dust swirling during the equatorial dry season. The perpetually hot, dry season would inevitably give way to an equally sweltering rainy season.
“They have two seasons, rainy season and dry season,” Ross learned. “You welcomed dry season, but then all you wanted was a day of rain.”
Their trip took nearly three days.
“Was I eager to have an adventure?” She nods yes. There was an underlying, personal mission, too. Ross’ sights were set upon two goals: first, forging her own identity — complicated by having an identical twin. Secondly, as a child of the Kennedy era, she wanted to use her education do something meaningful, if not noble.
She was well on her way to breaking with her twinned past when she chose the Peace Corps, a decision she had made in 1970. Meanwhile, her twin, Glenda, stayed stateside to enter nursing.
As twins, “we slept in the same bed. Our mother dressed us alike until we were 13 years old. We were called ‘Brenda/Glenda,’ or ‘the twins,’” Ross says with a grimace. “When we got into high school, we developed separate friends and interests.”
In photos, she looks like a young Ashley Judd. “I was a baby, wasn’t I?” she muses.
The Peace Corps was also still young. Founded in 1961, it was a goodwill initiative created by President John Kennedy, who visited Liberia while in office. The nation was founded in 1822 by freed American slaves as Africa’s first independent nation.
As a nutritionist, Ross would serve as an informal ambassador while helping Liberians improve their dietary standards. Ideally, this would boost Liberians’ life spans and their general quality of life.
When the ministry official left her in Juarzon and returned to Monrovia, reality set in.
“From that point, I was on my own.”
There were 35 Peace Corps volunteers placed around the country — but Ross was the only volunteer given a solo assignment. And it “had been four or five years” since a previous volunteer had been placed in Juarzon.
She moved into “a nice house with screens to keep out mosquitos and mice. I had no running water, plumbing or electricity, but [it] had a cement floor and was built of cinder blocks.”
“I wasn’t scared. Except for snakes, rats, dysentery and malaria. I was eager to see the world,” she says. Despite encountering everything she feared, she remained filled with youthful enthusiasm and seldom regretted her decision, apart from the existential loneliness. Books and magazines were hard to come by apart from trips to Monrovia.
“But I had the protection of the U.S. government,” she adds.
She has no memory of the first night in that simple hut. Then, a memorable event. Ross heard drumbeats, then the footsteps of a group of women approaching her house. They called out, insisting she come out to join them.
“Within my first few weeks there, I was called out one night to meet ‘the devil.’ Drums were playing, a bonfire was burning, and I initially thought, ‘This is going to be bad.’ Approaching the bonfire, I saw the ‘devil’ dancing. The ‘devil’ is just a spiritual figure covered in cloth, straw and with his face covered by a wooden mask.”
Ross’s adrenaline pumped. “He danced toward me, grabbing me around my waist, at which point I screamed and the villagers laughed.” Ross learned that the masked, dancing devils were purposeful. They came to the village to influence an election or to celebrate an important village elder upon his death. “I knew then that I was safe,” she says, “and that this was
the way I was being presented to the village!”
When rainy season arrived, the incessant rain falling on the rooftop didn’t disturb her — but the rats on the roof did. “But they couldn’t get into my house,” she adds.
She swiftly discovered that nutritional advice was the smallest part of her work. Villagers were far more eager to learn skills like hand sewing, knitting and crocheting. Yet Ross’ best attended lecture was when she was invited to discuss birth control.
Because Liberia is polygamous, males faced the challenges of supporting several wives, having fathered multiple children. She noticed men also gathering closer to hear her lecture.
Regardless of their feelings about polygamy, Ross and other volunteers were cautioned against imposing their personal beliefs.
Ross preferred to interact one-on-one, talking to the women as the men worked outside the home.
She never refused gifts of food as she went house to house. The village diet was largely vegetarian, although dried fish (“boni”) and canned mackerel were common. “Fish head soup was popular,” given the proximity to the coast.
Local foods included boiled cassava, palm butter, potato greens, collard greens and soups — made of okra, peanut, pumpkin, even palm oil. Limes, lemons, pineapple, papaya, pineapple, tomatoes and coconut were plentiful. Rice, a staple, was mostly imported from China.
The price of avoiding rudeness meant “I gained 30 pounds,” she says ruefully. While the locals ate from a common bowl, they would bring her a separate bowl and spoon.
Ross mastered making palm butter using a large mortar and pestle.
“They also have mortars of many different sizes, using them for crushing peanuts for peanut soup,
mashing cooked palm nuts for palm butter, or for separating the chaff from the rice kernels they grew.”
Coping with unfamiliar foods, unsafe drinking water and equatorial weather were all difficult. She sought medical help in Monrovia while suffering with dysentery and endured two bouts of malaria. Educating the villagers about boiling drinking and cooking water was an ongoing effort.
And she missed having electricity, running water and indoor toilets.
“I never got used to outhouses,” she stresses. “You had to bang on the side of the outhouse at night, because the snakes would come in seeking the cool.” She also tried to adapt to taking “bucket baths.”
Villagers called her “Missy” and later, “Jahla,” which translated to “happy girl.” No more Brenda/Glenda.
When a set of twins was born, the sole survivor was named Brenda in her honor. “I often wonder what happened to her, how she’s doing,” Ross muses.
In May of 1976, she left Liberia when her father suffered a fatal heart attack. The Peace Corps flew her home, cutting her two-year assignment a month short.
In time, Ross, her twin and their spouses opened Los Amigos, a Mexican restaurant in WinstonSalem. She worked in food and nutrition services
at Duke University Medical Center and later at numerous corporations. Ultimately, she consulted with hospices and retirement homes while earning a graduate degree in gerontology and teaching. Ross became a UNCG instructor in 2010, eventually becoming an associate professor in nutrition.
Retiring last year, she made the decision to donate seven Liberian artifacts to UNCG’s Special Collections, pieces that she had kept in her campus office. She called these “precious possessions.”
Included were a ceremonial mask, a clay cooking pot, sifting basket, wooden mortar, a primitive “mancala” board game and two bracelets.
“The wooden mortar was used by my friend and neighbor, Esther, to crush dried pepper for cooking. Liberians put hot pepper in every dish they make,” Ross explained when presenting the collection late last year to a group of anthropology faculty, friends and students.
“I was given the mortar the day prior to leaving, along with a live chicken to ‘taken to my ma.’ We cooked the chicken and had a group dinner.”
Ross gave Esther her own mortar, one she had used throughout her stay, in thanks.
“The mancala game was given to me by another
Peace Corps volunteer,” she says.
The mask, believed to be Liberian, is the centerpiece of the collection. It is identical to the one the dancing devil wore in Juarzon, a gift from Ed Lipschitz when researching West African masks.
“Ed ate dinner with me every night during the months he stayed in the village,” says Ross. “The mask was a ‘thank you’ for those meals.”
Lipschitz later became a curator at the
Smithsonian’s National Museum of African Art.
In passing along the personal artifacts, Ross honors the place that bookended the beginning and end of her career. “None of my career would have happened without my education at UNCG,” she says, adding she is deeply moved by her alma mater’s response to the gifts.
“My story has come full circle.” OH
Three backyard buildings allow room for growth, sanctuary and entertainment
By Cassie Bustamante • PhotograPhs By a my Freeman
With a little out-of-the-box thinking, a backyard building can become so much more than a place to park your lawnmower. A dilapidated storage structure can open doors to mixing work and play. Take it from these three home and business owners, who unearthed the hidden potential in their own backyards. One turned a shanty of a shed into an employee haven. Another repurposed windows to form a whimsical greenhouse. The third transformed a single-car garage into a hidden guest retreat.
In 2020, during the height of the pandemic, Dudley Moore Jr. would meet up with a few buddies on the back deck of his High Point office building for a few beers and a little escape from stay-at-home-life. Moore, who is president and co-owner of Otto & Moore Furniture Design with sister Carolyn Shaw, recalls his pal Lin Amos saying, “You know, that’s a cool building. You ought to do something with that.”
The building in question, now lovingly known as “The Shed,” was an old garage that Moore guesses to be almost 100 years old. Visible from their vantage point on the deck, it looked like it was on its last legs and was serving as a home to snakes and spiders. It’s been a fixture on the Otto & Moore property since the day the company, founded in 1960 by Shaw and Moore’s father, Dudley Moore, set up its office there. “We’ve been here since 1970 and it was already old and decrepit then,” says Moore.
Aside from critters, the shabby structure stored old chair samples and engineered drawings in tubes. “It just sorta became a catch-all for junk,” says Shaw. “It was a disaster!”
But, with a nudge from Amos, the wheels started turning.
“It just got my imagination going,” says Moore, who planned to turn it into functional storage. A furniture designer by trade, he notes that “it had a certain beautiful symmetry to it.”
Moore and Shaw enlisted the help of Scott Dunbar, vice president of Dunbar & Smith general contractors and, “very fortunately,” husband of their office manager, Lora. Once the project started, Moore nixed the original plan. “It’s too cool for that,” he says. “So then we decided to make it a party shed.”
The exterior was first to be transformed and now resembles a modern Scandinavian cottage. The original metal roof was patched, and the once chippy siding was sandblasted and repainted in a dark, almost-black brown. Because they wanted to maintain its garage-style charm, a new slate-blue, sliding barn door was added, concealing a pair of glass paneled doors, which function to keep the critters out.
Thanks to the creative collaboration between Moore and Otto & Moore designer Laura Niece, the once ramshackle interior reflects the exterior aesthetic, complete with a Dutch door and a fireplace shipped from Denmark. A pair of timeworn leather chairs from the Netherlands, found at Antiques & Design Center of High Point during Market, invite one to cozy up, fireside.
With a built-in bar area and a record player with speakers inside and out, The Shed is now host to a wide range of events, from board meetings to employee baby showers. “We use it for business purposes as well as fun,” says Shaw, whose own son spent lunch breaks watching Stranger Things there during last year’s summer internship with Otto & Moore.
Are they worried about too much merrymaking on the job? “Honestly,” says Moore, “we like to think — with creative people in particular — if you can make the job fun as well as work, then it actually helps breed creativity and productivity.” So, is Otto & Moore hiring? Sadly, no, but you can add “party shed” to your list of employer must-haves.
When Jamie and John Hizer, plus their five kids, moved into their Westridge Heights home in March of 2020, the backyard was an overgrown tangle. Yet, underneath a mess of English ivy, Jamie could see its hidden potential.
The Hizers enlisted a crew to bulldoze the backyard, leaving them with a “blank landscape.” After tossing around different ideas for their open space, Jamie stumbled upon a beautiful greenhouse kit from an online retailer. “I fell in love with it,” she recalls, though she didn’t love the $10,000 price tag.
But the greenhouse seed had been planted, and Jamie, after researching, became convinced that they could create something special using old windows, a little elbow grease and out-of-the-box thinking. She saw it clearly in her mind, operating to extend their growing season and as an entrepreneurial endeavor, a space for small events and photo opps. John, a safety consultant for an insurance company, thought, “You’ve lost your mind!”
Ever determined, Jamie began collecting windows from several sources — never paying more than $5 dollars a pop — then scraping, sanding, glazing and refinishing each. John? “He would just shake his head and help me stack the windows,” says Jamie.
When it came time to build, the Hizers laid windows out on the ground to work out a configuration. Over a two-month period of project weekends, the four walls went up, one by one, followed by the trusses and, finally, the plexiglass roof.
In April of 2021, “we put the last nail in and I burst into tears,” recalls Jamie. Just one month later, Pinetop Greenhouse opened its sunny yellow doors for its first event, Mother’s Day mini photo sessions amidst seedlings sprouting all around them.
Now, a once neglected yard thrives, the upcycled greenhouse its pièce de résistance. Though not heated or cooled, the glass enclosure allows Jamie to start her seeds in early spring and protect plants from frosts. Just outside, garden beds lush with vegetables, herbs and flowers flourish, interwoven with gravel and stone paths.
Pinetop Greenhouse provides fruits of the labor that can’t be seen to the naked eye, too, and connects Jamie, who grew up on a small farm, to her own roots.
A full-time nurse by trade, she finds much-needed sanctuary in her own backyard. While navigating her professional role during the pandemic, she also faced personal challenges. “My
mom almost died of COVID — two weeks in the ICU,” she recalls. Working in the greenhouse and garden offered Jamie a chance to “take back some form of control” in a world that felt like it was spiraling.
“Good days, bad days, stressful days,” says Jamie, “I just come get in the dirt and it works itself out.”
These days, she often calls her mom for gardening advice and hopes that the cycle continues with her own kids seeking her help one day.
For now, the greenhouse nurtures Jamie’s creative spirit. She loves “the thrill of the hunt” and shops local thrift stores, often scooping up vintage finds that inspire a complete overhaul of
the interior design.
She points to a floral painting paired with a gold gessoframed mirror. Those two pieces snowballed into a day spent flipping the entire aesthetic. “For $20 bucks,” says Jamie,”I was feeling inspired here.”
What’s next for this greenhouse that, according to Jamie, “constantly evolves?” She’s currently dreaming of adding a butterfly house. “I’ve kind of slipped that into conversation and gotten the side eye [from John],” she says. But, the seed has been planted and, no doubt, her new dream will take flight soon.
For more information, visit pinetopgreenhouse.com.
Nestled into the corner of Kimberly Paisley’s backyard, among blooming rhododendron, twittering birds and lush landscaping, a peaceful retreat awaits. Six years ago, on the day Paisley first toured the Old Starmount Forest abode and spied its detached garage, a vision began forming in her mind.
The previous owners had already been using the building as extra living space, having furnished it with a bed and a small sofa. “When I looked at the house to begin with, the guy showed me around — the husband — and the wife was sitting in there on her computer, so that immediately gave me an idea,” says Paisley.
No stranger to renovation, Paisley has purchased and remodeled several homes in her time. (She’s currently turning a 130-year-old home into a duplex that “is going to be absolutely breathtaking.”) In early 2021, finally ready for her budding idea to come to life in her own backyard, she drew a rough sketch in a notepad.
Needing the motivation to get started, Paisley purchased a vintage-style, cherry-red refrigerator for what would become her retreat’s kitchen. “I bought it first thing and worked the whole [design] around it,” she says. “It was the incentive I needed to go.”
But there was one major hurdle to overcome before work could begin. While the former garage had been outfitted with electricity and heat, it was missing one vital ingredient that would make it completely livable: water.
Of course, installing new plumbing meant tearing out much of the existing concrete, which Paisley, as someone who works as her own contractor, hauled to the dump herself in 90-degree weather. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack — I mean, just sweating. You know, I’m the only woman out there. The men are like, ‘Let us help you,’” she says and laughs. “I was like, ‘I’m not gonna turn that down.’”
After the plumbing was installed and the new concrete poured, “it went fairly smoothly.” The last room to be finished — her favorite — was the small-scale Ikea-inspired kitchen. And to counterbalance Ikea’s “simplicity, functionality and beauty,” the kitchen’s pièce de résistance was, yes, her newly purchased, bright red retro refrigerator.
With the interior work just about complete, the retreat opened its doors to its first guest, a girlfriend who was moving back to the continental U.S. from Hawaii. “She stayed probably six months until she found her own place, but it was the perfect little space for her.” And did they meet on the backyard deck for drinks during that period? “Every day!”
It was a gift, a wooden sign, from that friend that would inspire the exterior palette of pale yellow siding, green shutters and purple doors, as well as the cottage’s name, Ohana. “Ohana means friendship in Hawaii,” says Paisley, pointing to the sign hanging on the facade as a greeting.
Airbnb? “As you’ve seen on NextDoor, people are really not wanting that,” she replies. She’s considering opening it up to just people in the neighborhood who have visitors coming in: “golfers who need a place to stay,” for instance. “I would love to offer it for that. But otherwise, no.”
For now, the aptly named former garage remains a peaceful respite for friends. “It’s just so pleasant! It’s quiet — it’s like you’re in a whole different place, but you’re not,” muses Paisley. “You’re just in the backyard.” OH
Black-eyed Susan is blooming. Jewelweed, too. And, did you see that brilliant flash of yellow?
July is a recipe for pie.
As the birds blurt out their morning devotions, your mantra is singular and succinct: blueberries. Even the word feels ripe and juicy. You snag a sunhat, load up on water, gather the vessels for the great summer harvest.
Before the heat consumes the day, you step into the balmy morning, bright-eyed and unwavering. The walk to the woody temple is more than a core memory. You know it in your bones.
As the robin chants his ancient hymn, you whistle along: Blue-ber-ries, ber-ries, ber-ries, blue-ber-ries . . .
At last, you stand before the altar of the sun-loving shrubs, awestruck. Clusters of plump berries nearly drip from sweeping branches. The ripe ones tumble at your touch.
You find your rhythm: three for the basket; one for the tongue. You’ll need six cups for pie. Seventy berries per cup.
One for the basket, three for the tongue. The pop of sweetness fuels you. Pie is nice, but fresh berries are the best berries. Just ask the whistling robin.
As the air becomes syrup, you reach for one last cluster, coaxing a final palmful with purplestained fingers. One, two, three for the tongue.
On the trek back, belly and baskets brimming, you are one with the great summer harvest. The horizon holds visions of sugar and lemon and lattice crust. Yet nothing could be sweeter than this sun-drenched moment, the salt on your skin, fresh blueberries on the tongue.
At last, it’s nesting season for the American goldfinch. Where the thistle grows wild and thick, female finches line their nests with — that’s right — fluffy white thistle down.
These late-season breeders undulate through the air as they fly, foraging for thistle and grass seeds in wide-open meadows. Spotting one is a delight. But should you ever see a flock of them (they’re gregarious yearround), consider yourself charmed. A congregation of goldfinches, after all, is called a charm.
Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.
— Wendell BerrySnap beans and melons and snakes! Oh, my.
The summer garden is brimming with goodness and — if you’re lucky — perhaps a resident garter snake. Harmless to humans (although they may bite in self-defense), these carnivorous wonders feast on slugs, cucumber beetles and other garden pests. They’re not here for the Silver Queen or Cherokee Purples.
This time of year, female garters may be eating for two. Or, rather, a wriggling knot of live young. Learn how to identify these slithering allies should you peel back the vines to a surprise garden party. Don’t forget your stripes! OH
Photographs by Bert VanderVeen
2009 Dalton Rd.
Irving Park Neighborhood
Greensboro NC
AllenTate.com/donnarussell
JAY
336-337-1887
Buying a home may be the most important decision you’ll ever make. It only makes sense to go with a team that can deliver. Donna Russell’s strategically assembled team includes Jay Brower, Jeannie Hodges and Tom Hooker. Together, they afford their clients the edge needed in today’s unprecedented, ever-evolving marketplace
Donna Russell began her career in real estate in 2000, when she and her family moved to the Triad for her husband’s career move. Since then, she has consistently ranked in the top 100 of all Allen Tate real estate agents in both North and South Carolina.
A graduate of the Realtor Institute, Donna Russell is an ac-
credited buyer agent and specialist in relocation for buyers and sellers. Servicing all of the Triad with offices in Greensboro and Oak Ridge, she and her associates are committed to exceeding every client’s expectations. They do so with an expertise that comes with experience, knowledge and an understanding of the vast array of real estate transaction intricacies taking place on a local or national basis. Donna gets it done!
Greensboro native Charlene Gladney, founder and executive director of Operation Xcel, empowers Greensboro, High Point, Jamestown, Stokesdale and Gibsonville students by offering them after-school, summer and mentorship programs with a focus on the future. With five full-time and 45 part-time associates, who are mostly certified teachers and retired educators, the free-to-all program celebrates its 15th anniversary this year with a new program director, Jen Nelson, and a back-toschool event on August 19.
Operation Xcel has won multiple awards, including the Black Business Ink Power 100 Award; the 2023 High Point University’s Center for Community Engagement Nonprofit of the Year Award; the 2020 Triad Minority and Women’s Business Expo Nonprofit of the Year Award. Additionally, it’s been a 21st Century Community Learning Center since 2014.
“God gave me the vision for Operation Xcel,” says Gladney, whose own background is in IT. That vision? “For our youth to stay in school, get their high school diplomas, and explore career and college options.” Having served more than 2,600 youngsters, the program remains academically focused with an individualized, holistic approach on leveraging the interconnectivity of social, emotional and physical development, opening doors to endless possibilities.
New Lower School Director, Hunter Smothers, who was awarded Assistant Principal of the Year in Rockingham County in 2017, understands that kindergarten-age children need plenty of play, exercise and creative exploration. Instruction time is interspersed with movement, yoga and stretching, plus two recesses each day. In addition to Spanish, art, music, P.E., and spiritual development classes, kindergarteners spend time learning in the library.
Children who feel secure and cared for feel safe to take academic risks, allowing curiosity to take flight. Teachers, assistants and experienced volunteers are all committed to making learning fun by making sure play is always a part of the curriculum, whether in the classroom, on the playground, or around the pond on Canterbury’s 37-acre campus. At Canterbury, kindergarteners develop a lifelong love of learning and establish life skills such as respect, kindness, communication and cooperation designed to help students thrive in everything they do.
As a premier preschool through eighth grade independent Episcopal day school boasting a student/teacher ratio of seven-to-one and a sterling reputation for over 30 years, Canterbury School is a learning environment that prides itself on having the flexibility to meet children where they are academically.
Lisa Lopez, Manuel Lopez and Gabriel Vizcaya, owners of Blue Agave Mexican Bar & Grill, proudly offer an enticing array of authentic and tasty dishes from south of the border. Whether you order table-side guacamole, burrito bites, fajitas, carne asada, or the Blue Agave burrito, every menu item is individiually prepared using the freshest ingredients, including produce originating from a local Winston-Salem supplier. Chefs at Blue Agave go to great lengths to provide a vibrant culinary and cocktail experience at prices that are quite affordable. Both Manny and Gabe are manager/owners, and one of them is always on hand to see to it that their customers feel special. Undoubtedly, that personal touch is one of many reasons that readers of Yes! Weekly voted Blue Agave Guilford County’s Best Mexican Restaurant, as did the News & Record, for three years running.
Craving traditional Mexican and Latin American cuisine, maybe a margarita or two? Blue Agave is what your tastebuds are tingling for.
Vintage media was always a hobby for Brian Watkins, founder and owner of Digital Restoration Services. Since 2011, he’s been restoring and digitizing every kind of film, videotape, audio recording and photographic media, however antiquated it is. And, as a self-proclaimed audiophile, he understands the importance of sound quality. No matter the format, with 120 years of audio and motion picture technology at his fingertips, Watkins can bring your captured memories vividly back to life. Whether you’ve got homemade audio discs, reel-to-reel tape, 8mm films of your childhood vacations, uncommon video tape sizes or faded photos, “We enhance the audio and video of every project we handle,” says Watkins. “We photograph the label and use that as the video title page so no precious information is lost.”
Working alongside rescue Doberman Alzena “has been an absolute joy and she is now spoiled rotten throughout the day by customers and us alike.” With the expertise, equipment and care Digital Restoration Services has to offer, now is the time to rescue those fading memories for future generations to enjoy.
It’s a family affair at Cass Jewelers! Founded in 1948, the business is run by Cass family third and fourth generation owners Geoff Cass and his daughter, Jordan.
Geoff ’s grandparents, John Herman Cass Sr. and Mary Cass opened the store, and his father, Stewart, and uncle, John Jr., began working together in the 1960s. One of Greensboro’s longest continuously family-run businesses, Cass proudly serves third and fourth generations of customers.
A 1988 graduate of Elon College, Geoff also holds a gemology degree from the Gemological Institute of America (GIA), which Jordan is currently pursuing as well Inside their luxurious store you’ll find engagement rings, wedding bands, watches, pearls, masonic jewelry, silver and gold, fine sterling and pewter, baby shower and bridal gifts — something for every occasion. Customers can also take advantage of expert jewelry and watch repair, as well as insurance appraisals.
Jordan, who has a degree in business and entrepreneurship from UNCG, specializes in custom design and can transform old pieces of jewelry into something new or create brand-new pieces from scratch. Fun fact? Geoff has spent many years in the Jaycees and was the 2006 Tournament Chairman for the Chrysler Classic of Greensboro.
4008 Battleground Ave. Suite G, Greensboro 336-292-1736
CassJewelers.com
Mosuba, easygoing Species Ambassador for the North Carolina Zoo since 2015, came to his position by way of a passion for conservation and educating the world about the plight of gorillas in the wild.
Despite turning 40 this year, Mosuba just launched into stardom on Secrets of the Zoo: North Carolina, found on Disney+, proving it’s never too late to dream. Of course, he’s aided by five zookeepers, a team supervisor, veterinarian attendants and various younger simian assistants.
In addition to international fans, superstar Mosuba is also well-loved locally by his keepers for his exceptional skills. After all, he’s one of few gorillas who has blood drawn voluntarily. He lavishes in the attention, especially when it’s accompanied by a steady stream of mangoes and grapes. By visiting the North Carolina Zoo, which will celebrate 50 years in 2024, you’re supporting its considerable efforts to save endangered species, like gorillas in Africa.
What does Mosuba like most about living in this area? Warm weather and access to a generous supply of green beans. Not to mention being rewarded with copious amounts of greenbacks — the leafy, iceberg kind.
Greg Sardzinski, senior vice president of wealth management, and Andrew Vanore, vice president of wealth management, recently joined Raymond James. Both have Certified Plan Fiduciary Advisor designations while Sardzinski holds Certified Private Wealth Advisor and Certified Portfolio Manager accredidations.
Sharing similar values about client care and establishing relationships, the duo teamed up in a practice around seven years ago. Over that time, they’ve built an advisory practice focused on individuals and families interested in strengthening their financial situation or outlook. Because there’s more to family wealth than simply portfolio management, their clients include business owners, corporate executives, families or individuals nearing retirement, and those encountering sudden wealth.
Vanore and his wife, Riegel, have three children — Maria, Bo and Lola — two in high school, one in college, plus two dogs, Cash and new addition Jalen. Married for 30 years, Sardzinski and his wife, Leslie, have three adult children — Bennett, Paige and Anna — along with a yellow Labrador, Bella. Raymond James & Associates, Inc., member New York Stock Exchange/SIPC
sardzinskivanorewealthmanagement.com
With a Bachelors of Science from the University of Maryland and a Doctorate of Dental Surgery from UNC’s Adams School of Dentistry, Dr. Tariq Jah, D.D.S., and his patient-focused team at Evergreen Dental offer an array of preventive and restorative dental treatments — cleanings, fillings, same-day crowns, veneers, partial and complete dentures, and extractions. But they’re also trained in providing therapies that include implant restorations, myofunctional therapy, tongue-tie releases, and a mouthful of cutting-edge services.
Founded almost six decades ago by Dr. W. Kenneth Young, Dr. Tariq Jah took the reins in October 2021 from Dr. Walter Howell, who practiced general dentistry for 32 years as Evergreen Dental. Taking a foundational approach to dentistry, Dr. Jah insists that “finding and treating the root cause reduces the likelihood those issues will reoccur in the future.”
Evergreen’s motto is “Where your smile finds its roots.” However, Dr. Jah offers so much more, including his airway-focused approach for helping those who suffer from sleep-breathing disorders, clenching/ grinding, TMD/TMJ disorders, mouth breathing, and facial muscle pain, assuring clients achieve the healthiest possible outcomes. And let’s not forget that dazzling smile you deserve!
2721 Horse Pen Creek Road, Suite 101, Greensboro 336-323-2822
With decades of enthusiastic involvement in upscale interior design and antique retailing, Joey Marlowe and Jana Vaughan of Boxwood Antique Market have managed to create a synergistic experience second(hand) to none. And why not? The duo is always searching for those elusive, one-of-a-kind treasures you didn’t know you were looking for.
While it was personal relationships that initially attracted Jana and Joey to this area, it’s antiquing and community that convinced these business partners to stay, not to mention an opportunity to spend time with grandchildren.
Teeming with 130 vendors, over 500 consigners and an endless
supply of merchandise from High Point’s world-renowned furniture designers, Boxwood offers an unparalleled shopping experience enhanced by an ever-expanding inventory. Its latest additions? New lines from Mad Cap Cottage, Schumacher, and Lampshades Plus. Since 2021, Joey, Jana, and their 12 staff members have delighted in making customers’ lives more beautiful and rewarding. That’s their passion. After all, “home is where it all begins!”
Involved in dancing and sports since she was 3 years old, as Friends Homes’ Wellness Coordinator, Kayla McBane is motivated — and trained — to share her passion for achieving and maintaining an active lifestyle with anyone, but especially with older adults.
“I continue to feed my love for graceful movement by teaching weekly at Nan’s School of Dance here in Greensboro,” she says. Her experience and a bachelor of science in kinesiology and a minor in dance from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro help her create fun programs, such as line dancing, for residents. “Everyone loves the Electric Slide!”
With the first anniversary of the opening of Friends Homes’ West Campus Wellness Center, McBane has a front row seat to witnessing this extraordinary facility evolve and thrive. Participants can choose from a range of activities, including the first annual 3K-5K fundraiser campaign, exercise and meditation classes, art programs, life-long learning lectures, overnight trips, and even a prom.
Sounds like the very definition of living life to the fullest.
Founded in 1972 by Priscilla Knox, Priba Furniture and Interiors is one of the oldest woman-owned businesses in North Carolina. Husband Bob Knox, an Air Force veteran who flew for Pan Am for over 30 years, helped Priscilla grow the enterprise from its humble beginnings. Today, behind the doors of its tastefully appointed 55,000-square-foot showroom lies a seemingly endless array of the highest quality furnishings and lighting while offering interior design services for discerning clients both locally and around the globe.
While Priscilla and Bob remain active at Priba, their son, Scott, now serves as CEO. Fine furnishings and imaginative decor embedded in his DNA, he’s maintaining that intimate experience loyal customers both old and new have come to rely on for over
a half-century. In 2022, son Reid joined Priba full-time in the business office, handling logistics and HR, though, like any small business where all hands are on deck, you may catch either of them delivering furniture.
Employing a cadre of award-winning interior designers and a personable sales force, Priba Furniture and Interiors is your ultimate destination for design-forward service and value. “Experience for yourself the Priba difference!”
210 Stage Coach Trail, Greensboro 336-855-9034
PribaFurniture.com
Children’s Adoption Services, (CAS), is celebrating 30 years of homecomings for more than 5,000 children in 2023! Our agency history of uniting families and children through adoption is enriched each time we celebrate with our forever families.
The Shropshire family joined us to celebrate the domestic adoption of Lexi and the international adoption of Anna Sophia. The extra bonus was our celebration occurred on the same week that Amy and Steve Shropshire first met Anna Sophia! The Shropshire family truly feels they were all born to be together as a family. Adoption has been a gift of family completion and has forever enriched each of their lives. Homecoming celebrations are inspiration for our agency to connect
more infants, children, and youth waiting for a forever family. It is our belief that every child deserves a forever family for their life’s journey. Our most recent programs strive to connect children who have terminated parental rights with forever families through adoption. The number of children in foster care is continuing to increase. Each year 4,000 children and older youth age out of foster care, subsequently becoming homeless.
We invite you to join in our 30-year celebration, Blue Jean and Pearls gala on November 4, 2023 at the Grandover Resort - Celebrating homecomings and future forever families!
Founded in 1982 by board certified plastic surgeon Dr. David C. Best, Best Impressions Plastic Surgery and Laser Center is a recognized industry leader. Continual training and upgrades assure patients will always be cared for with state-of-the-art products and services. At Best Impressions, no one is treated as a “number.” Even new patients quickly discover the one-on-one relationships that keep them looking and feeling their personal Best.
For over 40 years, Dr. Best has been a go-to source in facial cosmetic surgery, breast enlargement, upper and lower blepharoplasty, plus treatments that include breast lifts, liposuction, spider-vein amelioration, filler injections, tummy tucks, and Botox procedures. Licensed esthetician and certified laser technician Amy F. Rumley
excels in Deka Co2 laser procedures, IPL and Hydrafacial. Best and Rumley have worked together for the past decade. “I have been at Merle Norman Cosmetics since 1980,” says Rumley. “I wanted to bring more services to my clients as they move through stages of life.” Laser services need to be performed at an authorized facility, “so Dr. Best and I formed a partnership. I still get to work with my Merle Norman clients and Dr. Best keeps me at the top of my game.”
600 Pasteur Drive, Greensboro 336-852-0300
drbestimpressions.com
Your Airbnb listing has mere seconds to make the jump from “looked” to “booked.” That’s why properties designed by Host Your BnB stand out among the competition with eye-catching photos and insightful design. Grabbing users’ attention quickly is crucial because when they pause or click on a listing, the algorithm takes note, boosting exposure, which can translate into more bookings.
Real estate investing has always been a passion for Laura Lovelady, owner of Host Your BnB. After earning a degree from UNCG in hospitality and tourism, she honed her skills in hotel management with Hilton, Marriott and Holiday Inn. This provided her with keen insight into what guests desire in short-term stay accommodations, from establishing clear lines of communication at first contact to making sure the unit is cleaned and maintained.
Since 2021, Host Your BnB has grown exponentially, primarily through word-of-mouth referrals. Don’t risk having a low “click-through rate” with a bland, ineffective design — let Laura Lovelady make your Airbnb listing sizzle!
336-337-8447
www.hostyourbnb.com
3256 S. Church St., Burlington
336-438-1506
Instagram: @sweetcarolineapparel
As a stay-at-home mom of two active sons for 15 years, Caroline Johnson is more than familiar with sweaty carpools and sideline support. While her boys are her greatest accomplishment — and her oldest will be attending her alma mater, East Carolina University, this fall — she knows a little something about what it takes to feel flirty and feminine.
While working as a clothing stylist, Johnson discovered that she loved helping clients feel their best. Two years ago, she decided to bring that passion to a brick-and-mortar establishment, and Sweet Caroline Apparel was created. “Greensboro was always the place to shop,” Johnson tells us. “So I wanted to give Burlington a nearby option.”
Unmatched quality, friendly service, the finest brand names and selection is, and always has been, the focus for Johnson and her associates. At Sweet Caroline’s, it’s all about discovering that perfect outfit that makes customers look and feel beautiful, from Friday night lights to fancy dinner dates.
And isn’t that what life is all about?
Although conscientious efforts are made to provide accurate and up-to-date information, the world is subject to change and errors can occur! Please verify times, costs, status and location before attending an event.
To submit an event for consideration, email us at ohenrymagcalendar@gmail.com by the first of the month one month prior to the event.
TALK DOGGY. 4:30–5:15 p.m. Megan Blake, The Pet Lifestyle Coach, provides great tips and real time practice as you learn to connect more deeply with your four-legged best friend. Free. LeBauer Park, 208 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar.
BARRE CLASS. 10 a.m. Strengthen, tone and stretch your way into the week. Tickets: $10. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
GREENWAY FLEX. 6–7 p.m. The YMCA of Greensboro leads drop-in fitness classes for all ages and abilities at the Morehead Park Trailhead adjacent to the Downtown Greenway. Free. 475 Spring Garden St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
WINE WEDNESDAY. 5–8 p.m. Sip wine, munch pizza and enjoy the soothing sounds of live jazz. Free. Double Oaks, 204 N. Mendenhall St. Greensboro. Info: double-oaks.com/wine-wednesday.
LIVE MUSIC. 6–9 p.m. Evan Olson and Jessica Mashburn of AM rOdeO play covers and original music. Free. Print Works Bistro. 702 Green Valley Road, Greensboro. Info: printworksbistro.com/gallery/music.
MUSIC IN THE PARK. 6–8 p.m. Sip and snack at LeBauer Park while grooving to local and regional artists. Free. Lawn Service, 208 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar.
JAZZ TRIO. 6–9 p.m. Sip cocktails in the 1808 Lobby Bar while listening to Steve Haines, Julia Whalen and Chrishawn Darby perform jazzy tunes. Free. Grandover Resort
& Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com/events/ wednesday-night-jazz-with-the-steve-haines-trio.
JAZZ AT THE O.HENRY. 6–9 p.m. Sip vintage craft cocktails and snack on tapas while the O.Henry Trio performs with a different jazz vocalist each week. Free. O.Henry Hotel Social Lobby, 624 Green Valley Road, Greensboro. Info: ohenryhotel.com/o-henry-jazz.
NASHVILLE NIGHTS. 6 p.m. Sip beers, grab some pizza and tap your feet to Music City’s melodies without leaving the Gate City. Free. Steel Hands Brewing, 1918 W Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: steelhandsbrewing.com.
EASY RIDERS. 6–8:30 p.m. All levels of cyclists are welcome to ride along on a guided 4-mile cruise around downtown. Free. Lawn Service, 208 N. Davie St, Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar.
WALK THIS WAY. 6 p.m. Put on your sneakers for a 2–4 mile social stroll or jog with the Downtown Greenway Run & Walk Club, which is open to all ages and abilities. Free. LoFi Park, 500 N. Eugene St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
LIVE MUSIC. 7–10 p.m. Enjoy drinks in the 1808 Lobby Bar while soaking up live music provided by local artists. Free. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
BLACKSMITH DEMONSTRATION. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Watch a costumed blacksmith in action as he crafts various iron pieces. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
CITY SUNSETS. 7–9 p.m. Bring a lawn chair or blanket for an evening of live music while gobbling down food truck grub or your own picnic goodies. Free. Center City Park, 200 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar.
YOGA. 9:30 a.m. Don’t stay in bed when you could namaste in the spa studio. Tickets: $10. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
WATER AEROBICS. 10:30 a.m. Make a splash instead of breaking a sweat. Tickets: $10.
Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
01–31
ARTISTS AT EDGEWOOD. 10 a.m.–5 p.m. Meet the 31 artists-in-residence at Elliott Daingerfield’s restored historic cottage in Blowing Rock. Featured artists change weekly. Free. Main Street and Ginny Stevens Lane, Blowing Rock. Info: artistsatedgewood.org.
01–29
EASTERN MUSIC FESTIVAL. Times vary. Enjoy four weeks of free and paid programming daily by EMF’s world-renowned faculty artists, young artists and featured soloists locally, with exception to one special performance in Boone. Dana Auditorium, 710 Levi Coffin Drive, Greensboro. Info: easternmusicfestival.org/festival.
01–15
LEGENDARY TUNES. In Legends Diner: A Musical Tribute, an aspiring young musician en route to an audition rides out a storm in a dive with a host of opinionated characters. Tickets: $28+. The Barn Dinner Theatre, 120 Stage Coach Trail, Greensboro. Info: barndinner.com/2023.
BARENAKED LADIES. 7 p.m. Roll back to the ’90s with a night of live music from Barenaked Ladies, Five for Fighting and Del Amitri. Tickets: $24.50+. White Oak Amphitheatre, 1403 Berwick St., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
QUILL SKILL. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. All ages are welcome to drop in and learn the art of writing with a quill, just as the Declaration of Independence was crafted. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
02 & 16
BLUEGRASS & BISCUITS. 11 a.m.–1 p.m. Enjoy live bluegrass and folk music while munching tasty treats from vendors. Free. LeBauer Park, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar. 04
FUN FOURTH. Downtown Greensboro hosts an array of events to celebrate America’s
birthday, including a 5K to Freedom Fest and pop-up nuptials. Downtown Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/fun-fourth-festival.
UNCLE SAM JAM. 4:30–10 p.m. Enjoy an evening of family-friendly activities in the park. $10 parking, $20 Family Fun Zone. Oak Hollow Festival Park, 1841 Eastchester Drive, High Point. Info: highpointnc.gov/calendar.
06 & 20
NIGHT PADDLING. 8–10 p.m. Rent or BYOBoat for a guided moonlit paddle on Lake Brandt. Free; rentals $20+. Lake Brandt, 5945 Lake Brandt Road, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
07
FIRST FRIDAY. 6–9 p.m. Head downtown for a night of live music and happenings stretching all the way from LeBauer Park and the Greensboro Cultural Center to the South End. Free. Downtown Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/first-friday.
ARTS SPLASH CONCERT. 6–7:30 p.m. Enjoy an evening of live music from Sahara Reggae. Free. Oak Hollow Festival Park, 1841 Eastchester Drive, High Point. Info: highpointarts.org.
08
COMMUNITY PICNIC 11 a.m.–2 p.m. Renowned BBQ masters Ed and Ryan Mitchell smoke a whole hog and share their new cook book on the Downtown Greenway for an afternoon of social gathering, a communal meal and local entertainment from musician Colin Cutler. Ticket: $40; childern 12 and under, $20. MLK Drive and Bragg Street, Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
07.01.2023
FLASHBACK TO THE FORTIES. 11 a.m.–4 p.m. Explore life in 1940s Greensboro with WWII reenactors, vintage vehicles, a Ration Book bake-off, Victory Garden planning, scrap collection crafts compliments of Reconsidered Goods, films, flash talks and food trucks. Free. Greensboro History Museum, 130 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: greensborohistory.org/events.
SWING TIME. 6:30–9 p.m. Step into the vibe from the service clubs of Greensboro’s World War II Overseas Replacement Depot with food, drinks and dance, plus a fashion show with Vintage to Vogue, costume contest and party games. Greensboro History Museum, 130 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: greensborohistory.org/events.
OUR BAND. 7:30 p.m. Fiddle & Bow and The ’Boro Sessions present vocalist and pianist/accordionist Sasha Papernik, and guitarist and vocalist Justin Poindexter — the Americana duo known as Our Band. Tickets: $20+. In the Crown at the Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
KARAOKE & WELLNESS. 3:30–7 p.m. Two of your fav activities merge for one evening of fun with DJ Energizer. Free. Center City Park, 200 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar. 09
07.08.2023
MUSEP. 6–8 p.m. Enjoy MUSEP, aka Music for a Sunday Evening in the Park, with R&B, soul and jazz featuring Erin Blue followed
by Dreamroot. Savor concessions from Hot Diggity Dog or IceQueen Ice Cream, or BYO snacks. Free, donations accepted. Gateway Gardens, 2800 E. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: creativegreenboro.com.
10–31
SUMMER FILM FEST. Munch on movie theater popcorn while catching the season’s popular classics. Tickets: $8+, Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
12–16
YARN CRAWL. Times vary. Pick up a passport at Stitch Point on Friendly (or sign up online) and have it stamped at participating Central North Carolina yarn shops. After visiting each location, you’ll be entered to win a grand prize. Stitch Point on Friendly, 1614 W. Friendly Ave., Suite C, Greensboro. Info: centralcarolinayarncrawl.com.
12, 19, 16
CAROLINA KIDS CLUB. 9 a.m. Keep your kiddos cool while watching family-friendly
films and noshing on complimentary kids’ snack packs. Tickets: $5+, Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
12 & 26
NIGHT PADDLING. 8–10 p.m. Rent or BYOBoat for a guided moonlit paddle on Lake Higgins. Free; rentals $20+. Lake Higgins, 4235 Hamburg Mill Road, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
13
OPEN MIC. 6–7:30 p.m. The North Carolina Writers Network invites writers of all genres to share original works in five minutes or less. Free. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/event.
JEANETTE WALLS. 7 p.m. The famed Glass Castle memoirist discusses her newest novel, Hang the Moon. Congregational United Church of Christ, 400 W. Radiance Drive, Greensbro. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/event.
LIZ HOPKINS. 7:30 p.m. The Delta Rae folk-rock vocalist infuses country vibes in a
live performance with Azul Zapata. Tickets: $15. Flat Iron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: flatirongso.com/events.
14
AUTHORS TALK. 6–7:30 p.m. North Carolina writers Amy Rowland and Julia Ridley Smith discuss their latest works. Free. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St.,
Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/event.
15
BLT DAY. 8:30–11 a.m. Guest chef Tracy Furman dishes out a leveled up classic sammie, featuring Neese’s bacon, market ’maters, lettuce and mayo, served on artisan bread. $10 per plate. Greensboro Farmers Curb Market, 501 Yanceyville St., Greensboro. Info: gsofarmersmarket.org/ summer-2023-events-at-the-curb-market.
POTTERY PARTY. 10 a.m.–5 p.m. Seagrove’s Eck McCanless pottery celebrates its anniversary with a limited edition Plum Purple line, demonstrations and refreshments. Free. Eck McCanless Pottery, 6077 Old US Highway 220, Seagrove. Info: eckmccanlesspottery.com.
NATIONAL ICE CREAM DAY. Noon–2 p.m. Ages 12 and under are encouraged to celebrate the day by learning how to make ice cream in a bag. Free. High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
16
MUSEP. 6–8 p.m. Enjoy the spirited gospel songs of Mike Yelverton while munching on concessions from Kibi’s Crazy Casserole and StayFresh Italian, or BYO Snacks. Free, donations accepted. Latham Park, 905 Cridland Road, Greensboro. Info: creativegreenboro.com.
19
HISTORICAL FICTION. 2–4 p.m. Libby Carty McNamee, whose historical fiction targets middle school readers, discusses her award-winning books. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
20
THOMAS RHETT. 7:30 p.m. You can “Die a Happy Man” after jamming to a night of country music from Rhett, Cole Swindell and Nate Smith. Tickets: $29.50+. Greensboro Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
URBAN SOIL. 9 p.m. Get down and dirty with this band that blends American rock and soul into a dynamic live show. Tickets: $12. Flat Iron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: flatirongso.com/events.
ARTS SPLASH CONCERT. 6–7:30 p.m. Enjoy an evening of live music with the Zinc
Kings. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointarts.org.
22–31
PHOTOGRAPHY EXHIBIT. From early black-and-white images of New York City to his renowned Hurricane Katrina series and more recent shots in color, John Rosenthal displays his work with that of ten other North Carolina photographers he’s curated. Admission: $7. GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org.
GUIDED GREENWAY TOUR. 9 a.m.–noon. Step into Greensboro’s history, take in public art installations and learn about environmental stewardship and economic impact during a walking tour of the 4-mile Downtown Greenway. Free; registration required. LoFi Park, 500 N. Eugene St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
GSO TO HP RUN. 7 a.m. Run solo or as part of a two- or four-member relay team in “The
07.23.2023
Pickle,” a 16.1 mile race starting at Fleet Feet in Greensboro and ending at its High Point location. Registration: $30. Fleet Feet, 3731 Lawndale Drive, Greensboro. Info:.fleetfeet. com/s/greensboro/events/the-pickle-2023.
HONEY MAGPIE. 7 p.m. The Chapel HIllbased folk-pop band showcases its comedic side with a night of humor-infused music featuring Colin Cutler, Annie Stokes and Sam Foster.
Tickets: $10+. In the Crown at the Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
MUSEP. 6–8 p.m. Sahara Reggae drops the beat while you picnic with concessions from Hot Diggity Dog or IceQueen Ice Cream, or BYO snacks. Free, donations accepted. Hester Park, 3615 Deutzia St., Greensboro. Info: creativegreenboro.com.
JAZZ IS LED. 8:30 p.m. Experience the music of the band you know and love, Led Zeppelin, with a jazzy twist. Tickets: $15+. Flat Iron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: flatirongso.com/events.
NF. 8 p.m. Rapper NF and special guest Cordae deliver a night of hits and “Hope.” Tickets: $50+. Greensboro Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
MARCH ONWARD. 6–8 p.m. The International Civil Rights Center & Museum honors six notable contributors
to the movement at its annual gala, The March to Washington Continues. Tickets: $150; Virtual only, $50. Koury Convention Center, 3121 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: sitinmovement.org/events.
POWER HOUSE AWARDS. 8 p.m. The Power House Organization hosts an evening of entertainment that shines a light on businesses, nonprofits and individuals who work hard to improve the lives of others. Tickets: $75+, Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events. NIGHT PADDLING. 8–10 p.m. Rent or BYOBoat for a guided moonlit paddle on Lake Townsend. Free; rentals $20+. Lake Townsend, 6332 Lake Townsend Road, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
29
SONGBIRD RAVEN. 8 p.m. SongBird Raven performs a night of tunes that encompass all genres, allowing her unique voice to captivate, inspire and take listeners on
a musical journey. Tickets: $15+, Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
PEACE LIKE A RIVE R. 6 p.m. In this comedic sequel to Peace in the Valley, the Harmony Valley Church congregation is anything but unified when it comes to celebrating Unity Day. Tickets: $28+. The Barn Dinner Theatre, 120 Stage Coach Trail, Greensboro. Info: barndinner.com/2023.
EDIBLE PLAYDOUGH. 10 a.m.–2 p.m. All ages are welcome to create — and nibble — playdough. Free. Little Red Schoolhouse at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
CHO ‘NUFF. 7:30 p.m. Comedian Henry Cho, who is one of the only Asian acts to regularly appear on the Grand Ole Opry and was honored earlier this year with an induction, delivers a night of “Mr. Clean” humor. Tickets: $40+. High Point Theatre, 220 East Commerce Ave., High Point. Info: highpointtheatre.com.
R&B PARTY. 7:30 p.m. Jodeci, SWV and Dru Hill come together to perform at a Summer Block Party. Tickets: $42+. White Oak
Amphitheatre, 1403 Berwick St., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
THE CHICKS. 7:30 p.m. Tweet this: The female country trio performs with special guest Wild Rivers. Tickets: $38.50+. Greensboro Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
MUSEP. 6–8 p.m. Trade in those tired blues for the bluegrass sounds of Nu Blu and enjoy goodies from Kibi’s Crazy Casserole and Boho Berries, or BYO snacks. Free, donations accepted. Country Park, 3905 Nathanael Greene Drive, Greensboro. Info: creativegreenboro.com.
WATERY WATERCOLOR. 6–8 p.m. Cruise out onto the lake in your own or a rented kayak for an evening of en-plein-air watercolor painting. Tickets: $16+. Lake Townsend, 6332 Lake Townsend Road, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). OH
A GreenHill + Machete Collaboration
Wednesday, May 31, 2023
Photographs by Cassie Bustamante
Photographs by Bert VanderVeen
At the beginning of the 2020 pandemic, a chipmunk enters my house and will not be caught — not by my cat or the Havahart trap I bait with peanut butter. Day after day, she won’t take the bait.
Next, my 3-year-old dishwasher breaks. First world problem, a broken dishwasher, right? It seems a certain order is breaking down between appliances going haywire and wild animals invading my house. I call a repair service and am told that parts for this dishwasher are on backorder from Mars. No matter. I happen to be a dish washer — in the way I am not a stove or a refrigerator.
A month passes, pandemic time, so that weeks go by like years and years like weeks, and nobody can remember with any authority what happened when. The dishwasher is still broken, I know that much, and Chippy’s still on the loose. I hear her scuttling under the stove, shifting herself around to get ever more comfortable. Mornings, when I make coffee, I find tufts of insulation in front of the oven door, as if she’s been rearranging her furniture. She’s had a chance now to study my habits and my cat’s habits and hedge her bets as to when it’s safest to venture out. I find less-than-savory evidence of her adventures whenever I sweep. Once in a while, when I’ve been especially quiet, she’s skittered out and encountered me. She screams! I scream! Clearly, we are not meant to be roommates.
Daily, I bait the trap with fresh peanut butter, but catch nary a whisker. On warm days, I leave the backdoor open, hoping a sniff of fresh air will entice her to brave a jailbreak. Has her long captivity made her forget how to be a chipmunk? Has mine made me forget how to be human? My cat’s catness seems in jeopardy (since
he can’t catch a chipmunk) and he looks depressed.
When the appliance man delivers the new dishwasher motherboard, he wears pristine coveralls, clean cloth booties over his shoes and a super-duper N-95 mask. He carries a large briefcase with all sorts of digital testers and gleaming repair instruments inside. He arranges all his tools on drop cloths and removes the dishwasher’s worn out organs with the care and precision of a surgeon. “A bit of bad news,” he says as he finishes tidying up. “I found small animal droppings under there. Possibly you have a rodent problem?”
That day, I go to the grocery store and, on a hunch (I’ve done some research), buy some pricey rabbit/gerbil/hamster food specifically “for rodents.” I have refrained from thinking seriously about the fact that Chippy is a rodent. I bait the Havahart with renewed determination and . . . voila! In the cage, she’s calm, cocking her little chipmunk head to observe me better as I carry her outside. I feel tenderly connected, like Snow White on the brink of a song.
The pandemic asked us all to get better at waiting. I marvel at the patience of the chipmunk who knew only the wild green flickering world before her estrangement from it. Trapped in a house, her immense aliveness had to learn to be still. She spent six weeks dodging a gargantuan human and Isis, the cat, gobbling any dusty crumb she could find, waiting, no exit strategy. During her lockdown, nothing was certain, except that the hawk who frequently glides over the neighborhood would not be picking her off. Wherever she scampered, I know she’s enjoying the pandemic’s easement as much as I am this summer. OH
Marianne Gingher has published seven books, both fiction and nonfiction. She recently retired from teaching creative writing at UNC-Chapel Hill for 100 years.
BY HARRY BLAIRAn uninvited houseguest makes an imprint
