May 2013 PineStraw by PineStraw Magazine

Nothing says Pinehurst like the Putter Boy logo. And at the Pinehurst Golf Shop in the Clubhouse, you’ll find him on just about everything. Pinehurst Golf Shop Pinehurst Resort and Country Club • 910. 235. 8154

May 2013

Features

55 Symbiosis Poetry by Melinda Kemp Lyerly 56 Our Town, Minute by Minute Photographic Essay by Cassie Butler

Volume 8, No. 5

Why itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s always a beautiful day in Pinehurst

64 Awakening of Fenton Wilkinson

By David C. Bailey

How his visionary Farm to Table Cooperative became a national model

68 Getting Sauced

By David C. Bailey

Our brave Serial Eater gives â&#x20AC;&#x2122;em all a taste

70 The Garden

74 The Green House Effect

Fiction by Quinn Dalton By Deborah Salomon

A home in tune with two strong-willed adults who adore baseball, movies and the environment

83 May Almanac By Noah Salt

Wicked thoughts, perfect plants and a plea for chaos

Cover photograph and photograph this page by Cassie Butler

7 10 PinePitch 15 Cos and Effect Cos Barnes 17 The Omnivorous Reader Stephen E. Smith

21 25

Sweet Tea Chronicles

Jim Dodson

Bookshelf Hitting Home

27 31 33 35 39 41 43 45

Departments

Dale Nixon

The Evolving Species Sundi McLaughlin

Postcard From Paris Vine Wisdom

Christina Klug

Robyn James

The Kitchen Garden

Jan Leitschuh

Pleasures of Life Dept. Out of the Blue Birdwatch

Tom Allen

Deborah Salomon

Susan Campbell

The Sporting Life

Tom Bryant

86 99 107

Golftown Journal Lee Pace Calendar SandhillSeen The Accidental Astrologer

Astrid Stellanova

109

Thoughts From the Man Shed Geoff Cutler

111 112

PineNeedler

Mart Dickerson

SouthWords

Ed Glassman

May 2013 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Watchfor

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PineStraw M A G A Z I N E Jim Dodson, Editor

910.693.2506 • jim@pinestrawmag.com

Andie Stuart Rose, Creative Director 910.693.2467 • andie@pinestrawmag.com

Cassie Butler, Photographer, Graphic Designer, Writer 910.693.2464 • cassie@pinestrawmag.com

Kira Schoenfelder, Graphic Designer 910.693.2508 • kira@pinestrawmag.com

Lauren Shumaker, Graphic Designer Editorial Contributors

Deborah Salomon, Staff Writer Stephen E. Smith, Staff Writer David C. Bailey, Copy Editor Sara King, Proofreader Mary Novitsky, Proofreader

Contributing Photographers

John Gessner

Contributors

Tom Allen, Cos Barnes, Tom Bryant, Susan Campbell, Geoff Cutler, Quinn Dalton, Mart Dickerson, Ed Glassman, Robyn James, Pamela Powers January, Christina Klug, Jan Leitschuh, Melinda Kemp Lyerly, Sundi McLaughlin, Dale Nixon, Lee Pace, Jeanne Paine, Noah Salt, Astrid Stellanova

PS David Woronoff, Publisher Advertising Sales

Jennifer Bowles, 910.693.2511 Terry Hartsell, 910.693.2513 Kerry Hooper, 910.693.2489 Perry Loflin, 910.693.2514 Peggy Marsh, 910.693.2516 Darlene McNeil-Smith, 910.693.2519 Meagan Powell, 910.693.3569 Johnsie Tipton, 910.693.2515 Karen Triplett, 910.693.2510 Pat Taylor, Advertising Director Advertising Graphic Design

Stacey Yongue, 910.693.2509 Mechelle Butler, Clay Culberson, Maegan Russell Circulation & Subscriptions

Darlene Stark, Circulation Director 910.693.2488

PineStraw Magazine

910.693.2467 173 W. Pennsylvania Avenue Southern Pines, NC 28387 pinestraw@thepilot.com • www.pinestrawmag.com ©Copyright 2013. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. PineStraw magazine is published by The Pilot LLC

May 2013 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

PLAY

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Where life just keeps getting better. Southern Pines, North Carolina • www.sjp.org • 910.246.1008 A member of the St. Joseph of the Pines Aging Services Network continuing the legacy of the Sisters of Providence.

SEVEN LAKES WEST

PINEHURST

SEVEN LAKES NORTH

Rustic retreat on Lake Auman! Tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac, this charming contemporary has lots of character and appeal. This is a very private lot with good water views and great deck space. Lots of wood and windows. $349,000 4 BR / 3 BA Code 1000

Best buy in Pinewild! Charming contemporary with open, airy spaces, spacious kitchen and dining area, designer driveway and low maintenance landscaping. New carpet in living areas. $279,900

Lovely lakefront cottage on Big Juniper Lake in Seven Lakes North! This home has been beautifully renovated inside and out and is in absolutely pristine condition. New heat pump, new ductwork, new skylights are just a few of the updates. $249,900

3 BR / 2.5 BA

3 BR / 2 BA

www.105TuckerCourt.com

www.41PinewildDrive.com

Code 996

www.122CardinalDrive.com

Code 1003

PINEHURST

SEVEN LAKES SOUTH

PINEHURST

Elegant golf front home in the Country Club of North Carolina! Spacious, open rooms with wonderful light! Located on the 7th tee of the Dogwood Course, this home has wide golf views that can be enjoyed from every room in the house. $498,000

Better than new! This charming home with vinyl and stone exterior features hardwood floors and 14' ceilings on entry that continue into the living roomwith fireplace with stone surround and raised granite hearth. Beautifulgourmet kitchen! The upstairs bonus room is great additional indoor space and the private backyard offers great outdoor space for family time or entertaining. $279,000

A Pinehurst Classic! This spacious one story brick home is on a quiet street close to the Village. Elegant, open rooms give plenty of space for large comfortable furniture without feeling crowded. Home has a wonderful flow for family and guests. Fenced yard. $449,000

3 BR / 3 BA

www.45LinvilleDrive.com

Code 1009

3 BR / 2 BA

www.252DevonshireAvenue.com

Code 1004

3 BR / 3 BA

www.80DalrympleRoad.com

Code 1002

SEVEN LAKES SOUTH

PINEHURST

SEVEN LAKES WEST

This home has one of the most extensive and tasteful renovations you'll ever see! It is like a brand new house! The floor plan is open and light with great views of the golf course and inviting outdoor spaces. Each bedroom is spacious enough to be the master and has its own private bath. $279,500

This beautifully maintained home is solid brick with tons of room for a large family. Built by Pat McFarland, one of the area's finest builders, this is one of his best floor plans. Generous sized rooms, hardwood floors, custom cabinets and granite countertops, super curb appeal! $398,000.

Beautiful one story brick home on the water at Lake Auman. This custom home is immaculate and has wide, wonderful views of the water from a southeasterly direction. $585,000

3 BR / 3.5 BA

5 BR / 4 BA

3 BR / 2 full & 2 half BA

www.117OxfordCourt.com

Code 984

www.1260BurningTreeRoad.com

Code 1007

www.149VanoreRoad.com

Code 1001

PINEHURST

SEVEN LAKES SOUTH

This wonderful home is tucked away on its own little peninsula with water all around! On over an acre, this is one of the most unique locations in Pinehurst. Elegant and casual, this home has been tastefully updated. $429,000

"Rosemary's Lodge" is a gorgeous home in the Village of Pinehurst. This home was taken down to the foundation and completely rebuilt in 2005. The very best of both worlds - location in the Village and up to date renovations that honor the style and period of the original. $895,000

Fully updated home on gorgeous oversized lot with nature views on two sides. Owner has upgraded entire home floor to ceiling including sunroom addition. Updated kitchen and appliances. Stone fireplace with gas logs .$159,900

3 BR / 2 BA

4 BR / 3.5 BA

3 BR / 2 BA

www.86GinghamLane.com

Code 987

www.50OrangeRoad.com

Code 978

www.110SherwoodRoad.com

View Floor Plans and Virtual Tours of Our Listings and See ALL Moore County Listings and Community Information at

WWW.MARTHAGENTRY.COM

Code 1008

Military?! Check out our Military Advantage Program at www.MarthaGentry.com

Re/Max Prime Properties, 5 Chinquapin Rd., Pinehurst, NC 910-295-7100 â&#x20AC;˘ 800-214-9007

sweet tea chronicles

The House that Built Me

By Jim Dodson

Purely on a spring lark the other

Photographs by Jim Dodson

day, or simple folly, I Google-viewed my old house and garden in Maine and briefly lived to regret it.

As the cold, all-seeing satellite eye zoomed in the only house I ever built, there sat my classic white post-and-beam saltbox house high on its densely forested coastal hill, still surrounded by 500 unspoiled acres of dense hemlock and birch, with the old town road etching uphill through the woods from the end of the paved town road. It was suddenly all there, seen from miles above the Earth, and eerily unchanged: my beautiful barn and faux-English two-acre garden surrounded by the stone walls I spent years rebuilding and the slowly greening forest where my children grew up convinced a pair of bumbling but good-natured bears named Pete and Charlie kept watch over our peaceable hilltop woodland. My prim white fences were still prim white and even the ornate bird feeders I put up in the wildflower meadow I created above the bog at the back of the property were still there, everything unchanged from the day I handed over the keys to the new owners and said goodbye to the place I thought I’d never leave. That was four years ago this May. I’ve never been back to see it — to be blunt, couldn’t bear to. But I’ve probably had at least a hundred dreams about that house and its garden, haunted by them in the best and worst sort of way. From ancient times May has always been regarded as the month of flowering rebirth, though springtime traditionally arrives in northern New England with a quickness that can both startle and delight. One day it’s sleeting and gray, dreary as can be, and the next the daffodils are jumping up and the sun is warm and the saucer magnolias are opening like ballet dancers in the opening act of Swan Lake. If you are lucky, barring the odd Mother’s Day snowstorm, true spring in the North Country might last two indulgent weeks before the temperature zooms to 80 and summer is off at a brisk gallop for the next four months. Blink your disbelieving eye and it’s Memorial day with the summer hordes flooding into Maine with half of everything they own lashed to the roof of their cars, the official start of Luggage Rack Season, whereupon the price of your basic lobster shore dinner triples overnight. The May we moved into the house on the hill — the House that built me, as I now regard it — just about everything in my life was new that wet and slow-

coming spring of 1989. I’d been married four years and had a new baby daughter named for her great grandmothers, a new job with two national magazines, and a host of powerful new feelings about what it meant to put down serious roots and build my first home, a place I would quite literally create with my own sweat, blood and tears — and not a few hundred mistakes that taught me much about the spiritual investment involved in true homemaking. In almost every respect, this was my dream home, the place I meant to stay forever. “All of life is a rhythm of coming and going from home,” notes spiritual writer Thomas Moore, “to the world, and back. Out in the world, we long to return home; sitting at home, we dream about wandering the world. Some make wandering the style of their lives, while others stay at home and imagine the world. Both ways are of infinite value, and both make life worth living.” Probably because I’d traveled much of the world yet enjoyed the luxury of growing up in a fine and loving home with gardening parents, I knew both yearnings powerfully, though that spring the desire to finally have a place all my own was nearly at fever pitch. Building your own house — making a home you claim as your own— can either be the most inspiring thing you ever undertake or an ongoing nightmare of ceaseless complications. In our case it turned out to be a little of both, though incredibly educational and even amusing at certain intervals. To step back a bit, the previous March we decided to pass on buying and restoring the handsome old farm house in town we were then renting on the banks of the mighty Androscoggin River in favor of building a post-and-beam house that would recall Colonial New England yet incorporate the modern features of life. To that end, I ran an ad in the local newspaper seeking 10 acres and received several phone calls within days from local folks who had land to sell. The one that grabbed my attention was out in the most rural western edge of the county, a parcel at the end of the paved road. A laconic Maine woman named Peggy showed me the land — five acres in a wet area at the base of a large forested hill, then agreed to let me wander up the hill to have a look at the land there. I waded through knee-deep snow and eventually came to a beautiful clearing where a couple of cars from the Eisenhower era sat in the strengthening March sunlight, surrounded by white birch and budding beech and hemlock trees. I knew the instant I saw it this was home. I made an offer on 12 acres. She replied, “I don’t know. That’s where my

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sweet tea chronicles

second husband used to work on his cars. It’s kind of sentimental to me.” She agreed to think about it. The phone was ringing as I came into our kitchen 20 minutes later. “If you’re still interested in buying that land on the hill,” Peggy said. “I would consider selling it to you.” Thus began my life as a house. Even before the snow was out the next spring we had the cars hauled off and started clearing. I learned that my new land had really been an old farmstead a hundred years ago, even found remnants of the original stone walls and various rusted tools buried in the earth. As my friend Mark on his bulldozer started carving out the house site — which I determined as to gain the longest benefit of the southern sun — I began rebuilding those walls and planning a garden — imagining a landscape reminiscent of the great sporting estates in England where I’d spent a great deal of my working life. With a little luck and sweat equity, I’d create my own English woodland garden. Another friend named Todd owned a small company called Maine Housewrights that specialized in post-and-beam construction, the traditional style of Colonial New England. That May, despite a biblical deluge of spring rain that turned our dirt road to impassable muck, we got going on the structure, a 2800-square-foot open-concept salt box with me serving as apprentice worker. By the end of May the structure was basically up and a metal roof on, shutting out the weather. Since we hoped to be in by late June, I got right to work building cabinets and bookcases, a skill I inherited from a grandfather who was a professional cabinet maker. I also laid the 12-inch pine plank floors Todd found in a New Hampshire barn and put up the Sheetrock walls, discovering I had no aptitude for the latter. The wiring and plumbing were done by a pair of local crews and the kitchen appliances arrived more or less on time, just as we started digging the well. Oh, the well. The first crew drilled a 75-foot well and announced we had

“plenty of water,” which seemed true for the first day or so. Then the well went dry. Our well guy came back and admitted he was stumped. We had only 1/16th of a gallon flow per minute. “We’ll have to frack,” he said, and brought back an even larger rig. He even brought back a douser, a true New England tradition, an old fella who used a witch hazel stick to find the best drilling spot. The rig hammered loudly for two solid days and we finally hit water, a geyser, in fact — and a bill that boggled. “We can give genuine Maine well water for Christmas,” I theorized the unexpected triple-cost to my wife. Because our lease on the farmhouse expired in April, I should point out, we were living in a large recreational camper — two adults, two golden retrievers, two young barn cats and a four-month-old infant. Yeah, it was kind of a kick in a rednecky reality TV show sort of way. At one point I brought home a huge roll of Astroturf to put down under the camper’s canopy in an effort to keep the mud at a distance. With our gas grill and folding chairs from Target, we looked like a couple of suburban escapees trying to get back to the land. The UPS guy, at least, was impressed. “Man, this is what I call a vacation spot,” he gushed. Then black fly season hit. If you’ve never been bitten by a black fly, you have no idea what I’m talking about. To get the effect, uncap a medium-point fountain pen and stab yourself in the upper arm with it. Then multiply that by a factor of ten, and there you have black fly season in northern New England. We moved into the house, as I recall, around my wife’s birthday in early July. That Christmas, when my folks came up from North Carolina for the holidays, my mom looked at the rustic interior of the house — all open, beautifully exposed hemlock beams and oversized windows drenched with sunlight — and remarked, “This is lovely, sweetie. When are you planning to finish it?” “This is finished, Mom,” I pointed out. “It’s supposed to look like this.” “Oh, lovely,” she said. “How Nice.” Over the next fifteen-plus years, I built that place into something special,

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sweet tea chronicles

or it built me — a huge new sun porch in back, an expanded side porch, a new architectural roof, and the piece de resistance: a handsome three-car barn with a finished upstairs for my office. A second child came within the first year of occupation and the years unfolded — glorious painted autumns, deep snows, sudden springs. I expanded my gardens every year, got to know a family of garter snakes that lived in our stone walls. The house, meanwhile, underwent constant revision. The children grew up, their heights marked on the laundry room door frame with the fidelity of an annual house inspection. In truth, I probably lavished far too much time and money creating that English garden in the woods, getting more hooked on the mistress of gardening with every passing year, which included a fantastic blue garden of hostas that came alive every June, a rose pergola full of climbing roses and daylilies imported from North Carolina, a gigantic “Southern” garden and perennial bed in back, and a philosopher’s garden which overlooked it all. That was was where, typically, I sat for lengthy spells on late summer afternoons on a peeling blue bench after mowing my little woodland estate — nicknamed “Slightly Off in the Woods” by my amused Scottish mother-in-law — admiring the home and garden I’d made, imagining how I would live there forever. Forever doesn’t last, of course. That’s the message of life in this world. “To live in this world,” advises the poet Mary Oliver, “you must do three things: to love what is mortal, to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when time comes, to let it go.” At their spiritual cores, a home and garden are innately mortal things, subject to rust and decay and the other laws of an ever-changing universe. The time to say goodbye came, as I say, almost five years ago, and as surprisingly as a sudden Yankee spring, when we sold our house and came home to North Carolina for good. Though I miss Maine and my house and garden on the forested hill terribly at times, it’s not a decision I regret in any way. Nothing is ever lost if it is truly loved. Best of all, lately my house dreams have begun to fade, a sign that perhaps my subconscious mind and soul are finally letting go of “Slightly Off in the Woods,” making room for something new, the way you would say goodbye to a departed friend. I now find myself passing meadows outside of town and feel a familiar stirring to take on another dream home, or drive through the old neighborhoods of Greensboro I know so well and see a charming house for sale and suddenly think: I could live there in a heartbeat. And someday, somewhere, I will. PS Contact editor Jim Dodson at Jim@pinestrawmag.com PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May 2013

Favorite Son

Josephus Daniels’ resume includes Secretary of the Navy in Woodrow Wilson’s cabinet, white supremacist, free trader, prohibitionist, politician, journalist. Lee Craig pulls no punches in his biography, nor will he at 6 p.m. on May 8, when Craig presents Josephus Daniels: His Life and Times. Craig will be introduced by Josephus Daniels’ grandson, Frank Daniels Jr., retired president/publisher of the News and Observer Publishing Company and president of The Pilot. Location: Country Club of North Carolina. Tickets and information: (910) 692-3211.

Lovely Ladies

Even after Kodak, Polaroid and digital, beautiful women sat for portraits. At 10 a.m. May 2, The Arts Council of Moore County and Weymouth Center present the first of three lectures in their Fine Arts Series: “Objects of Desire: 20th Century Portraits of Women.” Artist/lecturer Molly Gwinn provides insight into famous portraits. Location: Weymouth Center, Southern Pines. Admission: $10 for ACMC-Weymouth members, $15 non-members. Information: (910) 692-2787 or www.mooreart.org.

Paling Around

Double whammy: Play golf, help hungry kids. The Seventh Annual BackPack Pals Golf Tournament, with proceeds benefiting BackPack Pals of Moore County, tees off May 17 at Beacon Ridge Golf and Country Club. Lunch: 11:30 a.m.; shotgun start: 12:30 p.m. Format: Captain’s Choice-Flighted Handicap. Prizes, including hole-in-one, reception, music. Admission: $65 (includes cart) Information: (910) 673-1330.

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Cameron Calling Connoisseurs

Everybody who knows antiques shows up for the annual Cameron Antiques Fair, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. on May 4 in the Historic District of Cameron. More than 300 dealers display their wares in shops and al fresco. Our State magazine readers voted Cameron the best antique shopping destination in N.C. Information: (910) 245-3415 or www.antiquesofcameron.com .

Very Hot Wheels

The Inaugural Pinehurst Concours D’Elegance, May 3-5 at Pinehurst Resort, features more than 150 historic cars and motorcycles from around the world — including military vehicles. Events include a road rally and collector car auction — also an Iron Mike Rally. Elegant cars, elegant car enthusiasts, just marvelous. Admission for individual events or the whole shebang. Information: (704) 634-9022 or www.pinehurstconcours.com .

Silver Screenings

See E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial at the Village Arboretum in Pinehurst at 8:30 p.m. on May 10, part of the free Family Movie Series. Bring blankets, lawn chairs and insect repellant. Food concessions on site. Information: (910) 295-0166 or www.pinehurstrec.org . At 8:30 p.m. on May 17, Southern Pines Recreation will present Wreck it Ralph, also free, at Downtown Park on Broad Street. Information: (910) 692-7376 or www.southernpintes.net/ recreation.

Dear Anna….

Not from imprisoned Bates to his chambermaid sweetie at Downton Abbey. At 7 p.m. on May 19, The Moore County Historical Association presents Letters to Anna, a one-woman dramatic monologue by Kelly Atkins Hinson dressed as the widow of Confederate General Stonewall Jackson, based on letters composed during the Civil War. Free, open to the public. Location: First Baptist Church of Southern Pines. Information: (910) 692-2051 or www.moorehistory.com.

Frolic On Friday

Dogwoods, azaleas and the first First Friday confirm the arrival of early summer. On May 3, the ten-man Raleighbased Archbishops of Blount Street (famous for ska music), will perform from 5-8 p.m. on the grassy knoll beside the Sunrise Theater in historic downtown Southern Pines. Family-friendly, free admission, canned food donations accepted. Light fare available from Sly Fox Gastropub. The goal of this event is to bring people downtown for fun and togetherness.

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Shall We Dance?

Definitely, beginning at 6:30 p.m. on May 18, when the Ballroom Dancers of the Sandhills host their Annual Formal Dinner Dance (black tie optional) at Country Club of Whispering Pines. The event begins with cocktails, followed by dinner, dancing and a Latin dance exhibition by Lithuanian National Dance Champions Robertas Maleckis and Inga Siraite. Brush up on technique during afternoon workshops.

Admission: $48 (cash bar). Information: (910) 246-3320.

Like A Hike

Mother’s Day, May 12, is perfect for getting back to (Mother) Nature. Join a ranger at 3 p.m., and hike through Weymouth Woods, discovering forest plants that mothers have used through the centuries to improve family life. Free, open to the public. Information: (910) 692-2167.

Very Cool Jazz

Sandhills Community College Jazz Band, a.k.a. the Big Band Sound of the Sandhills, directed by Rob Hill, presents a free outdoor concert on the campus at 6:30 p.m. on May 13. Barbecue dinners for sale at 5 p.m. Or bring a picnic, along with lawn chairs and blankets. Information: (910) 692-6185.

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May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Canine Canter

Everybody loves a parade — even dogs. From 3 to 5 p.m. on May 5, the Moore Humane Society will hold its Second Annual Cinco de Mayo Pooch Parade at Downtown Park in Southern Pines. Dogs, in costume or not, can play Bobbing for Bones, compete for Best Dog Trick and other awards. Dog trainers, groomers, photographers and artists will attend, along with the Southern Pines K-9 unit. The event raises awareness about the importance of animal adoption and rehabilitation. Registration fee (per dog): $10 in advance, $15 at door with proceeds benefitting the Humane Society. Register online at www.moorehumane.org.

Strutting Her Stuff

The Rooster’s Wife series has plenty to crow about in May: May 5: David Jacobs-Strain and Bob Beach, modern roots country blues. May 12: Harpeth Rising: A little bit bluegrass spiced with folk, classical and original touches. May 19: John Cowan and Tiller’s Folly: Acoustic roots music from the Pacific Northwest. May 26: Betse Ellis and Wulitzer Prize: Yes, you can sing Ozark tunes while playing the fiddle, Ellis proves. All concerts at Poplar Knight Spot in Aberdeen. Doors open at 6 p.m. Tickets at door or online: www.reverbnation.com/venue/theroosterswife. Information: (910) 944-7502.

Children’s Book Week Friday, May 10, 10:30 am David Carter

Princess Bugs and other fun Bug books

David A. Carter is a master paper engineer and creator of the Bugs series, which has sold more than 6 million copies. We invite you to join us and meet David and hear him talk about his newest book in the bug series. Suggested reading for Preschool ages.

Monday May 13, 4:30 pm

AJ Hartley

Darwen Arkwright and the Peregrine Pact and MacBeth a Novel

A.J. Hartley is the bestselling author of mystery/thriller, fantasy, historical fiction, and young adult novels. Meet the author as he talks about his latest books for middle grade readers.

Wednesday, May 15, 4 pm Shelia Turnage

Three Times Lucky

(Newbery Honor Winner 2013) Come meet Sheila Turnage, the author of the middle grade novel Three Times Lucky, book set in eastern North Carolina where Sheila grew up.

Friday, May 17, 10:30 am

Froggy stories with special guest Froggy! Preschool Storytime

Sunday, May 19, 2 pm Kelly Starling Lyons

Writers Workshop

Author of the Award Winning Ellen’s Broom will conduct a writing workshop. There is a fee associated with this event. Call the Bookshop at 692-32ll for details.

May 2013P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

140 NW Broad St • Southern Pines • 910.692.3211 • thecountrybookshop.biz

C o s a n d E f f ect

Shooting from the Heart A well-taken photograph stays with you a lifetime

it’s our

ANNIVERSARY We may have become an

ICON in the community,

but our menu and specials are as fresh & flavorful today as when we opened our doors 22 years ago!

By Cos Barnes

“A picture is worth a thousand words” goes the old adage,

Photograph by Dr. Homer A. Ferguson III

so I promise to keep this one short.

Some weeks ago I attended a concert of four pianists, Mary Lee Schulte, Lydia Gill, Johnny Bradburn and Homer A. Ferguson III, at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Southern Pines. As I watched the eight hands fly over the two keyboards delighting us with the music of Bach, Handel, Liszt, Strauss, Elgar and Beiderbecke, I found my eyes frequently returning to the picture on the front cover of the program. It was an image of the church which Ferguson took when he went to practice on a beautiful snowy Saturday that was dreamy with great big flakes. The compelling part of the picture was that the red door was open — as if inviting us in. Every week in my Sunday School class I see a new picture of Tyler, the 5-month-old grandson of Judy and John McInerney, both professors at Sandhills Community College. Tyler lives in Middletown, Maryland, a day’s drive away, but not to worry, the McInerneys visit with him every day via SpaceTime through an iPad or an iPhone. He is also available on Facebook, so Judy spends hours watching him eat, play, jabber and grow. She has witnessed each new laugh line and each new expression. She cannot hold him, but she has ample time to determine which side of the family he resembles. How we cherish our photographs. My friend of 20 years, Cindy Davis, died last December. She was a beauty with sparkling personality to match. When her friends gathered to commemorate her birthday in February, her husband, Eddie, gave each of us a framed picture of her. Mine is positioned directly across from where I sit in my den, and that smile encourages me and comforts me. She is healthy, tanned and dressed in her signature great-looking summer dress. I imagine she winks at me when I’m perplexed or discouraged. And I wink back. My friend Cassie Willis finished this story when she sent me pictures of pets mourning their masters. There were dogs at the foot of the casket of a serviceman, lying on a grave, offering comfort after bad news was received, giving love to the ill, and offering a paw in farewell. PS Cos Barnes is a longtime contributor to PineStraw magazine. She can be contacted at cosbarnes@nc.rr.com.

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Lost

The memoir of a lone survivor and her unassailable grief

By Stephen E. Smith

The December

26, 2004, Indian Ocean tsunami killed an estimated 230,000 people in twelve countries, making it the deadliest tsunami in recorded history. In human terms, the enormous number of casualties inflicted by the wave is incomprehensible, but for each singular statistic there’s a personal story of sorrow. Sonali Deraniyagala’s Wave: A Memoir of Life After the Tsunami is an unsparing account of one survivor — a wife, daughter and mother — who has endured unimaginable loss. Deraniyagala teaches now in the department of economics at the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London and is a visiting research scholar at the School of International and Public Affairs at Columbia University, but on the morning of the tsunami, she and her husband, Steve, their two young sons, Vikram and Malli, and her parents were staying at a hotel in Yala, a national park on the southeastern coast of Sri Lanka. Deraniyagala was standing in a doorway chatting with a friend when she noticed a wave edging up the gentle slope to the hotel. She called to her husband, “Come out, Steve, I want to show you something.” The sea continued to rise with startling rapidity, and Deraniyagala and her husband and children fled their room, leaving her parents behind in the hotel. “I didn’t shout to warn them. I didn’t bang on their door and call them out.” The family climbed into a Jeep that was already moving and

made it to the end of the driveway, where the vehicle filled with churning water. Deraniyagala and her husband lifted the children so their faces would be above the surge, but the Jeep flipped over, and in a split second, she was swept away. The five people she loved most in the world perished in the tsunami, but Deraniyagala managed to grab a low-hanging branch and survive. What lay before her, the initial shock and the unrelenting, overwhelming sorrow, is her story to tell — and she tells it with brutal honesty. Following the disaster, Deraniyagala somehow made her way to her aunt’s home in Colombo. “The front door of the house was open, neighbors and relatives wandered in. They were told about me. Everyone looked at me aghast. She’s lost her children? And her husband and her parents? Some of the visitors left quickly and returned with more people saying, look at this poor lady, isn’t it unbelievable, her whole family is gone. I was slumped in that brown armchair. Is this me they are talking about?” Readers are likely to experience a similar reaction to Deraniyagala’s story. The loss she suffered is so overwhelming that it’s difficult to grasp. Merely reading her descriptions — rendered in disquieting detail — makes her anguish palpable. How could anyone suffer such pain and carry on? readers will ask. Deraniyagala’s experience is not analogous to the stages of grief that pop psychology would have us believe is the norm — sadness, loneliness, anger, anxiety, fatigue and pain. Her initial reaction to the loss of her family was physical in nature: “I stabbed myself with a butter knife. I lashed at my arms and my thighs. I smashed my head on the sharp corner of the wooden headboard of the bed. I stubbed out cigarettes on my hands. I didn’t smoke, I only burned them into my skin.” She was intent on killing herself, but a devoted group of friends and family kept guard over her constantly. For months following the tsunami, Deraniyagala couldn’t leave her room. She was terrified of everything. “I couldn’t look at grass because I didn’t

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want anything to remind me of our life, remind me of them. I wanted to guard myself against any kind of memory.” Every object in the physical world, no matter how mundane, summoned up moments spent with her lost family. She recalled with frightening clarity her children’s every habit, her husband’s words and gestures haunted her, she imagined her parents living still in the empty house where she grew up. And she was racked with survivor’s syndrome because she mourned some family members more than others. She drank heavily and abused prescription drugs and passed through a phase where she directed her anger at the Dutch family who had rented her parents’ home. She banged on their locked gate, constantly called on the phone and hung up, parked her car in front of the house at night and leaned on the horn. Deraniyagala’s acute psychological reaction to the tragedy is interwoven with the history of her relationship with her husband, parents and children. She revisits family outings, listens to the music they loved, eats at restaurants they once frequented — all of which intensify the reader’s understanding of her torment. “I remember the four of us driving home to North London on our last Sunday in England. We’d been to Fortnum & Mason to buy a Christmas pudding for my mother. Steve wanted to show the boys the new offices his research institute was moving to . . . . It was raining, and I was in a hurry to get home. ‘Do it when we’re back in January,’ I said.” So what is the worth of such a memoir? Will it assuage the anguish of those poor souls who are, God forbid, similarly burdened by fate? Probably not. Will readers who have experienced comparable loss find solace in the story of Deraniyagala’s painful struggle toward recovery? Again, it’s unlikely. The value of Deraniyagala’s memoir is in what it doesn’t say directly — that grief, even in its mildest manifestations, is unavoidable, and there’s no easy or convenient path to healing. One’s personal history never goes away, and there’s no such thing as “closure.” “But I have learned that I can only recover myself when I keep them near,” Deraniyagala writes. “If I distance myself from them, and their absence, I am fractured. I am left feeling I’ve blundered into a stranger’s life.” Perhaps the best we can do is become accustomed to the truth. Who among us can go on living without arriving at a degree of reconciliation with those we’ve loved and lost? And after all, this life of averages spares no one. PS Stephen Smith’s most recent book of poetry is A Short Report on the Fire at Woolworths. He can be reached at travisses@hotmail.com.

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Military Books By Kimberly Daniels

Conquered Into Liberty by Eliot Cohen. Contemporary political and military issues, as this leading defense analyst and historian argues, were first confronted before the American Revolution. What has been often described as a distinctive American approach to waging war was obvious from the very beginning of Colonial history. As the David McCullough of the American frontier, Cohen shows that the past and present are permanently intermingled. History, with some modifications, repeats itself. The Nightingale’s Song by Robert Timberg. The Iran-Contra Affair, contrary to much of the liberal/progressive elite, was not just another Watergate. Closely linked to the fierce passions of the Vietnam War, it was really a story of courage and cowardice and honor and betrayal. This is a story about the soul of the United States. This is a brilliant work of history that deserves to be on the same shelf as David Halberstam’s The Best and the Brightest. It is in all ways an admirable and necessary book. Fields Of Fire by James Webb. This is about more than three young Marines facing an experienced, determined enemy in the jungles and rice paddies. It is also about who went and who didn’t. After nearly forty years, this is still the most powerful of the Vietnam War novels. The Village by Bing West. According to the Washington Post Book Review, this is the story of how the Vietnam War should have been fought. Perhaps. The fact still remains that General William Westmoreland refused to take reasonably sound advise from Marine officers. But the inkblot strategy needs unlimited time and a democracy does not have great patience. One must be satisfied, therefore, to read that the fifteen brave Marines are still remembered by the villagers they sought to protect. Shrapnel In The Heart by Laura Palmer. Once a year I go off to some private place and read portions of this book. It makes me laugh and cry. It contains letters and remembrances from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The book opens with these words from 2 Corinthians 1: 8-11: “For we do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, of the affliction we experienced in Asia; for we were so utterly, unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself. Why, we felt that we had received the sentence of death . . .” This is a proper beginning for any book about war.

The Retreat By Michael Jones. The brutal fact of the matter is that as long as Germans and Russians butchered each other on the Eastern front, American and British soldiers would not have to die in large numbers. It was the Russians, as Churchill remarked, who “tore the guts” out of the German military. Jones presents the first year of the apocalyptic war between the two totalitarian dictators. As a German officer observed: “We do not kill humans, but the enemy, who are rendered impersonal — animals at best. They behave the same way towards us.” Armageddon by Max Hastings. This simply is the best history of the final year of World War II in Europe for both serious military buffs and general readers. Hastings does not raise monuments to make readers comfortable and proud. He is always very provocative, especially when he barely masks his disdain for American and British forces and great admiration for the Wehrmacht’s professionalism. No matter what the issue, however, the research is overwhelming. This book is a must read. The Korean War by Max Hastings. This was a struggle, Hastings argues, that the “West was utterly right to fight.” But it was also “a military rehearsal for the subsequent disaster in Vietnam.” Korea “vividly displayed the difficulties of using air power effectively against a primitive economy, a peasant army.” Much more important, however, was “America’s lower socioeconomic groups” would continue to fill the ranks of the infantry in Vietnam and “would once more have serious consequences.” Military history does not get any better than this. This book presents Korea as a preview of coming attractions. Deathride by John Mosier. In this exhaustive study of the Eastern front of World War II, Mosier argues that “the evidence suggests not only that Hitler came much closer to an outright victory than is often supposed, but that much of what we think is true about this conflict is, if not completely false, very nearly so.” This includes, he observes, the fact that “most of the civilian deaths” in the zone of occupation “were caused by Stalin, not Hitler.” John Mosier has written a book that cannot be ignored. Eagle Against The Sun by Ronald H. Spector. This is probably the best single volume on the American war against the Empire of Japan. It presents not only the great battles but also the little remembered parts of the conflict.

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Spector, moreover, is certainly not politically correct: “It is hard to see how a long-continued aerial bombardment of Japan would have cost fewer lives than the two atomic bombs.”

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Making The Corps by Thomas E. Ricks. This is an extremely important book regarding the Marine culture of our country. Analyzing the sense of the community, the values and the leadership qualities created, this book explains a cornerstone of our military. The Insurgents by Fred Kaplan. The title refers to those military officers and civilian defense intellectuals who, led by General David Petraeus, turned “counterinsurgency” into policy instead of a curse. As one of the latter, Kaplan generally ignores important events to concentrate on what some have called theoretical arguments behind different military doctrines. They are wrong. The insurgents made the American military “more adept” at fighting “asymmetric wars.” They could not, however, make this kind of war “acceptable . . . to the American public.” Disconnect in civilmilitary relations is deep and dangerous.

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By Angie Tally

Spring is here and brings with it a whole crop of new authors with fun books for young readers. Tea Rex written and illustrated by Molly Idle. When making a guest list for an important tea party, one must always remember to include all their best friends, even if one of those friends happens to be a T-Rex. Despite the difficulty he might have in holding the tea cup (T-Rex have tiny arms) and in squeezing his body into your parlor, T-Rex will most certainly be thrilled to join the festivities and may even extend an invitation of his own in return. Chaotic fun for ages 3-6. Miss Maple’s Seeds written and illustrated by Eliza Wheeler. At the end of every summer, Miss Maple gathers lost seeds that haven’t yet found their place to grow and takes them on field trips to learn more about being a seed. Then she keeps them safe and warm in her cozy maple tree house until spring comes and her part in their

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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stories has come to an end. Into the world she sends them, to find their own place to grow with sweet memories past and bright futures ahead. Perfect for children of all ages. Elvis and the Underdogs by Jenny Lee. Flu, bronchitis, pneumonia, asthma attacks, allergies, foot stuck in a pickle jar, infected hamster bite, weird rashes, unexplained swollen big toe, Benji, has had them all and has accumulated a grand total of three hundred days in the hospital in his ten years, four months and fifteen days. Now his newest ailment, fainting, leaves him with two choices, wear the world’s ugliest padded helmet every day all day or get a therapy dog. This winner of the American Bookseller’s New Voices award has readers laughing and crying at the same time. Seth, age 11: “I loved Elvis and the Underdogs. It is a very cheerful, funny book with surprises around every corner!” Ages 9-12. Firecracker by David Iserson. (on sale May 16) 1/4 Catcher in the Rye, 1/4 Breakfast Club, 1/4 Cliqueand l¼ ike nothing ever before, Firecracker is the chronicle of the senior year of uber-rich, spoiled genius criminal mastermind Astrid Krieger, who lives by her Grandfather’s motto: “Forgiveness is for those who are too weak to hold a grudge.” Snarky, sarcastic, clever and above all hilarious, this fantastic journey with Astrid is a great summer read for anyone 14 and up.

Tell the world

YOUR STORY

Celebrate Children’s Book Week at The Country Bookshop with a week’s worth of North Carolina Authors: Monday, May 13, 4 p.m. AJ Hartley, author of Darwen Arkwright and the Peregrine Pact and Darwen Arkwright and the Insideous Bleck. Wednesday, May 15, 4 p.m. Shelia Turnage, Newbery Honor winning author of Three Times Lucky. Friday, May 17, 10:30 a.m. Children’s Book Storytime with special guest children’s book character Froggy. Sunday, May 19, 2 p.m. Kelly Starling Lyons, author of the Coretta Scott King Illustrator honor book, Ellen’s Broom, will conduct a workshop entitled “So You Want to Write a Children’s Book.” Call 692-3211 to register. PS

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Spring Cleaning

I’ll get to it very soon. I promise

By Dale Nixon

Kiss 20-degree weather goodbye and embrace spring with a warm hello.

It’s an introduction we all have been waiting for. It’s time to enjoy the great outdoors and the bonus of having another hour of daylight each day. Getting back to reality, it’s also the time of year to clean out, clear out, throw away and give away. Of course, most of us have to be in the right frame of mind to accomplish this annual ritual known as spring cleaning. The right frame of mind does not whomp us on the head. We have to psych ourselves up for it. I’ve got three basic methods to get in the mood for spring cleaning: l. Pretend I’m enslaved in a labor camp and will be tortured by watching re-runs of Honey Boo Boo until I complete the cleaning. 2. Promise to reward myself with a big hunk of chocolate layer cake as I finish a room. 3. Deny myself caffeine and reading paperback romance novels until I can check an item off my list. This spring, I chose the chocolate layer cake method — the same method I choose every year. I pulled the cake out of the freezer to defrost and decided to tackle the attic. My mouth watered as I climbed the attic stairs, knowing I would get my chocolate reward at the end of the day. I fought off a couple of cobwebs and groped around for the light. When my eyes adjusted, they zeroed in on two batons propped in a corner of the room. One baton was short; one was long. Flashbacks and memories. My daughter, Edie, was 14 and had never had a baton lesson in her life. She came home from school one day and said, “Mom, I’m going to be a majorette for Concord High School.” I said, “Sure you are, darling.” “Mom, I’m serious. I want you to buy me a baton. I have two weeks to learn to twirl, and I’m going to do it.” I have always believed in the impossible. I bought Edie a baton. My other daughter, Hollis, who was 2 at the time, tagged along with her big sister as she practiced. Hollis became so fascinated with the process that I bought

her a baton too. One day I was watching out the window during one of the girls’ practice sessions. I noticed that Hollis would throw her small baton in the air and stand there until it fell and hit her over the head. I ran outside. “Hollis, what in the world are you doing?” She grinned up and me and replied, “Twirl like Edie.” Two weeks later, Edie was selected as a majorette for our local high school. Hollis only suffered a few bumps on the head. There was no way I could part with the two batons. While digging through some old, used kitchen utensils, I found the first copper pot Mother had given to me when I married. As she handed it to me, she teasingly said, “To learn to boil water in.” It must have taken me a while to learn to boil water because the bottom was as black as soot. Perhaps I could scour the copper bottom pot and pass it on to one of my daughters because both of them now know how to boil water too. In the middle of the room lay my husband’s hopes of turning me into an athlete. There was a tennis racquet, golf clubs, golf shoes, balls of various size and shape and a pair of ice skates. I had failed him miserably. I had struck out in every sport. But I would save the sporting equipment because maybe — one day — there would be a grandchild who could use them and fulfill my husband’s athletic dreams. So far my spring cleaning wasn’t going too well, but what really did me in was finding a storehouse of pictures. I sat right down in the floor and spent hours looking at photographs. There were pictures of friends, relatives, parties and family get-togethers. Although they were faded and dusty, I couldn’t bear to throw even one of them away. I looked down at my watch. My day was gone. I had accomplished nothing. Ah, what the heck. I didn’t need a piece of chocolate layer cake anyway. So what if it’s the time of year to clean out, clear out, throw away and give away. I’d much rather spend my spring making more memories to store in the attic. PS Columnist Dale Nixon may be contacted at dalenixon@carolina.rr.com.

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T h e E v o lv i n g S p e c i e s

Force of Nature An Ode to Mom

By Sundi McLaughlin

I am a child of a very tiny woman, yet a

true force of nature. With her hands the size of a China doll and the stature of a small pre-teen, I can actually tuck her little body under my arm like a giant crane with wings outstretched as if protecting a baby from the elements. Of course, my mom is oblivious to her Lilliputian size. She believes herself to be as tall as I and twice as tough. While my six-foot stature surely casts a shadow on her tiny bones, she actually is very strong. Don’t believe me? Try paying for lunch and then watch in horror as your once able-bodied limb crumples to dust as her sweet baby doll hand clamps down on yours with a startling ferocity. If you can hear over the sound of your delicate phalanges being ground into oblivion, you might hear her whisper, “I’ve got this.” Why she takes such umbrage with my attempts to pay for a meal is one of life’s great mysteries, like why Pluto is no longer a planet.

Mom is a real no-nonsense type of lady. She doesn’t wear a lot of makeup, has never had a manicure, has never had her hair professionally colored or highlighted, and has never had a spa day. “Wasteful,” I can hear her say with a shake of her head, and yet her rules don’t seem to apply to her daughter. She is forever reminding me about keeping up my nails, my skin and my hair. I know watching your child grow old must be traumatic, but the constant scrutiny wears this old daughter out. I see my parents twice a year and the reunion usually goes something like

this: “Mom, it’s so good to see you, how was the drive?” We then share a prolonged hug with excessive back patting (on her part). “Hmm, don’t get me started,” she sighs with an eye roll, and then her little baby hand touches my face and her eyes inspect me like a bug under a microscope. “What cream are you using on your face? I don’t think it’s working.” She then strokes my hair, “So dry, have you tried Pantene?” And then the knockout punch, “You need to pay attention to your posture; I think you are getting a hump.” At which point she whips me around and begins pounding on my “imagined hump.” “Nothing uglier than a tall girl with poor posture”, she says raising her voice to be heard over the back pounding. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad give me a wink and pour himself three fingers of Elijah Craig. My mom, Suzanne, is a cancer survivor, and when I was in high school she had the horrible surgeries, the wretched chemotherapy, and the unenviable job of raising me. Take your pick as to which one was the worst hand to be dealt. She hid her sickness from me. Of course I knew she was sick, but when she wasn’t in the hospital, she put up a very brave face and to my knowledge unless hospitalized never missed one of my volleyball games. Through all of her struggles, she still managed to make me feel important and find joy in my accomplishments. Her poor little body has been traumatized, and yet she arises from the ashes every time like the wily old phoenix. Not much has changed all these years later. She still has the terrible habit of minimizing or denying her medical difficulties, and I know she is the one I still want in my corner. She insists on going to work with me every day when she is here on vacation and talks to every person who walks in the shop as if they are old friends, something I am still in the process of learning. Bottom line: My mom has never met a stranger and is constantly stopping to chat on the street to compliment folks on their hair or sweater or dog. She will also walk up to a complete stranger and tuck his or her tag back into the collar. The victims usually jump a little but then, upon seeing my mom’s smiling face, they relax and smile too. Now to my ever-loving shame, I find myself doing the same thing. I hear her in my head asking, “Wouldn’t you want someone to tell you if your tag was sticking out?” I’ve given this question a lot of thought and frankly, I don’t think I care. So why, might I ask, am I now compelled to do the tag tucking? Genetics is the only answer I can come up with.

T h e E v o lv i n g S p e c i e s

Here’s a perfect example of my mom’s ability to charm a perfect stranger. Several months ago a lovely woman came into my shop and explained she had never been in but had heard nice things about Mockingbird. We got to chatting, because let’s face it — I am my mother’s daughter. The customer explained that she had met a friendly lady at Doug’s Auto who went on and on about how great Mockingbird was and what an interesting combination of inventory I stocked. After a while the customer (Laura is her name, and by now we’re old friends) asked, “Could the lady at Doug’s have been your mom?” I asked her, “Was she tiny with curly hair and complimented you on either your eyes or sweater? Did she by chance tuck your tag into your collar?” “Why yes, I do believe she complimented my eyes.”

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I might have a sharp tongue and I even might tell you when there is lettuce between your teeth, but . . . “Of course she did, they are beautiful, so clear and bright.” Aw jeeze, what’s happening to me? “I think I’m turning into my mother!” I declared. With a slight pause, Laura asked, “Would that be the worst thing in the world? She seemed lovely and full of such positive energy. I imagine she makes everyone around her feel good, and she clearly is so proud of you.” This comment stopped me cold, I’ll admit. My mother is tough as nails but always ready to give a person the shirt off her back, in short, no pun intended, the kind of great lady I’ve been trying to be without knowing it my entire life. So yes, I might have a sharp tongue and I even might tell you when there is lettuce between your teeth, but hopefully I am also the person you can call if you need support, a laugh, or a hot chocolate chip cookie. I am my mother’s daughter after all, and I can’t think of a greater compliment than that . . . can you? PS Sundi McLaughlin is a frequent contributor to PineStraw magazine.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

P o stca r d f r o m P a r i s

All the Comforts of Home For now, we are family

By Christina Klug

I am a comfort seeker. I spent the

majority of college doing work (or reading fashion blogs, if I’m being honest) under a fluffy white down comforter at my sorority house, and I cannot imagine traveling without my pillow.

I was raised with the understanding that wearing yoga pants for the majority of the day makes you more likely to exercise, and that when you got home from work you put on your “comfy clothes,” an American euphemism for pajamas. The issue at hand, however, is rooted deeper than my goose-filled bedding requirements and my love of elastic waistbands. I seek comfort in situations with those I’m surrounded by. And while it takes about five minutes for me to consider us best friends, I can only hope others feel the same. Moving abroad to live into a stranger’s home for eleven months demands you get comfortable quickly. You have to learn different cultural norms and expectations, while sharing a tighter than preferred European living space. And for those of you who know me, you know I come with a big personality and a voice that carries. Fifteen minutes into meeting my new Parisian family, I tripped over my glass of water, shattering it completely. My first mistake was putting it on the floor, but it was then they were introduced to my clumsy side. On my second morning, Josephine told me I needed a wash because I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet. Tell it how it is, sista. A few weeks on the job and Lucy found me blinking back tears and gagging while changing Emile’s diaper, and soon after she puked on the table at lunchtime when I burped aloud. Thankfully I can count on one hand the number of diapers I’ve changed since then, and I’ve started blaming my burps on bumping things under the table. I spent a few nights without a pillow, because somebody, whom I’ll leave unnamed, has sticky fingers and likes to take things as her own or hide them. Discussing that with the parents was a bit awkward.

There was a time when the girls were bashful and didn’t want to change in front of me but after a month, they were climbing into the tub with me at bathtime — uninvited, I can assure you. Not long after, I was having the door opened every time I used the bathroom because the children’s conversations simply couldn’t wait. It got weirder for me when Papa started talking to us at the dinner table from the toilet. And weirder still the week I saw him sprint across the hardwoods in his underwear multiple times. The French Tom Cruise, n’est-ce pas? Five out of the six of us got the stomach flu one weekend and spent the afternoon sprawled out as weaklings on the sofa together. And another time when I was sick on holiday, Josephine nursed me back to health. One day we got locked out of the house for the entire afternoon, even though I had the keys in my hand. Luckily we spent the afternoon jumping on the trampoline as we waited for a locksmith. My room, while once off-limits, has become a second home to the girls. Many afternoons we snuggle in bed reading stories and watching films. While it can be annoying that they think my closet and jewelry belong to them, they have become my maid service when I go out for runs so I now prefer an open-door policy. I was recently asked if I bought my socks at GoSport and when I said no, Papa called me out for wearing his socks, which mysteriously found their way into my room over the weekend. I promise I wasn’t rooting around in his sock drawer like I do to my own dad. From the beginning, they were so welcoming and showered me with the same love they felt for one another. They wanted me to have every comfort of America they could offer — Coke and Cheerios were always on my market list. But more so, they wanted me to feel at home in France and to become an extension of their family. They have sympathized with me when I missed loved ones at home, but my heart is fuller knowing the four of them. I’ve found the more we endure life’s mishaps together, the more comfortable we feel with each other. And I’m thankful we’ve gotten to the point where I can walk down the stairs with smudged mascara, my floral bathrobe and a towel wrap atop my head, even if they laugh hilariously at me. PS Christina Klug, a former PineStraw intern, is out in the wild world loving Nutella and making her fortune as an au pair in France.

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May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Vine Wisdom

Falling for Falanghina

A wonderful wine from one of the oldest grapes on record

By Robyn James

A third

Photograph by cassie butler

generation Italian winemaker once told me, “Trying to discuss Italian grapes is like trying to count the pebbles on the beach.” Last spring when I had the good fortune to visit all of Italy, I could certainly agree. The Ministry of Agriculture in Italy recognizes 350 “authorized” grapes, and it is said that there are at least an additional 500 varieties of “unauthorized” grapes.

One that I have always loved and enjoyed revisiting there is the falanghina grape, and I know that spring is the perfect season to talk about it. So often, consumers get caught up in the “I have to choose either chardonnay or sauvignon blanc” dilemma. I don’t want a buttery, oaky wine, and I don’t want a grapefruity, aggressive wine, what to do? Hello, falanghina. Falanghina is one of the oldest grapes on record, probably brought to Italy from Greece by Roman merchants, who cultivated it from central to southern Italy. Calabria, near Sicily, is home to this grape, considered one of the finest Italian white varieties. The name is a derivative of the Latin word for “falangae”, which refers to the stakes used to prop up the vines. Nearly wiped out by phylloxera in the ’60s, the Martusciello family discovered a few ancient stumps of the grape that had escaped destruction

and began the time-consuming process of regenerating the strain from near extinction. Today, it is the most popular white grape grown in Naples and Caserta. Falanghina loves the volcanic soil and the marine influence of Calabria. This is a wine that never sees oak, instead aged on its lees (dead yeast cells after fermentation) in stainless steel tanks. Falanghina is best paired with Mediterranean seafood dishes. So, move over, chardonnay and sauvignon blanc, here is falanghina, the middle sister! Read on for some of my favorites available in the States.

TERREDORA FALANGHINA, approx. $15

“Wraps around the palate with succulent yellow stone fruits, white flowers and orange blossoms. Shows depth, richness and pure texture. Clean mineral notes appear on the finish, adding energy and vibrancy.” Rated 88 Points, Robert Parker, The Wine Advocate

CANTINA DEL TABURNO FALANGHINA, approx. $17

A light white, showing solid cut to the white peach and melon notes, with hints of chalk and spring herbs accenting the zesty finish.

FEUDI DI SAN GREGORIO FALANGHINA, approx $20

Suggest apple, with some melon and earthiness. Fairly dry in flavor supported by a little lemon and pineapple. The dryness of the wine makes one think of the wine as being a little tart, but it is not actually tart, just dry. PS Robyn James is proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at winecellar@pinehurst.net.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

T h e k i tc h e n g a r d e n

Raspberry Dreams And you can grow them in your backyard

By Jan Leitschuh

You’ll start to see U.S. raspberries in the

markets near the end of this month. What if you could grow a delectable and expensive raspberry crop inexpensively right in your backyard?

When I came down to North Carolina from chilly Wisconsin over thirty years ago, I was told, “You can’t grow raspberries here!” And it’s somewhat true — growing raspberries in the Sandhills is difficult from a commercial perspective, although some farmers have managed to do it on a small scale. Yet it turns out that raspberries grow just fine in my compost-rich garden bed. I’ve also begun to see them pop up in small and precious quantities at the the local farmers markets the last several years. Despite the difficulties of heat and disease the humid South presents, some area farmers have responded to the increased demand from the influx of out-of-staters from raspberry-growing states. I first discovered the possibility of backyard raspberry nirvana here when my organic gardening friend Nancy told me she was growing them in her Pinehurst backyard. She was from Wisconsin and, like me, missed the ease and flavor of homegrown raspberries picked right off the canes. “Where in the world did you get your plants?” I asked, incredulous. After all, you can’t grow raspberries in the Sandhills. Right? “I got them from my mother in Wisconsin,” she said. They were a shortcaned variety called Boyne — a signature Wisconsin variety. In fact, agricultural literature calls the 50-plus-year-old, cold-hardy Boyne variety “THE summerproducing red raspberry for extreme Arctic climates!” I would call our climate here many things, but “Arctic” is not one of them. In fact, “Arctic” Boyne was rated hardy only down to Zone 6, while we here in the Sandhills have slid into an early Zone 8a. Why it thrived in Moore County was a mystery to me. Raspberries need a certain amount of winter chilling hours, which we don’t always have. They don’t care for the high heat of our Sandhills summers either. Nancy’s two raspberry-encouraging secrets? Water and compost. Raspberries need at least three percent organic matter in the soil. She worked loads of aged compost into her raspberry beds, and then she made sure to water during dry spells. Raspberries are shallow-rooted, and both size of fruit and

plant growth can be stunted if water is scarce during critical periods. Nancy’s result? After all the pies and fresh eating she wanted, she loaded her freezer up with the abundance. Nancy gave me several starter plants. This is easy to do in the spring. Raspberries tend to “crawl” in their roots, and little plantlets called suckers appear in the walkways in May. Dig up, snip with a portion of the parent root, and replant in a little potting soil, water in well and set in a shady area to recover. After a week or two, transfer the stabilized transplants into their bed. To Nancy’s “compost and water” recipe, I added afternoon shade. Our patch is on the east side of a wood, similar to the raspberry’s natural wild environment on the edges. This seems to help greatly. When heat-stressed, raspberry leaves shut down photosynthesis, the process by which plant food and sugars are made. It’s the equivalent of putting the plant on a starvation diet, which makes the yield and fruit smaller and may also compromise overwinter vigor. Anything that helps during the heat of a summer’s afternoon helps. Raspberries actually come in colors other than red — there are yellow ones, purple ones, even uber-delicious black ones with a distinctive flavor. Try finding those for sale fresh-picked, anywhere! I think the kitchen garden is the only spot you might see them, though I would be thrilled to find a local source. In my variety, Boyne, the fruit is borne on 1-year-old canes. As soon as the stems have borne fruit, I prune them back to the ground. This makes room for the new canes, and will encourage strength in the new stem. Boyne is a floricane variety. There are also ever-bearing varieties called primocane types that can bear two crops a year or that can be mown down in spring for a large fall crop. I’ve not had good luck with those, but it could have been the site, which was on the dry side. Probably the best variety for our area is Dormanred, hardy and high-yielding, and while some feel it doesn’t have quite the same red-raspberry flavor, it performs well in the tough Sandhills environment. Southland is another “southern” raspberry recommendation. But if you have a good spot and a little water during critical times, it might pay to experiment — after all, Boyne isn’t supposed to do well here. Heritage is a popular old variety that you might take a chance on, and find in stores locally, or online. If you can handle the arched-cane tangle, black raspberries (or “black caps”) are supposed to handle the higher summer temps. However, they are susceptible

T h e k i tc h e n g a r d e n

to several viruses, so the planting might not be longlived. Black caps are supposed to be incredibly rich in cancer-preventing phytochemicals, but besides that, they taste fabulous and are near-impossible to buy. “Allen,” “Bristol,” and “Cumberland” are three to try, and can stretch out your picking season. I love black caps, but they need to be grown well apart from red raspberries (seven hundred feet) due to the disease issues, and I don’t have another space with water nearby. From a farmer’s standpoint, raspberries are a labor-intensive commercial crop, with a very short shelf life, soft and perishable. But for a kitchen gardener, picking is a labor of love — and if you’re popping them off the canes and right into your mouth, there’s no time for product degradation. When planting, set the plants so that the crown (where the roots meet the stem) is an inch or two below the surface of the soil. Water thoroughly. Fertilize lightly a couple of weeks after planting. Water well during growth and blossom times. The first year, the plants will grow, and bear fruit the next on the 2-year-old canes. Thereafter, with good management, you can pick fruit every year. We mulch with maple leaves (or some other soft, easily composted leaf) when we trim them back to two to three feet in the fall. We also prune out old canes after fruit harvest. This helps control disease, and we cut the canes out close to the ground. Around here, the flowers arrive in May, followed by fruit in June. Red raspberries slip off the receptacle, or stem, when ripe. Berries should be eaten immediately, or frozen, as they do not keep. They don’t wash up great either, so after rinsing air dry them quickly or face a blobby mess. Most mornings during raspberry season will find us out in the garden with a cup of coffee in hand, grazing the berry patch. There are worse ways to wake up. As for a recipe, who doesn’t like . . .

Fresh Raspberry Pie 1 (9-inch) baked pie shell 1 qt. fresh raspberries 3 heaping tbsp. cornstarch 1 cup sugar 1 cup of water 1 tsp. lemon juice Sort the berries, dividing them equally. Reserve the best to place in the pie shell. Mash the remaining berries. Cook mashed berries, cornstarch, sugar and water in 2-quart pan, stirring, until thickened and glossy. Refrigerate until cool, one to two hours. Stir a few times while it is cooling. Line pie shell with dry whole firm berries. Pour the cooled topping over the berries in the pie shell. Smooth. Chill several hours until set. PS Jan Leitschuh is a local gardener, avid eater of fresh produce and co-founder of the Sandhills Farm to Table Cooperative.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

p l e as u r e s o f l i f e D e pt.

Bucket List Baseball

When Mother’s Day and birthday coincide, Boston and baseball make for a perfect celebration

By Tom Allen

In the Allen house, May

means Mother’s Day, Memorial Day and — trumping them all — Beverly’s birthday. Occasionally my wife’s special day coincides with the mom celebration. The alignment worked until our daughters were born. After that, she enforced the separate-cards-andgifts rule. Fine with us. Bev deserved them.

In 2008, Mother’s Day fell on May 11, the day before Bev’s 50th birthday. I proposed a visit to Fenway Park and a Boston Red Sox game, an item on her bucket list. She enthusiastically accepted my proposal, allowing the festivities to be combined just this once. “I still expect greeting cards from you and the girls,” she announced. “No problem,” I assured her. Bev, a Peach State native, grew up a die-hard Atlanta Braves fan. Thanks to tickets from an uncle whose small-town radio station carried Braves games, she was a regular at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Back then losses exceeded wins. Seats behind home plate were as easy to snag as a two-dollar hot dog. But Bev was there, rooting for those struggling sluggers, waiting patiently for owner Ted Turner to tomahawk the Braves to division dominance. Bev’s current underdog sentiments favor the Cubs, Chicago’s “Lovable Losers,” but when it comes to grown-up loyalties, the heart of my sweet Georgia peach now beats for Boston’s beloved Red Sox. So for her milestone birthday, we jetted off to Beantown for a tour of Fenway Park and a showdown between the Red Sox and the Tampa Bay Rays. “Suddenly,” she said, “fifty’s not looking all that bad.” Our first day, Bev humored me. I love history, so we trekked ’round Boston’s Freedom Trail. I soaked it up — the Old North Church, Faneuil Hall, Bunker Hill. We lunched in Little Italy, returned to Boston Common, then knocked around downtown until dusk. Our evening ended at the Beacon Hill pub that inspired Cheers. The next day belonged to Bev. We retraced our steps along the Freedom Trail, but this time, Bev found the Union Oyster House, Boston’s oldest restaurant — perfect for lunch. The day was chilly and overcast, ideal for New England comfort food. I ordered a bowl of the restaurant’s famed clam chowder, all the while shaking my head and wondering how my wife could happily down a dozen slimy mol-

lusks on the half-shell. “But,” I thought, “anything for your fiftieth, Babe.” That afternoon we toured Fenway Park, the Red Sox’s home since 1912 and the oldest Major League baseball stadium still in use. A cold drizzle didn’t dampen Bev’s excitement or my thrill seeing her live out a dream. I was fascinated to learn Fenway’s scoreboard is manually updated and that the green color used throughout the ballpark is copyrighted. Bev was intrigued by its closer-than-normal outfield fences and narrow foul ball lines. She snapped photos of the Lone Red Seat, a location in the right field bleachers marking Ted Williams’ first 500-foot home run in June 1946. She mused at Pesky’s Pole, named after Johnny Pesky’s 1948 home run, hit down the right field line and just around the pole. The Green Monster, Fenway’s 37-foot left-field wall and a target for right-handed hitters, was our final stop. We joined our tour group, sitting in choice seats atop the famed wall. Bev was in baseball heaven. After the tour, we bummed around outside the park, smiling at the variety offered by Tee-shirt hawkers and envying locals with season tickets waiting, just like us, for the gates to open. By the time we found our seats — two Stub Hub outfield tickets with complimentary dogs and sodas — the drizzle had turned to a steady shower. A tan tarp covered the field, meaning play wouldn’t start at 7:05. I purchased two cheap ponchos but the shower became a downpour. A rainedout game looked inevitable. An hour later, soaked and staring at the tarp, Bev sighed. “It’s OK, Tom. I’ve seen Fenway Park, sat on the Green Monster, we’ve had a great time. Let’s just go back to the hotel.” “No way,” I demanded, “not until they call the game. You never know.” I’m glad we waited. Fifteen minutes later, a warm wind swept the clouds out to sea. Another fifteen minutes later, the tarp disappeared. Soon someone belted out the National Anthem and the Devil Rays were up to bat. Fans poured in around us. I grabbed two more dogs and a couple of sodas. We cheered as the Red Sox easily defeated the Devil Rays 7 to 3 in nine innings. I watched Bev soak up every minute. A local snapped some photos. Bev grabbed a few souvenirs. We smiled on the T-ride back to our hotel, grateful for better weather, a day at Fenway Park, and a win for the Red Sox. Mother’s Day and Bev’s birthday fall on the same day this year, only the third time since she became a mom. No plans as yet. But a Cubs game at Wrigley Field remains on her bucket list. This just might be the year, for Bev as well as for the Cubs. Heaven, as they say, only knows. PS Tom Allen is minister of education at First Baptist Church, Southern Pines, and a frequent PineStraw contributor. You may contact him at t_w_allen@yahoo.com

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May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Out of the Blue

J b Fare It’s an urban jungle out there, kids. Real advice from a resumé warrior

By Deborah Salomon

Soon, high schools and universities will graduate hordes into the American job market.

To market, to market, to find a good job. Although unemployment figures have moderated, the IBMs and Ford Motor Companies guaranteeing advancement, benefits and retirement have disappeared in a puff of ethanol. Job descriptions have blurred, what with male nurses and girly mechanics. This has even skewed the marriage market; now guys are looking for a cute bonds trader/software engineer to bring home the bacon for him to fry. A gal in a business suit (under her judicial robe/ scrubs) suits him fine. In a recent survey of what women are looking for in a husband, a good job outpaced good looks, a sense of humor, kindness, a clean police record and everything else. In fact, jobs are so scarce that some unemployed bloke invented a job for himself: telling people how to get a job. I saw him on TV. He charges $100 an hour for advice I give free. Why not? Neither he nor I have degrees in job acquisition. We’re both about as qualified as Dear Abby was to give advice on absolutely everything. Look how she turned out. Besides, unlike him, I have a job. I’ve gotten several jobs by unconventional methods. All he’s done is written a book on the back of a pink slip. So here’s my advice — part original, part bent-out-of-shape conventional: Dress the part, even if this means flouting personal preferences . . . and common sense. Even if you’ve never worn a vest in your life. Even if your thighs are worth showing. Even if you don’t own a T-shirt bra. Scope out your prospective fellow-employees and go shopping. Catch that University of Phoenix ad where all the alumni at the office where the dude applying are wearing red socks. Nice segue to the college connection. Find out the HR director’s alma mater; learn the fight song and the name of the bartender at the favorite student hangout. Thumb-screw your blood relatives for an in at their places of employment because of all tactics, nothing has worked so well or for so long as nepotism. Ask the Borgias, the de Medicis, the Kennedys. Bring cookies. Employment advisors tell you to make a splash. Hey, that’s my strategy. But instead of making a self-congratulatory video I showed up in one newsroom with the world’s best homemade chocolate-chunk Georgia-pecan cookies. They thought I was crazy. But when I got called back

for a second look-see everybody was looking to see if I brought more cookies. Let’s just say all things being equal, I got the job. Master some over-positive pick-up lines: “The minute I walked in the building (read your ad, saw your product, discovered we have the same personal trainer) I knew this was the job for me.” Conversely, avoid these bummers: Never scrutinize the photo on the interviewer’s desk, let out a low whistle followed by, “Your wife? She’s hot.” Never say you quit the last job to “take a break” or “spend time with the kids.” Even if you have kids — and actually quit that job. Never carry a briefcase unless it contains something you’ll pull out. No, lose the briefcase altogether. A medium-brown manila folder is enough. Never express a political opinion, even if the boss is wearing a tortillasized Ron Paul button. It’s a trap. You’re being tested. Avoid lunch interviews. If the interviewer says “Hey, guy, let’s have lunch. Wheredaya wanna go?” Another trap — leg-hold. This meal will forever brand you: Olive Gardener? Deli dog? Burgermeister? If pressed, pick a locally owned place close to the office. Don’t order anything drippy, smelly, slurpy, far-out, expensive or cheap. Don’t dunk. Sandwiches are risky. Stick with fork-food. Ravioli OK but never, never spaghetti, no matter how expertly you twirl. Woman on woman interviews . . . tricky. Pray she’s thinner than you. Don’t wear nail extensions, false eyelashes or metallic lip gloss. Admire her suit and you’re dead. Ask where she bought those cool shoes and you’re dead and buried. Leave your card with prospective employers. Cards make an impression. Funny, with all the electronic devices, people still hand ’em out. So cheap online, you can afford to be creative: Robert Doppelganger needs this job. Contact him at ….. Alan M. Cooper: The M stands for Motivation Farah Featherstone: The early bird brings the coffee. If all else fails, try: Tom Thumbsucker: I’m mommy’s favorite son. Remember what Freud said about that. You get the gist. But will you get the job? Somebody has to. Go for it. PS Deborah Salomon is a staff writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

B IRD WA T C H

Killdeer

The shorebird that loves the Sandhills

By Susan Campbell

The killdeer is a small, brown and white

Photograph by E.J. Peiker

shorebird that breeds in the Sandhills. In fact, it can be found here year-round in the right habitat, and it need not be all that wet. In fact, for egg laying, the drier the spot, the better! In truth, our sandy soil is not that unlike the beaches where one would expect a shorebird. But it turns out killdeer are widespread in North America, with most of the population living away from the water’s edge.

This robin-sized bird, not surprisingly, gets its name from its call: a loud “kill-deer, kill-deer” which can be heard day or night. During migration, individuals frequently vocalize on the wing, high in the air. Adults will circle above their territory calling incessantly in early spring. On the ground, killdeer are a challenge to spot. They blend in well with the dark ground, being hid best against the mottled surface of a tilled field or a gravel surface. Killdeer employ a “run-and-stop” foraging strategy as they search for insect prey on the ground. As they run, they may stir up insects which will be quickly gobbled up as the birds come to a quick halt. Although they live in close proximity to humans, they are quite shy. Killdeer are more likely to run than fly if approached. When alarmed, they frequently use a quick head bob or two. This may be a strategy to make the birds seem larger than they appear. During the winter months, flocks of killdeer concentrate in open, insect-

rich habitat such as ball fields, golf courses, or harvested croplands. Come spring, pairs will search out drier substrates, preferring sandy or rocky areas for nesting. They may even use flat, gravel rooftops. The female merely scrapes a slight depression where she lays four to six speckled eggs that blend in with the surroundings. She will sit perfectly still on her nest and incubate the eggs for three to four weeks. If disturbed by a potential predator, the female killdeer will employ distraction displays to draw the intruder away from the eggs. This may go so far as to involve feigning a broken wing; the mother bird will call loudly and with her tail spread, to be as noticeable as possible, she will limp along dragging a wing on the ground. This “broken wing act” can be very convincing, giving the predator the idea that following the female will result in an easy meal. Once far enough from the nest, the killdeer will fly off, not returning to the eggs until she is convinced the coast is clear. Should distractions by the adults not be effective, the pair will find a new nesting location and begin again. The species is a very determined nester. Killdeer are capable of producing up to three broods in a summer. When the eggs hatch, it will be a synchronous affair. As soon as they have dried off, the downy, long-legged young will immediately follow their mother away from the nest to a safer, more protected area nearby. They will follow her, being fed and brooded along the way, for several weeks. Once they are fully feathered, the young will have learned not only how to escape danger but how and where to find food for themselves. So, if you hear a “killdeer” over the next couple of months, stop and look closely: You may be rewarded with a peek into the summer life of this fascinating little bird. PS Susan would love to hear from you. Send wildlife sightings and photos to susan@ncaves.com or call (252) 926-9982.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

T h e sp o r t i n g l i f e

‘Old Forty’ and Friends Once upon a time, a set of wheels was a rolling love affair

By Tom Bryant

“Hey, Dad, check this out.” Tommy was

visiting us for a few days and was kicked back in the sunroom watching TV. I had just gotten back from washing the old Bronco, which had been sitting in the garage nearly all winter acquiring a thick layer of dust.

“Whatcha got, buddy roe?” “Look at this Bronco these people are restoring. It’s like yours.” Sure enough, the folks on the automotive show that Tom was watching were in the middle of taking the body off a 1976 Bronco Sport, a lot like mine. The only difference was mine was drivable, and the one they were working on was a rust bucket. The guy who evidently was in charge was commiserating about all the money it was going to cost to fix up the vehicle and, at the same time, he was berating the folks actually working on the thing for taking too much time. “Don’t tell me there’s actually a show on TV about repairing cars?” “Yes sir,” he replied. “And it’s pretty popular. Last episode, he redid an old Mustang and was going to sell it for $60,000; but during the first test drive, somebody ran into the car and totaled it. The fellow who hit ’em didn’t have insurance. There were all kinds of bleeping during that conversation.” We both laughed. “Wow, a reality show about old cars.” I sat down to watch it a bit. The

mechanics were hammering and sweating and bleeping at each other with one problem after another. “You know, Tom, these reality shows are all over the place now. The History Channel is full of ’em. The other evening I flipped to it thinking I’d see something enlightening like the fall of the Roman Empire, but the program playing was some guy who owned a pawn shop buying and selling stuff.” “It must be working,” Tommy said. “The two days I’ve been here, I’ve watched one right after another.” “Don’t get too excited. I think these reality shows are just a cheap way to produce TV. That’s one reason your mom and I don’t watch it much. Enjoy while you can, because like everything else that’s cheap, it’ll go away before long.” I went back outside to put the Bronco in the garage. The program that Tom was watching got me thinking about the old days back in the ’50s when I was a new driver. There was nothing more magical to me at that time than a new car just off the dealer’s lot. Unfortunately, my dad’s car was a 1957 Chevrolet station wagon, very utilitarian, and yet, the car had a lot of character just like the first auto that Dad bought for me, a 1940 Chevrolet Special Deluxe. It was a grand automobile, black with four doors, and the back two, known as suicide doors, opened opposite the front two. I had a great time with that vehicle. It hauled me all over the country, and I traded it in on an MGB the year Linda and I got married. Like all the other cars I’ve owned, I wish I still had the “Old Forty.” And that’s another thing about those times — youngsters treated automobiles as if they were the most important things in the world. There is a photo hanging in the Smithfield Barbeque restaurant in Laurinburg, North Carolina, of a group of boys, had to be in the early ’50s, who were leaning

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over a car engine, maybe a ’40s’ hot rod of some kind. All that was visible were the backsides of the youngsters as they scrutinized the workings under that raised hood. Since we wanted to keep all of our cars, even when they were worn down to a nub, maybe that’s why we can still find rare rusted-out hulks like the one the fellows on Tom’s TV show were working on. The average car today is just another mode of transportation, to be used and discarded like an old pair of shoes. I can remember every automobile that I’ve had the pleasure of owning, and there is not one that I wouldn’t love to have sitting in my driveway again. As a matter of fact, John D. MacDonald said it better than I ever could in one of his Travis McGee novels. “People hate their cars. Daddy doesn’t come proudly home with the new one any more and the family doesn’t come racing out, yelling ‘WOW.’ And the neighbors don’t come over to admire it.” Cars today look depressingly alike, and I think maybe that’s why I gravitate to something a little unusual, like the Toyota FJ Cruiser I’m driving now. At least I can find it in a parking lot. I parked the old Bronco in her customary spot in the garage and returned to the house. The Weather Channel reported a storm brewing, and Tom was getting ready to head back to his home in the mountains. “You’d better get packed, son. That storm is supposed to dump a lot of snow in Boone tonight.” He flipped off the TV. “I’m all packed and ready to roll as soon as Mom gets back from the grocery store. By the way, they sold that old Bronco for $45,000. Look at all that money you’ve got sitting in your garage. You don’t ever drive that old thing. Why don’t you sell it?” “Nope,” I replied. “I’ve got too many good memories with that old truck. There is one in particular of you and Paddle sitting on the tailgate at the Alamance Wildlife Club. Paddle was just a pup, you were about 5, and the Bronco was brand new. It seems like long ago, but all I have to do to relive those days is back that old vehicle out of the garage and take a spin. You remember that when I’m gone and the truck is yours.” “This summer I’m going to take it back to the mountains to work on,” he replied. “There is some rust on a couple panels I want to cut out and maybe I’ll get it painted. I know some folks over in Boone who would do a great job.” Yep, I thought as I helped Tom haul stuff to his pickup. The acorn really doesn’t fall far from the tree. PS Tom Bryant, a Southern Pines resident, is a lifelong outdoorsman and PineStraw’s Sporting Life columnist.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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G o l ft o w n J o u r n a l

The Art of Lilliputian Golf Pinehurst’s new “Thistle Dhu” hails from a storied tradition

By Lee Pace

Photograph by cassie butler

Pinehurst’s number one stock in trade is its

history — be it embodied in the ghosts of Donald Ross, the creaky hallways of the 1895 Holly Inn, or a quaint village laid out more than a century ago and still bereft of the modern vestiges of golden arches and libraries cobbled in 140 characters or less. It’s entirely appropriate, then, that one of the new attractions for members and guests at Pinehurst Resort & Country Club — a 17,000 square foot putting course named Thistle Dhu — has direct ties to an 1860s St. Andrews innovation and to a Pinehurst estate dating back nearly a century.

It was misogyny and old-world Victorian meatheadedness at its finest, but nonetheless the words of Lord Wellwood from an 1890 British volume on golf and other sports of the day summed up the prevailing attitude about granting ladies access to the golf course: “If they choose to play at times when male golfers are feeding or resting, no one can object. But at other times — must we say it — they are in the way.” Some less chauvinistic in the Home of Golf suggested that ladies actu-

ally were quite adept at putting and short shots that required more feel and imagination and less power. So a couple of acres between the second tee of the Old Course and the West Sands beach were set aside in 1867 and turned into a putting course named “Himalayas” because the humps and hummocks looked like veritable mountains against the flattish seaside landscape. And thus the Ladies Putting Club of St. Andrews was formed and remains an important element of the Auld Grey Toon golf experience today. James Barber grew up in England and was an avid golfer when he moved to America in the late 1800s to manage the family shipping operation. Naturally, he learned of Pinehurst, visited and was smitten by its golf-centric ways. Barber was familiar with the St. Andrews putting course and other such courses popular on the grounds of English country inns in the early 20th century. When he built a mansion just a short walk to the northwest of the Carolina Hotel, Barber asked his friend and fellow golf enthusiast Edward Wisell to help him design and build a miniature golf course amid the gardens. The fairways for the 18 holes were made of a sand and clay mixture like that used for the greens on the regulation golf courses, and the holes were accented with stone, bricks, grassy humps, shrubs and other horticultural obstacles. It was called in some historical references “Lilliputian Golf” but also by the name Barber reportedly concocted when he first viewed the assemblage of golf holes in 1918 and said, “This’ll do,” which migrated to a Scots-flavored appellation, “Thistle Dhu.” Golfers wielded a putter for most strokes but for some holes needed a niblick (the era’s version of a 9-iron) to negotiate the hazards. “It is most interesting and entertaining, calling for a delicate and expert touch in the short game as evolved in pitching and chipping … you will come

G o l ft o w n J o u r n a l

away chastened,” the American Golfer observed. While Barber’s course was reserved for his friends and guests and the occasional public competition, Frieda and Garnet Carter of Lookout Mountain, Tenn., had the vision to take “mini-golf” to the masses. In 1926 they created their “Tom Thumb” course and decorated it with fairytale themes and statues of gnomes, elves and goblins. By 1930, there were an estimated 30,000 to 50,000 miniature courses around the country, many of them from the Carters’ patented and prefabricated course set-up kits. Course operators across the country, and particularly in resort settings, used their imaginations to create courses in myriad themes — with windmills spinning and snapping alligators in every nook and cranny. The roofs of Manhattan apartment buildings were awash with mini golf courses. It was on one of these hokey and gimmicky courses in 1954 that a Fayetteville insurance man hatched the idea of creating a different kind of miniature golf experience, one less reliant on whimsy and fantasy and one offering a “purer” golf experience. Don Clayton spent $5,200 to build 18 holes, each bordered by a wooden rail and with understated hazards such as geometrical shapes and subtle plateaus. He charged a quarter per player and had made his money back in a month. PuttPutt Golf was off and running, and Clayton trademarked the name and began a franchise operation that led to 265 Putt-Putt courses, with every hole based on a set of his 108 copyrighted holes. An offshoot of Putt-Putt was the 1959 formation of the Professional Putters Association Tour, which by 1973 was

awarding over $200,000 in prizes in the final tournament of the year. Pinehurst owner Robert Dedman Jr. traveled to St. Andrews and played the Himalayas course and suggested to resort President and COO Don Padgett II that such an amenity might work well at Pinehurst. Padgett and Bob Farren, Pinehurst’s VP for course and grounds maintenance, put the concept on their list of tasks to accomplish in early 2012 when they set out to reconfigure the 2.5 acre expanse to the south of the resort clubhouse that included two putting greens, two practice chipping greens and the 150-yard par-three 18th hole on course No. 1. The finishing hole on No. 1 was a problem — it was a relatively weak and unexciting hole and, tucked close as it was to two practice greens, was often mistaken by resort guests as being just another target for practice hitting 30-yard pitch shots. “We wanted to build a first-class shortgame area and, with the two Opens coming in 2014, we wanted to build a green complex that would replicate No. 2,” Padgett says. “That meant eliminating the 18th on course 1 and relocating it.” Padgett asked architect Bill Coore as the No. 2 restoration was nearly finished in early 2012 to look at a triangle of woods between the ninth, 10th and 11th holes of course No. 1 and design and build a new par-3. That hole would follow the existing eighth and become the new ninth. That work was done in the spring and summer of 2012. Meanwhile, the old 18th of No. 1 was torn up and Coore and design partner Ben Crenshaw sculpted a new green, bunkers and surrounding swales and hollows to mimic the greens on No. 2. A sandy expanse between the first tee

“It is most interesting and entertaining, calling for a delicate and expert touch in the short game as evolved in pitching and chipping … you will come away chastened,” the American Golfer observed.

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

G o l ft o w n J o u r n a l

and eighteenth green of No. 4 was reconfigured into the new putting course. The No. 2 practice green was covered with the same Penn A1 and A4 bent grass mix used on No. 2 while the new putting green was planted with MiniVerde Bermuda, the most popular of the new Bermuda strains gaining popularity on Southern golf courses. The complex was opened by the fall of 2012. “The new hole is a tremendous upgrade and now No. 1 finishes with a par-5 where you make a lot of birdies,” Padgett says. “Everyone loves the new short-game area. Bill shaped the No. 2 practice green with the edges falling off like on No. 2, and Ben spent hours supervising the shaping of the ground around the green, to give it the look and feel of the motion of the ground on No. 2.” Coore & Crenshaw’s shapers took the first stab at sculpting the putting course, then Farren’s staff came behind them and bumped up the severity of some of the slopes. The course was an immediate hit, with golfers of all ages and abilities reveling in the fun of stroking balls toward holes located on tiny plateaus or at the bottom of a swirling vortex. Putts will swing five or six feet on the ultra quick Bermuda. Every member-guest event has had a Thistle Dhu component, and many corporate groups are including putting outings in their itineraries. Some use team formats with alternate shots or best-ball; others play a skins game with the player holding the honor choosing any hole on the course to play toward. Bandon Dunes founder and owner Mike Keiser visited Pinehurst during the winter of 2013, was captivated by Thistle Dhu and returned to Oregon with the idea of building a putting course five times the size of Pinehurst’s. “It’s pure, innocent fun,” Padgett says. “What can be better than that? No one takes it too seriously. They have a beer and a few laughs. It’s lighthearted. But it’s golf. It’s been a blessed project.” Pinehurst’s marketing staff held a contest during the summer of 2012 to name the course. Photographer John Gessner, whose specialties include shooting residential interiors and architecture, had on his office wall a vintage magazine ad from the 1930s promoting the sale of the Barber mansion and its “famous pitch and putt 18 hole golf course.” Gessner knew of the house and the lot — the putting course was abandoned years ago — and suggested that the original Thistle Dhu name would be perfect for the new putting course. His entry was the hands-down winner, yet another dollop of proof around Pinehurst that what goes around, certainly comes around. PS Lee Pace’s book, The Golden Age of Pinehurst — The Story of the Rebirth of No. 2, is available onsite and online at Pinehurst Resort & Country Club.

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May 2013 Symbiosis I found her deep in the field, rump to the brutal weather, waiting, steadfastly, shunning the shelter of roof and walls — preferring to trust her eyes, her ears, her instinct — the wildness inside so much more at ease with nature’s rough touch than the protection of manmade contrivances. I stood still, turned away from my own inner storm, watching, silently, until she sensed my presence, and nickered softly, leaving primal intuition behind and circled into me, despite the buffeting rain, trusting once again, the pull of this thread that binds us in mutual need, seeking the comfort of my caress. This kinship between woman and horse, a balm to our troubled souls — let us lean together, into the wind and lead each other home. — Melinda Kemp Lyerly

Our Town

Minute by Minute Why it’s Always a Beautiful Day in Pinehurst By Jim Dodson • Photographs by Cassie Butler

7:40 pm 56

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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T 6:37 PM

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here are so many Pinehursts, seen and unseen. The kind we see every day with our eyes. The kind we know every minute with our hearts. There’s the Pinehurst that’s a fabled shrine of golf, America’s first true sporting mecca, still drawing pilgrims of the game from across the planet, the so-called “Home of American Golf,” the Pinehurst that gave birth to Ross and Hogan and countless other legends of the old Scottish game. There’s also the Pinehurst that’s another kind of home, our home — a village drowsing beneath the longleaf pines that was created to replicate the healing conviviality of a small New England town, a Southern Nantucket adrift in a sea of needled green, its passing hours noted by a famous chapel bell, its splendid cottages hearkening back to a deliciously slower era. The tourists come, the seasons go. Someone once said it’s always a beautiful day in Pinehurst, doubly so in springtime, but anyone who knows this place knows intuitively that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder and there’s so much more to the web of life here than an artful bit of sloganeering. If you pause, look and listen, you will see and hear a wealth of human commerce unfolding here minute by minute — children scampering barefoot though an open garden gate, a neighbor walking her dog on an evening stroll to nowhere in particular, raucous laughter spilling from a tavern’s open door, the buzz of friends at lunch, a shop door jingling, the murmur of High Tea at the Resort, golf pals swapping post-round lies on the Pine Crest Porch, a trotter being groomed in the fading light of afternoon, deals being hatched, bets being settled, guitar music drifting from a terrace on the corner, the lazy yawn of a famous hotel cat named Marmaduke — just another day in Paradise. On one such recent day, we asked our young and gifted staff photographer Cassie Butler to simply drift with her camera wherever the spring breeze or her own fine curiosity might blow her, from caddies mustering at dawn to toasts being made at the shank of the evening — to see the village we call home in its sweet human complexity, minute by minute, moment by moment, a beautiful day frozen in time. PS

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The Awakening of

fenton Wilkinson How the Farm to Table Cooperative became a national model of community activism

“I

By DaViD C. Bailey • PhotograPhs By Cassie Butler

don’t think of Fenton as an eco-warrior or an environmentalist,” says Pat Corso, executive director of the Moore County Partners in Progress program. “I think of him as a businessman.” But with a little encouragement, Fenton Wilkinson will tell you he was once a very angry young man, an ardent environmentalist and, yes, a one-time ecowarrior. That was after he quit his job with Seattle’s largest law firm and underwent “a catharsis that allowed me to get out a lot of internal anger.” But he says he quickly learned, “I’m not a fighter. I don’t like to fight. I don’t like win-lose situations.” That’s why, from an office in the hayloft of a barn in Washington state, looking out at the Cascade Mountains, “I restructured my life to be able to pursue my passion.” His passion? To advocate for local and sustainable community development and co-ops that forged partnerships between farmers and consumers. (Quite a change from being a big shot on Seattle’s merger-and-acquisition scene.) But he would not realize true success in community development for years, in fact, not until he came to the Sandhills. “It seemed like all of my projects would get so far, but not all the way,” he recalls. “I felt like the brunt of a cosmic joke.” Which will surely surprise anyone who’s followed Wilkinson’s path since he came to Moore County in 2002. Most people know him as the co-founder of the highly successful Sandhills Farm to Table Cooperative, which is respected nationwide as a model. He’s also become the area’s go-to guru for almost anything involving community development. “We’re lucky to have him,” Corso says. “Getting locally grown food is something that a lot of the country’s trying to do, but it takes someone like Fenton to make it happen.” However, reaching the place in his life where he could choose his own path and make things happen has been a long and arduous journey for Wilkinson, a journey marked by a meteoric professional career balanced against slow and painful personal growth. Wilkinson was born into a privileged Norfolk, Virginia, family, his dad the controller of a prosperous wholesale electronics business; his mom, though Wilkinson winces when he says the word, a socialite. “I’m white, male and come from the right side of the tracks,” he says. Born in 1946, he grew up in the conformist 1950s, doing, like so many others, pretty much whatever his parents dictated. Both sides of the family had lived in Norfolk for decades; Wilkinson even went to Norfolk Academy, the same prep school his great-grandfather had attended. Though cross-eyed and stocky, Wilkinson lettered two years playing varsity football and was captain of the soccer team. His hand-eye coordination ruled out baseball, however, and his weight and short stature kept him off the track team. Living on a tidal river that fed the Chesapeake Bay, Wilkinson turned to sailing with a passion, starting with a Sailfish and moving up to the family’s 18-foot, broad-beamed O’Day Daysailer. “Without knowing anything about Zen, it was my Zen,” he says. “When there was turmoil in my life, I’d hop on a boat, take off and sail.” And Wilkinson’s life certainly had its share of turmoil. “My dad was an only child whose parents were very disconnected, and he got sent off to boarding school and had an English-style raising where kids

were seen, not heard,” Wilkinson recalls. “He was a good person, but I never had a conversation with him about anything because he really didn’t know how.” Even more unsettling for a child, “He never told me he loved me.” As a consequence, Wilkinson says, “I had a lot of personal work to do over the last decade because I didn’t have the love and attention of my dad.” Wilkinson naturally turned to his mom for support and affirmation. “Because I didn’t get the love from my dad, I tried to please my mom.” But that could be challenging: “I’d make a decision I thought would please her, and I’d either get a pat or a whack. So here I was not doing anything to please myself and still not pleasing her.” Because he wasn’t involved in spring sports, Wilkinson got involved in the school’s spring drama productions in his junior and senior years and discovered “I really, really loved the theater, but the clear message I got was don’t even consider anything artistic.” His mother plainly expected him to pursue a professional career — and so he did: “Mom was the patriarchal matriarch,” he says. “She had her view on how the world should be.” And what Wilkinson might have wanted did not enter into the equation. Though it wasn’t his choice, he ended up going to Hampden-Sydney to please the family — and discovered partying. “On a good week, I’d go to maybe three hours of classes, maybe four,” he recalls. “I graduated ‘thank laude.’” But after getting into the law school at the University of Richmond by the skin of his teeth, Wilkinson woke up and became totally engaged in studying law. Not only did he graduate first in his class, he was the recipient of the outstanding law graduate award. When his father happened to see an item on the award in the paper, his only response was to say, “‘Why, you little f-----r,’ and stood up and left the room,” Wilkinson recalls. “At the time, my reaction was, well, if that doesn’t do it, then I don’t have to worry about it anymore. What other trick can I do that would be better than that?” After graduation, he landed a prestigious clerkship with a U.S. District Court judge in Norfolk. It was there one day, during a probation revocation hearing, that his social conscience was awakened. Although the accused had earned his G.E.D., was attending college, was married with three kids, worked two jobs and was a youth minister, the judge sent him back to prison for violating the terms of probation. The accused had been apprehended with a paper bag that an acquaintance had hastily handed to him. Wilkinson’s voice still quavers remembering the incident, and his fist pounds the table in front of him for emphasis: “He was arrested,” thud! “He was sent back to prison,” thud! “For eleven,” thud! “years,” thud! “For a $3 steak nobody saw him take,” bang! “And I argued very, very vigorously with the judge. But the judge said, ‘Nope, if he didn’t have the predisposition . . . ” Wilkinson says, his voice trailing off almost to a whisper.

“I have been blessed with a number of experiences like that, that I may have not understood at the time, but which have all come together to inform who I am and what I’m doing and why I’m doing what I’m doing .”

PineStraw PineStraw : The:Art The&Art Soul & Soul of theofSandhills the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .May . . . .May 2013 2013 65 65

Though he did not realize it at the time, it was a transformative experience, one that planted a seed of doubt that would grow over the years: “I have been blessed with a number of experiences like that, that I may have not understood at the time, but which have all come together to inform who I am and what I’m doing and why I’m doing what I’m doing.” Another seed was planted when Wilkinson went to work in Washington, D.C., for the U.S. Department of Justice as the attorney in charge of tax-refund litigation at both the trial and the appellate levels. His assistant section chief, Joe Kovner, “was the first person I ever met who was totally at peace.” He describes Kovner as a 65-year-old Buddhist Quaker — who had been raised Jewish. “He was the perfect teacher,” Wilkinson says. “I had built this granite obelisk around myself. He spent hours patiently answering questions that I had, often referring me to readings he thought I was ready to hear. Through my interaction with him, my granite obelisk was shattered.” Up until that point, Wilkinson says, “I was unhappy, but I thought that was the way life was and I accepted it.” Little by little, Wilkinson realized he needed to turn inward to discover what it was that he wanted from life rather than what his parents expected of him. “For the first time in my life, feelings, emotions, and my own self and my own desires all of a sudden were right there on the surface,” he says. He recalls walking down the street, and bursting into tears. “Luckily, I had great government insurance and ended up in Freudian psychoanalysis for eighteen months or so just to get some stability.” His interaction with his mentor and the analysis were transformative, although they did not alter his professional path immediately. From 1978 until 1983, Wilkinson represented mid-level to large business clients, eventually helping to create a partnership, funded by equity, for the development of fourteen major downtown Seattle commercial buildings and properties. In his late 30s, he was at the top of his game with the largest law firm in Seattle, Bogle & Gates. “Up until getting to Seattle, environmental and social justice issues weren’t even on the radar screen,” he reflects. But in Seattle in the 1970s he couldn’t ignore the groundswell of environmental consciousness and the increased awareness that social justice issues were receiving. “I came to hate the job when it became evident that what the senior partner wanted was not my exceptional skill as an attorney but a yes man,” he says. Plus, “at some point in time, I had to acknowledge that a number of clients I was representing were part of the problem and were creating social and environmental issues.” Eventually, he says, “When I got up in the morning to shave and looked in the mirror, I had to acknowledge that I was part of the problem.” Finally, he says, “I stood up from my desk and walked out the door.” He didn’t have another job or know what he was going to do: “I just knew I was in the wrong place, and if I stayed there, I would never find the right place.” He went into solo practice, basically helping

emerging medium-sized solar-energy startups to write business plans, deal with legal and government hurdles and find sources of capital. But his clients, especially one promising startup using an innovative solar-thermal technology, kept hitting brick walls. “I left at the point it became obvious that government and capital industry were not just ignoring solar thermal but besmirching it,” he says. He retreated to a five-acre mini-farm with an orchard and a pasture for horses, and Wilkinson began to ride for relaxation. Northwest of Bellingham, Washington, six miles from the Canadian border, the farm was in Whatcom County, which stretched from Puget Sound to the heavily forested 11,000-foot Mount Baker. Wilkinson arrived at an interesting time in Whatcom’s history. Steeped traditionally in agriculture, fishing and forestry, the county lacked a mature regulatory infrastructure to deal with the area’s growing shipping industry, refineries, aluminum smelter and pulp mill. One particularly contentious issue involved the hauling and disposal of sewage sludge containing

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

extensive heavy metals onto nearby farmland. Wilkinson soon found himself in the role of an eco-warrior, pro bono, trying to block the dumping. with farmers and citizens pitted against the establishment. The fight turned acrimonious and ended without any clear winners or losers, although the environment clearly lost. However, he says, “It was the first citizen fight against the good-old-boy system, and it empowered other citizen groups to fight — and win — subsequent environmental battles.” It left Wilkinson exhausted, but he says he learned a lot: “It taught me A) I don’t like to fight; B) it takes an enormous amount of energy; and C) quite frequently you still never get to where you wanted to go.” Wilkinson realized that his ability to negotiate, acquired as a lawyer and deal-maker, served those he represented better than waging a pitted battle. “One of the lessons I learned doing mergers and acquisitions and putting deals together is that I could find win-win solutions,” he says. When he could get people to identify the underlying problem, “90 percent of the time I was able to find a creative solution that solved their problem and didn’t compromise my client’s needs.” He didn’t win the fight in Whatcom County, he says, but “it allowed me to turn my attention to creating positive alternatives, and that’s what my life is all about, trying to create positive alternatives.” Having outworn his welcome in Whatcom County, with his 26-year marriage on the rocks and his younger daughter headed off to college, Wilkinson moved to the Sandhills to become the working student of an old family friend and serious horse-lover, Caroline Dowd. “I needed a long overdue sabbatical,” Wilkinson says. “I came here to ride horses and do some personal healing.” And by the end of a year Wilkinson was ready to move on. “I am not someone who sits under the coconut trees drinking piña coladas,” he says. Just before coming to the Sandhills, he had launched a worker cooperative in Washington state, Full Circle Foods, where he served as CEO. Hoping to translate some of the lessons he learned there into a Moore County co-op, he went to community leaders — in 2003, two years later in 2005 and again in 2007 — trying to get broad community support for a initiative to help local farmers get their fresh produce to consumers. “While the idea was generally well received, no one was interested in becoming directly involved,” he told a writer for Rural Cooperatives magazine last year. In 2009, Wilkinson floated his idea past Tim Emmert, Moore County’s community development coordinator. “Together, we slowly built a coalition of public agencies, NGOs and citizens,” he recalls. “I was determined I wasn’t going to do it alone,” he says. The story of how Sandhills Farm to Table Cooperative took off and grew has been told any number of times . . . How it went from 450 people making a commitment of $25 apiece in 2009 to 1,250 households subscribing in 2011 (3.5 percent of the county’s population!) . . . How sales climbed to $425,000 and

volunteers gave up 2,500 hours of their time . . . How there’s been a 5 percent increase in revenue in 2012, with the program expanding in 2013 to include Montgomery County and the Fayetteville market . . . And how it now includes a partner project serving resorts, hospitals and other institutions. Why the co-op has been so successful has not been as widely explored. The cooperative worked, Wilkinson says, because it was structured so there would be something for everyone: “I call it pot-luck community development,” he says. Essential to a co-op’s success, Wilkinson says, is not to structure it so that it relies on people’s altruism. “You ask people to get involved because they have a need they want to get met,” he says. “You structure the situation so they can come meet their needs but bring an armful of gifts to give to help others meet their needs.” Sure, there are people who really don’t care about whether the farmer’s getting 70 cents on the food dollar through a co-op or 17 cents on each dollar of grocery sales. “But they do care whether their Southern Pines Elementary earns $6,000 as the gathering site. Instead of going to somebody and saying, ‘Here’s my value that drives this thing, and I want you to accept my value and get involved,’ you get somebody to do what you would like to see them do, but for their reason, with their motivation. I call it the Aikido of social change.” Although Corso, seeing Wilkinson in action, says he’s so jolly at times he reminds him of Papa Smurf, he says that Wilkinson knows how to push things forward: “He’s a driver. He’s patient to a point but he makes sure there are outcomes. I think that’s part of that legal training. He doesn’t want to go to all these meetings and not have outcomes.” Wilkinson thinks of himself a something of a social entrepreneur, helping people find their own gifts, just as he did, and put them to use. “I believe that everyone is carrying their part of the answer, their seed of truth already inside,” he says. “If they’re unhappy, they’re denying me and the rest of society their gift. If I had a magic wand and could change one thing in the world, the one thing I would change is the human motivation from fear to love.” The same principles that has made Farm to Table so successful in the food world can be applied to the considerable challenges we face in the fields of energy, transportation, communication, finance and health care, he insists. “What I’m hoping is our community will take the principles of Farm to Table and apply them to other sectors. Nine percent unemployment? That just makes me weep,” he says. Why couldn’t Moore County, for instance, tackle unemployment on a community level? “Because people don’t think we can and people accept what is. Everything that we need for life, liberty and happiness for everyone — everyone — already exists.” The only thing standing in the way of change is existing attitudes, and envisioning a cooperative system to tackle the problem. The way to achieve that, he says, is one system at a time, one community at a time. “What needs to happen to take that quantum leap is for there to be one community where enough pieces come together in one place at one time for this enormous synergy to demonstrate what’s possible. Why shouldn’t that be Moore County?” PS

“You ask people to get involved because they have a need they want to get met,” he says. “You structure the situation so they can come meet their needs but bring an armful of gifts to give to help others meet their needs.”

David Bailey, senior editor of O.Henry magazine in Greensboro, wants to start a co-op called Table to Mouth.

By DaViD C. Bailey

Get over it, my fellow North Carolinians,

barbecue originated in the New World north of our borders when the Virginia Company introduced pigs to Jamestown in 1607. However, according to historical accounts, those misguided Virginians basted their pitcooked pork with butter, adding a little salt and pepper. It was eastern North Carolinians, I’m proud to say, who first came up with the idea of offering diners a dish of the sauce they used to mop over their roasting pork. The Sauce: Anntony’s Caribbean All Purpose Sauce The Lowdown: A nutritionist born in British Guyana, Tony Martin developed his sauce for his highly popular Caribbean café in Charlotte. Character: Surpisingly mild and low in acidity, Anntony’s has a sweet-and-sour tang balanced by a blend of island spices. Hot or Not: Wait Time: Gives you a slow, warm glow that fades How Sweet It Is: 4 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Charlotte; Available in grocery stores or from www.anntonys7thstreet.com

That’s right. North Carolinians invented barbecue sauce. Read Robert F. Moss’ Barbecue, The History of an American Institution if you want proof. At first it was vinegar, salt and black pepper — as in Scott’s time-honored barbecue sauce from Goldsboro. Then settlers in the west, inspired by the German tradition of sweet and sour, added tomatoes to sweeten things up. Soon South Carolinians added mustard. Georgians love their sauce super sweet, just like rib lovers in Memphis and Kansas City. Ubiquitous Greek restaurateurs all over the South amped things up with oregano and other exotic spices. Still, Tar Heels ought to be proud of the scores of homegrown barbecue sauces that are on the market. Over the years, I’ve tasted dozens to separate the best from all the rest and have come up with eight great sauces emphasizing variety. They range from traditional to exotic, from super-sweet rib sauces to fiery concoctions derived from distant lands. All of them are available online, with many of them on your grocer’s shelves.

The Sauce: Blues BBQ Inc. Chipotle Mustard Pepper Hot Sauce The Lowdown: Steve Burnham, formerly a pilot with U.S. Airways, gave up his wings to become a hot sauce manufacturer in Concord. A wanna-be musician, he wants to put some “music in your mouth.” Character: Instantly hot and garlicky, with cascading notes of mustard and chipotle pepper Hot or Not: Wait Time: A sudden burst of heat turns into a smoldering and persistent tattoo on your tongue How Sweet It Is: 2 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Concord; Available from www.bluesbbq.net

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The Sauce: Bone Sucking, Thicker-Style, “Hot” Sauce The Lowdown: Phil Ford, a Raleigh real estate appraiser, copied his mother’s barbecue sauce recipe. Since its introduction in 1992, the original Bone Sucking sauce has been a national sensation, winning multiple awards. Character: Sure it’s sweet, but it’s not necessarily cloying because of the honey, molasses and the complex symphony of spices and sour notes. Hot or Not: Wait Time: Layers of heat from black and red pepper are persistent How Sweet It Is: 5 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Raleigh; Available in grocery stores or from www.bonesucking.com

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The Sauce: Carolina Treet Original Cooking Barbecue Sauce The Lowdown: Originated in 1953 for rotisserie chicken by a grocery store, it’s been sold on grocery shelves since the 1960s. Character: Like no other barbecue sauce on the planet, Carolina Treet has a flat, salty, vinegary profile that’s underlain with celery seeds, garlic and other spices Hot or Not: Wait Time : Sneaks up on you with a back-of-the-palate after-burn How Sweet It Is: 0 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Wilmington; Available in grocery stores or from www.carolinatreet.com

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The Sauce: Scott’s Barbecue Sauce The Lowdown: Adam Scott, a Goldsboro minister, said the exact ingredients in his sauce were revealed to him in a divine dream. The taste is definitely God-given. Character: Big and bold, Scott’s is classic eastern North Carolina vinegar-and-pepper sauce, unalloyed by any exotic spices, or, God forbid, catsup. Hot or Not: Wait Time : Instantaneous lip kick, with a persistent after-burn How Sweet It Is: 0 out of 5 Hometown: Goldsboro; Available in grocery stores or from www.scottsbarbecuesauce.com

The Sauce: Outta The Park Hot & Spicy BBQ Sauce The Lowdown: Scott Granai of Cary is a prize-winning home chef. His wife, Beth, is a big advocate of organic and natural foods. The two teamed up to make a barbecue sauce that’s “better-for-you.” Character: Catsup-based, sweet and fairly complex, Outta The Park is aromatic with lots of underlying spices and a slight mustard and ginger tang to it. Can you say “ribs”? Hot or Not: Wait Time : Parks on the front of your tongue and migrates to the back of your palate with a lingering sting How Sweet It Is: 4 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Cary; Available in Nature’s Own or from www.outtathepark.com

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The Sauce: The Shizzle Jerk Marinade, Original Recipe The Lowdown: So what if Austin Williams, the man behind The Shizzle, is a white Raleigh commercial real estate developer? His sauce has soul — and is the real deal, thick and complex, the way Jamaican jerk marinade ought to be. Character: Packed full of pineapple, The Shizzle is highly aromatic and lightly accented with habañeros and Jamaican spices. Hot or Not: Wait Time : One, two, three — wait for it — pow! The Shizzle has a lingering, back-of-the-palate persistence. How Sweet It Is: 2 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Raleigh; Available from www.theshizzlesauce.com

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The Sauce: Wells “Hog Heaven” Barbecue Sauce The Lowdown: The Wells family developed this eastern N.C. sauce before selling its operation in 2008 to Vic Swinson, who still bottles the sauce and raises natural beef and pork on a farm near Burgaw. Character: A sauce for those who like their eastern N.C. sauce just a little bit sweet and with a slightly smoky note Hot or Not: Wait Time : An instant, upfront burst of black and red pepper that quickly fades How Sweet It Is: 3 out of 5 Hometown and Ordering Information: Burgaw; Available from www.wellsporkandbeef.com PS

PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May 2013

The Garden FiCtion By Quinn Dalton In the spring of Ben and Mia’s second year of marriage, Ben’s father moved into a golfing retirement community in the town where he lived and offered to give Ben and Mia his house. The catch was that they could not sell it or rent it right away. They had to move from New York and live in it at least a year. “It’s an opportunity,” he’d told them, “to try a different kind of life.” “He wants to uproot us,” Mia said to Ben the evening he told her about his father’s call. “He wants to control our lives.” The fact that she’d just awakened from a nap had perhaps contributed to her reaction. Ben had just come home — 9 at night, not unusual. Banker’s hours — ha! They probably wouldn’t finish dinner until 11, and she’d be up until 3 after sleeping this late in the evening. But Ben would be asleep by 11:30 and up at 6:30 in time to hit the gym before heading downtown. “He can’t control our lives,” Ben said. “We don’t have to accept the offer.” He seemed noncommittal, dismissive even, of the idea, unthreading his tie from his collar and sliding his shirt from his shoulders in their tiny living room. But Mia could tell he liked the idea, perhaps had already decided. How could she tell? It was his even tone, the way he looked away from her after he’d made his point, as if he’d be content never to speak of it again. But they did, for that night and several nights following. Mia argued that it was unfair of his father to offer the house with conditions. The house had no sentimental value to warrant them — Ben hadn’t grown up in it or even in that town; his parents had moved there after his father sold his business so he could golf nearly year-round. And now, less than a year after Ben’s mother had died, his father wanted to move out and yet keep the house at the same time, and not just keep the house but install Ben and Mia in it. “Install us?” Ben said. “You don’t offer gifts with conditions,” Mia said. “That’s not love.” “This isn’t a gift,” Ben said. “It’s an investment. We can take it or leave it.” “Or, we could sell it and use the money to buy something here. Where we actually want to live.” Ben sighed. He looked out the windows, which, if not darkened, would’ve revealed a view they paid

handsomely for. This was their perch, as Mia called it, the place they had picked out together, small but light-filled and high above the street noise. This was their red couch, their white shag rug, their heavy lacquered Chinese screen, a gift from Mia’s great-aunt, in the corner. “Do you really want to live here?” he asked her. So they moved, not because Ben was appeasing his father, Mia knew, but because Ben was tired — of the noise, the striving chaos. He wasn’t even 30, but he was tired. He could transfer to another office in the same company — for less money but it would go farther where they were headed, and of course there’d be no house payment. And there were several colleges and universities in the town or within a short drive, so Mia could take some classes or perhaps do some adjunct teaching until she figured out her next step. Next step — Ben’s code phrase for pulling herself together. He had it all worked out, and he wanted her to do the same. This wasn’t, to her mind, unreasonable. But her body had resisted. Her sleeping habit had arrived gradually, after she’d finished her master’s in art history and couldn’t seem to make herself get a Ph.D. or at least a teaching certificate. She slept later and later in the mornings after Ben left, and then slept more as soon as she got home from her hourly job at a friend’s mother’s gallery, waking in the evening dark, sometimes just when she heard Ben at the door. She tried to look as if she’d just been reading or watching TV, but he could always tell. She was able to drift like this because of his income; she knew this. She’d been raised to pursue a career, not to marry her money, as her parents, who both worked, had put it. She didn’t think the straight-A, driven teenager she’d been would very much like the woman she’d become. And now she would be dragged along in Ben’s wake to a town she’d never even heard of before she met him. The thought just made her want to sleep more. They arrived with their truck at their new home in blooming spring — in New York, only small hard buds dotted the gated trees — and they were fully unpacked in a weekend. Ben did most of the work on both ends of the move. Ben’s father had left the furniture he didn’t need and had told them they could do with it what they wanted. “Oh, we don’t have to live with it for a year first?” Mia said. She heard Ben sigh. He never took the bait. She wondered why he put up with her. Actually her exact thought was, what about me does he want? She shivered in the warm air and rubbed her arms, as if to erase the question. The house itself was beautiful, on a shady corner lot in a historic neighborhood, lovingly restored and maintained. Three bedrooms upstairs — the master facing east — and downstairs a spacious front room, den, dining room and kitchen, the last two of which faced west. Mia had to admit she liked that about the house, how their day began in the east and ended in the west. Mia had of course been to the house before, though only twice, first when Ben had introduced her to his parents and then less than a year later, when his mother had died shortly after a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. His suffering over the loss had made her love him desperately. Once, crying, he’d said how sorry he was that his mother would never meet her grandchildren. It took Mia a moment to realize that he was talking about the children they would have someday. This was, she thought, the fundamental difference between them — he was always looking ahead. And she seemed less and less able to. One thing she’d noticed. She hadn’t felt the constant urge to sleep since the move. In fact she wasn’t sleeping very well at all. When she finally did drift off late at night, she jolted out of dreams that seemed to be distorted visions of their former life. Great swirls of color, like the gallery canvases, jumbled universes of lights spinning into each other, faceless shapes trying to tell or ask her things. A sense of falling from a high place, of being pulled down toward the dark water

below — an actual force drawing her, demanding her — shadows and light sliding over a roiling surface. On the first day Ben went into his new office, Mia took down all the heavy curtains in the house, even the sheers, folded them neatly and called the Salvation Army to pick them up. Light filled the rooms. She hadn’t remembered the neighbor’s house, which she could see through the now-bared kitchen windows — green siding, white shutters, picket-fenced front lawn and then the back: not a yard but a tangle — a lovely tangle — of flowers and herbs and climbing vines. A sort of mist seemed to float over it even in the warming afternoon. She wished she could walk through the gate and sit in one of the shaded Adirondacks, just breathe in all that color. This view led her to a decision. She would paint the entire cream-walled house, as a way to make it hers — theirs. The garden would be her inspiration: coral for the kitchen, amber for the front room, moss green for the dining room. When she told Ben her plan, he’d liked it, or at least seemed to. But she got the feeling she could paint the whole place black, and he wouldn’t complain. At least she’d be choosing something. “But the curtains,” he said. “What are we going to do for privacy?” “We didn’t have curtains in our old place,” Mia said. “But that was New York,” he said. “We don’t have anything to hide, do we?” It was clear he didn’t know how to respond to this. But so what if people wanted to look in on them when they were cooking their meals, getting ready for bed? It would give them something to do in all this spacious calm and quiet. The weeks passed, and Mia kept busy, filling room after room with color. She didn’t bother to try to meet neighbors or to work in the yard. Her arms ached perpetually, but she was happy with the work, to the point where she didn’t like to think about finishing. For their bedroom she chose the color of a flower she’d seen on a small tree that shaded the Adirondacks next door: The early blooms had come in flame red, and just as changing, depending on the light. It wasn’t all that far off from the characters on Mia’s beloved Chinese screen, the layered strokes seemingly three dimensional against the glossy black. She thought she might try blending several paints to achieve the effect. But first she would pick a base that was as close as possible. One morning after Ben left, she saw an older couple next door from the kitchen window — a tall but stooped man with white hair, and a woman, his wife, presumably, with hair as black as his was white, obviously dyed. They were tending the garden — snipping and watering, moving slowly and carefully among the greenery. Mia waited until they went inside and then walked out into the backyard and across their driveway, paint swatches in hand. She angled toward the back of their house, up to their gate. She was holding up her swatches and squinting past them at the red blooms when someone called a hello. Mia looked up, startled, but couldn’t locate the source of the voice. “Jeannie Folk,” the woman said, emerging from the shade. Her too-black hair was gathered into a tight knot on the top of her head and she wore bright lipstick. Mia wondered how she would look at this stage in life, and whether she would dye her hair and wear bright colors and not worry about the effect. Mia told her about the garden’s role in her painting project. “Well, glad to know it will have some measure of immortality,” the woman said, smiling. She told Mia that the garden was mostly her husband’s creation. “I handle the cooking.” In fact, she added, she would be doing a lot of cooking soon, as they were having a midsummer’s party in a couple of weeks. “Just a few neighbors and friends,” Mrs. Folk said. “Nothing fancy.” Mia finished the bedroom the day of the party. By then most of the blossoms had fallen from the tree next door, and she felt she had preserved something with her work. She was setting her brushes out to dry on the porch rail when Ben got home. He called hello to her as he went in the side door from the driveway. She went inside, listening to him moving between the closet and dresser,

changing clothes. She was in the kitchen when he came back down. She opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. “What do you think?” she asked, handing him one. Ben took the beer and looked at her for a moment. “It’s like being inside a fire engine. I don’t know how anyone’s going to sleep in there.” Mia shook her head. “Anyone?” She reminded him then about the invite from the neighbors. “My father’s coming in tonight,” Ben said. “He asked if he could stop by.” “We’ll keep an eye out for him,” Mia said. Ben called his father but got voice mail. He didn’t leave a message. “Probably already on the plane,” he said. They brought a bottle of wine to the gathering. Mia wore a sundress, her hair pinned up. The evening air was only slightly warm, small breezes threading over their skins. They came to the garden gate, where they could see people gathered — two other couples besides Jeannie and her husband, both slightly younger than the hosts but much older than Mia and Ben. Ben squeezed her hand. “Wild party,” he whispered as Jeannie came over to welcome them in. “Be careful.” Introductions, then drinks, a golden liqueur made from some kind of fruit grown by Mr. Folk. Mia sipped hers a little fast, listening to him describe its origins. She fixed a plate of hors d’oeuvres — all various fruits and vegetables which had apparently also come from the garden — to settle her stomach. What had Jeannie been cooking all week? Mia wanted meat, or at least some bread. She found a small basket of crackers finally and took a stack of them, walking away from the group so she could eat them quickly. From this short distance, she heard Ben talking about the reasons for the housing bubble. He sounded so assured, so relaxed. She didn’t know how he managed the work he did each day. How he could stand it. What was she going to do? Ben was right: She had to choose a path. She stared at their house. It looked like a painting in the golden evening light. She couldn’t believe they lived there; she felt for a moment that she had stumbled inside of one of her dreams. Their bedroom — Ben was right again — was too red. She would have to redo it. She shook her head. Thinking about anything when she was half-drunk was ridiculous. Jeannie brought her a glass of wine. Mia laughed when she took it. “I don’t think I need this.” “Porter’s putting the chicken on the grill soon.” “Oh, did he raise that here, too?” Mia said, then bit her lip. “No, but of course he learned their life histories from the farmer he bought them from at the market,” Jeannie said, smiling. “He does go on, doesn’t he?” Her husband was holding forth at that moment, in fact, and Ben was listening with total focus. Mia smiled. “They look perfect for each other,” she said, and Jeannie laughed at this. “You’ll find that even their most insufferable qualities become endearing over time,” Jeannie said. “Now, let me get that chicken out here to move him along.” She gestured for Mia to follow and she did, offering help; Jeannie said to just make herself comfortable. Mia drank in the warm wool smell of the carpets, the heavy wood molding. She thought of her great-aunt’s house, the one who’d given her the screen. Like in Aunt Maureen’s tiny Cape Cod, the walls here were covered with paintings. “Are any of these yours?”

“They’re all mine,” Jeannie said. “Ben told me you were an artist too?” “No,” Mia said. Had he said that, or had she just gotten it wrong? “I study art.” “It takes an artist to study art,” Jeannie said. She lifted the platter of fragrant, marinated chicken, refused Mia’s help again. “Just get the screen door for me,” she said. The sun had set, and the garden was shadowed under an indigo sky. The sizzling meat made Mia almost dizzy with hunger. Finally, they were served, and Porter gestured for her to sit next to Ben. But eating did nothing to sharpen her blurred vision. It was strange that she felt this off-balance — maybe she had some kind of bug. As soon as she felt like she could, she rose to take in her plate. In the hall bath she tried to let herself be sick, but nothing came. When she came outside again, a sour taste in her mouth, Jeannie was gathering plates. Ben wasn’t with the group. She wandered toward the back of the garden, looking for him. She found him talking with Porter again. He was gesturing toward the small tree whose now-fallen blossoms had inspired Mia’s choice of bedroom color. When Mia came alongside Ben, she noticed he was swaying a bit on his feet. Porter held his bottle of liqueur, which he offered to her — did he want her to swig from it? She shook her head, but Ben obliged. “Now, if you want to settle your stomach,” Porter was saying. “Eat one of those?” Ben said. Mia looked where Porter was pointing, at a branch of the small tree, where there hung several small, dark fruits; she hadn’t seen them before. Ben looked doubtful, but he picked one. He held it in his hand — it was bigger than a grape but smaller than a plum. “Yes — you handle the end with the beginning,” Porter said, grinning and lifting the bottle. “Go ahead, try.” But Ben rolled the fruit out of his hand into Mia’s outstretched one. She tested its cool weight. She raised it to her mouth — how much worse could it make her feel than she already did? — and saw, just as she bit into it, the wince of fear on Ben’s face. She offered it back to him, but he shook his head. Porter saw too, and laughed. “Trust me; it’s good!” The fruit was watery, almost tasteless. Mia kept her eyes on Ben, who continued to stare at the fruit in her hand. She let it fall to the ground. “You don’t care about me,” she said. She wasn’t sure of the words until she heard her voice saying them. “Of course I do,” Ben said. “Why do you say that?” Porter said something low, something like, “Now, now,” but Mia turned for the gate. Ben got ahead of her, stopped her. “What is wrong with you?” “With me? You gave me something you were afraid of.” She tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her again. “Mia, this is crazy. I love you.” “But you love yourself more.” And Ben, opening his mouth to speak, but no words following. The swing of headlights just then, dragging across their faces: Ben’s father’s car, turning into their driveway. And both of them frozen, watching his father walk to the door, ring the doorbell, peer in their front window, check his phone. They stayed still until he drove away again. For Mia, this was as much an admission as anything. She managed thank yous and goodbyes, kissing Jeannie’s cheek, trying to smile at Porter’s confused, concerned expressions. They staggered home, and Mia pulled off her dress before falling into the bed and deeply asleep. When she woke up, it was dawn. Ordinarily she would’ve tried to go back to sleep, but this time she knew she wouldn’t. They’d been stupid, she thought, just drunk. Beside her, Ben breathed regularly. She knew what she was about to do would wake him, but she couldn’t stop herself. She walked over to her great-aunt’s Chinese screen. She braced her bare feet on the wooden floor and began to pull. When Ben sat up, his face sleep-soft and startled, she had dragged it almost all the way across the brightening windows. PS Quinn Dalton is the author of a novel and two story collections. Visit quinndalton.com.

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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195 Short Street • Southern Pines, NC PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May 2013

The Green House Effect A home at peace with the Earth

By Deborah Salomon • Photograhs by John Gessner

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

S t o r y o f a h o u se

Aerie Day and Linda McCormick at their garden plot

he house stands solo on a grassy clearing surrounded by thirty-three acres of pines — the greenest of “green” construction incorporating features foreign to the average homeowner. No, surely a mistake. Where are the telltale solar panels? The odd building materials? This cedar clapboard dwelling with patio, doublepitched roof and multiple porches resembles luxury homes in the country mode, on the real estate page. Solar panels are cleverly installed flush against the south-facing back roof. The well, septic system, space-age Icynene blown insulation, energy-rated windows and sealed crawl space don’t stick out like a sore green thumb. Nevertheless, the aggregate rated a 3 from Residential Energy Services Network with 150 being the most energy consumed and zero, the least. A typical home strives for an 80 rating. Inside, palette and furnishings display a spare, Southwestern attitude some call Mission, others Arts & Crafts or Frank Lloyd Wright. The open floorplan allows sightlines from end to end, creating a casual, comfortable effect with a few hedonistic touches like the Hollywood media room and a New York Yankees-themed bathroom. “This house is a monument to my life — to the lives of Aerie Day and Linda McCormick,” Aerie intones. Aerie Day, wearing a Yankees T-shirt, stands straight as a plumb line. He speaks with authority, suggesting a military background. “My father was (an officer). I was born in Peru,” Aerie confirms before reeling off a list of national and international postings. As for the T-shirt: “I was raised on Mickey Mantle.” Then, the wind shifted. “In ’66 I left my folks and became a hippie — anti-war, women’s PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May 2013

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Mission/Southwest style, cherry woods and energy-rated glass and appliances carry out the “green” theme

movement, save the Earth, all those things,” Aerie continues. “I developed a consciousness that stuck with me.” Ignoring his fine arts degree, Aerie opened a recycling business in Massachusetts. “I felt I was doing something that made a difference. I never wanted to go away from that.” Linda adds that Aerie is very strict about composting, even fireplace ashes. “That’s why we don’t have a garbage disposal.” Aerie relocated to Florida, where he became an interior space-planer for commercial buildings. After being laid off, he volunteered at Habitat for Humanity. Linda, a financial manager, grew up in a conventional Pennsylvania housing development. While living in a cookie-cutter Florida stucco surrounded by traffic, the couple attended the 2005 U.S. Open in Pinehurst. They fell in love with the Sandhills, returning several times to look for land — at least 10 acres, preferably secluded. Their agent found a peaceful parcel near Carolina Horse Park. “We pulled up here and, before we even walked it, looked at each other and said, this is it,” Linda recalls. “I could see our house there,” Aerie adds. Construction did not commence until 2012 — plenty of time to sort out their dream. First task: Find a like-minded builder. Their choice, Dan Adams, admits the area lags in extreme green home construction. Dan, a certified green building professional, is a founding member of Moore Green Council, an arm of Moore County Home Builders Association based on the National Association of Green Building Standards. The council provides guidelines and resources for builders.

“The economy put a damper on green building, which was strong before the almighty dollar became more important than saving the world,” Dan says. Initial outlay may be 20 percent higher but tax credits and energy savings recoup this investment. Geothermal heating/cooling and solar installation alone added $50,000. However, the solar component of Aerie and Linda’s house should eventually bring their electric bill down to zero, with power overage that they will sell back to the grid. “We want to leave zero carbon imprint,” Aerie says. Builder and clients bonded immediately Plans were drawn up according to the couple’s specifications with one cost-lowering adjustment from Dan: a scaled-down footprint — 2,659 square feet instead of Aerie’s projected near-4,000. “A big home doesn’t fit the green build protocol,” Dan emphasizes. They agreed that Linda would take a full-time job to finance the project. She, Aerie stresses, although not the creative force, has worked hard to make the dream a reality. When construction started Aerie moved up from Florida into a trailer parked on their lot. His work on the interior finishing, using skills honed at Habitat, further reduced the cost.

his intensely personal living space fulfills the needs of two strong-willed adults who adore baseball, movies and the environment. Outside, Aerie has laid the foundation for a workshop, greenhouse and dog run for two golden retrievers soon to join their three cats. He has fenced and tilled a 37-by-75 foot plot where Linda will grow vegetables and fruits, including asparagus, corn,

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

The great room provides a clear view from bedroom to outdoors

strawberries, blackberries and blueberries irrigated by rainwater collected in the cistern. The garden will make them less dependent on commercial food sources. Aerie plans to stock a pond on the property, perhaps harvest nuts from the trees. “When I conceived the floorplan I didn’t want to feel closed off,” Aerie says. The great room, into which most other rooms open, has a modest seating area, not big enough even for a couch, Aerie notes. “So we bought chairs.” From those upholstered chairs, placed in front of a wood-burning fireplace, they can see outside in several directions. The dining area is dominated by a painting of water cascading over rocks, somewhere in North Carolina. This hung over their bed in Florida — for years a reminder of where they belong. Linda and Aerie needed personal space; each has a corner office with tall windows. Linda specified a window seat. Aerie’s is a music den — also a repository for the Civil War buff’s artifacts. A guest room separates the offices. The house, Linda admits, is very masculine except for here, where she has chosen a floral bedspread and gilt-framed watercolors. Shades of green, relieved by warm desert tones, predominate. The paneled doors, stained by Aerie, and much of the furniture is cherry, Linda’s favorite wood. They purchased whatever new pieces were needed from a local craftsman to avoid shipping — an energy guzzler. The master bedroom could be a bit bigger, Aerie now realizes. He

counts an adjoining screened porch, oversized dressing room and bathroom as the trade-off. The second floor paints a different picture. Even greenies need entertainment. “This is why we built it,” Aerie says, unapologetically, bounding up the stairs. The media room/home theater has a giant wall-mounted screen, carpet and padded wall baffles for acoustic control. Here, Aerie and Linda stretch out in recliners to watch a movie almost every night. Built-in shelves hold a film library numbering in the hundreds. A dish brings in sports channels. The theater adjoins a well-equipped fitness room, also wired for sound. Naturally, kitchen appliances and fans are energy rated, plumbing fixtures water-saving, light bulbs compact fluorescent, and the espresso machine, loaded and ready. A Prius sits in the driveway.

bviously, what Linda and Aerie have accomplished is not just a home, but a complete eco-friendly environment — a prototype for green builders and their clients. “The house feels like a warm sweater,” Linda says. “I can sit in bed and see out into the woods.” “I’m most proud that our home is a lasting monument to our personal ethos,” Aerie adds. “We have, in fact, put our money where our beliefs led us.” PS

May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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May 2013 P�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

GLOVES PHOTOGRAPH BY CASSIE BUTLER & FLOWERS BY BONLEE GROWN FARM AT THE MOORE COUNTY FARMERS MARKET

By noah salt

Wild Woman in the Garden A few years ago in May, we had the privilege of taking Dame Mirabel Osler to lunch in the beautiful Shropshire village she calls home. Osler, whose 1989 classic A Gentle Plea for Chaos has been cited as a Bible of the cottage gardening crowd, promoted the idea of banishing restrictive procedures and allowing a garden to thrive on its own. It’s a delightful book hailed by one enthusisatic reviewer as “A blast of fresh air through the stuffy rooms of English gardening.” Here’s one of our favorite snippets from Gentle Plea: “The very soul of a garden is shriveled by zealous regimentation. Off with their heads go the ferns, ladies’ mantle or Cranes’ bill. A mania for neatness, a lust for conformity and away goes atmosphere and sensuality. What is left? Earth between plants . . . How rare to see a real cottage garden. It is far more difficult to achieve than a contrived garden. It requires intuition, a genius for letting things have their heads.” We couldn’t agree more with Dame Osler’s gentle plea for a little “more shambles here and there.” Well into her 80s, she showed us around her gloriously disordered garden with gusto and passion, then marched us up the lane to her favorite village bistro where she polished off half a very fine bottle of Chardonnay and regaled us with charming stories of garden chaos. Our kind of gal. “A mild desire for amorphous confusion will gently infiltrate and, given time, one day will set the garden singing.” Must reading for anyone who loves reading and gardening with gusto.

A Perfectly Named Plant We happen to think the shrubby, herbacious peony, extant in nearly 300 varieties, might well be the most ideally named plant in the garden — and one of the most beautiful of late-spring bloomers, typically producing stunning, robust flowers in profusion as May’s end approaches. The name Paeonia comes from the root paeon, a hymn of praise to a helpful god, though Greek mythology holds the plant owes its name to a physician named Paeon, a healer who used this wondrous plant for a variety of medicinal purposes. According to Homer, Paeon healed Hades after Hercules wounded him in the Trojan War. In the language of flowers, according to Bobby Ward, the author of A Contemplation on Flowers, peonies are often associated with illicit passions and even moon-fueled lunacy, the perfect flower for a moonlit tryst. Far Eastern culture values the peony as a symbol of national beauty and unity, often featuring them as symbols in public and civic artwork.

Month of Wicked Little Thoughts Across the Northern Hemisphere, the coming of May is greeted as the true end of winter’s harshness and the beginning of the growing season, marked by days of lengthening light and productivity. The ancient Greeks called it Maia after their goddess of fertility whose festival of drinking and eating and dancing commenced in May. Conversely, the Roman poet Ovid maintained that the true derivation of the name is the word “Maoires,” Latin for “elders,” and that the following month, June, was named for “iunniores” or “young people.” Whatever the truth, ancient Brits began using the name around 1430, in recognition of the fact that rich green growths of meadow grass meant cows could be milked three times a day. In rural places across the British isles, country folk typically celebrated the coming of warmth with a festival that included dancing around maypoles and pursuing other more adventurous pursuits. “Tra-la, it’s May, the lusty month of May,” trilled Julie Andrews in the 1960 Broadway production of Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s hit musical Camelot, “That lovely month when everyone goes blissfully astray / Tra-la, it’s here, that shocking time of year / When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear.”

“The world’s favorite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May.” �

— Edwin Way Teale

If the Glove fits We love a garden product that lives up to its billing. So it is with Foxgloves, the versatile golden glove that claims to be the world’s most comfortable glove for gardening. They were created by a landscape architect and serious gardener, who used Supplex nylon and Lycra to create formfitting gloves that provide superb protection for the skin without sacrificing dexterity and feel — “barehanded sensitivity” as they say in better potting, planting and weeding circles. These gems — which are ideal for biking and any other outdoor activity — come in a choice of elegant styles and colors ranging from the original to rugged work gloves, priced anywhere from $21 to $35. Better gardening stores now carry them, but you can also find a glove that fits your tastes from the company’s ever-expanding website: www.foxglovesinc.com. PS

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Wednesday

ART EXHIBIT & OPENING RECEPTION. 11 a.m. Hastings Gallery. LUNCH AND LEARN. 12:30 – 1:30 p.m. The Laser Institute of Pinehurst. PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 – 4 p.m. Dia de los Niños Storytime. Southern Pines Public Library. GUEST LECTURE. 6 p.m. Ty Cobb. CCNC.

Sunday

Monday

Tuesday

TEQUILA TASTING AT SLY FOX. 6:30 p.m. Taste four different high quality Tequilas accompanied with a bite from the kitchen. Cost: $20. GREAT ART ON SCREEN. 7:30 p.m. The Sunrise Theater presents the exhibition: Manet: Portraying Life. Sunrise Theater

NATIONAL BIKE TO SCHOOL DAY. 7 a.m. Meet at Campbell House then bike to Southern Pines Elementary School. PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 – 4 p.m. SPPL. JOSEPHUS DANIELS: HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 6 p.m. Lee A. Craig delves into Daniels’s influence on twentieth-century politics. CCNC.

SANFORD ARTS & VINE FESTIVAL. CAR SHOW. The Pinehurst Concours D’Elegance. MOVIE AT THE LIBRARY. 2:30 p.m. Southern Pines Library. WALKING FOR WILDFLOWERS. 3 p.m. Weymouth Woods. ROOSTERS WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m.

Thursday ART LECTURE. 10 a.m. Dr. Molly Gwinn. Weymouth Center. GATHERING AT GIVEN. 3:30 p.m. Jennifer Pollard, Music Reminiscing. Given Library. AUTHOR EVENT. 5 p.m. Jamie Mason, Three Graves Full. The Country Bookshop. NC SYMPHONY. 8 – 10 p.m. Tchaikovsky’s “Pathetique” Symphony.

OLDIES & GOODIES FILM. 2:30 p.m. Presenting the popular classic, starring James Dean and Natalie Wood. Southern Pines Public Library.

MOTHER’S DAY AT SLY FOX. 11:30 a.m. HIKE AT WEYMOUTH. 3 p.m. ROOSTERS WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m. Harpeth Rising performs. Aberdeen. MOTHER’S DAY POPS CONCERT. 7 – 8:30 p.m. R.E. Lee Auditorium.

OUTDOOR JAZZ CONCERT. 6:30 p.m. Sandhills Community College Jazz Band – Rob Hill, Director. SCC. SANDHILLS PHOTO CLUB MEETING. 7 p.m. Topic: Capturing instant pictures versus prepared pictures. Hannah Theater Center on The O’Neal School.

AUTHOR EVENT. 4:30 p.m. Elaine Neil Orr, author of A Different Sun: A Novel of Africa. Orr was born in Nigeria in 1954, the daughter of American missionaries. The Country Bookshop.

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 – 4 p.m. Infants and toddlers (ages birth through 5 years). Join us for stories, songs, and fun, and then stay for playtime! Southern Pines Public Library.

SPRING CLASSIC. LIVE THEATER. HORSE SHOW. MOORE HISTORICAL LECTURE. CHILDREN’S BOOK WRITING WORKSHOP. DISCOVERY HIKE AT WEYMOUTH. CONCERT IN THE PINES. ROOSTERS WIFE CONCERT.

WOMEN OF WEYMOUTH MEETING. 11 a.m. Strawberry Festival. Weymouth Center. SANDHILLS NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY MEETING. 7:30 p.m. Topic: “Bats by the Millions.” Weymouth Woods.

TRIP TO WITHERSPOON ROSE NURSERY. 8:30 a.m. The Horticultural Society is taking a bus trip. LEAGUE OF WOMEN VOTERS MEETING. 11:30 a.m. Professor of Marine Biology. JAMES BOYD BOOK CLUB. 2 p.m. The Tall Woman, Wilma Dykeman. Weymouth Center. MAGICIAN AT SLY FOX.

SENIOR EVENT. 9 – 11 a.m. National Senior Health & Fitness Day. Reservoir Park. CURRY & HOPS AT SLY FOX. 6 p.m. Cost: $34. Chef Donnie Wicker will be displaying his culinary passion for all to see . . . Curries.

CAROLINA POLOCROSSE. Harness Track. FREE CONCERT. 2 p.m. The Moore County Concert Band. NATURE WALK AT WEYMOUTH. 3 p.m. CONCERT AT SLY FOX. 5:30 – 8:30 p.m. ROOSTERS WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m.

SANDHILLS SPRING CLASSIC. USEF “A” rated hunter/jumper show. Carolina Horse Park. LIVE THEATER. Sunrise Theater presents the live community play “Rumors.” Tickets: $15; $10/students. Reserved seating.

Friday

SANFORD ARTS & VINE FESTIVAL. Drawing artists from all over the region. Wicker Civic Center, Sanford. CAR SHOW. The Inaugural Pinehurst Concours D’Elegance. FIRST FRIDAY. 5 – 8:30 p.m. Entertainment includes live music by The Archbishops of Blount Street. The grassy knoll adjacent to the Sunrise Theater. ART EXHIBIT & OPENING RECEPTION. “Points of View” featuring oil paintings by Susan Edquist and Terri Birkhouser, with pottery by Anne Crabbe.

AUTHOR AT THE BOOKSHOP. 10:30 a.m. Kick off Children’s Book Week with Bestselling Pop Up book author and artist David A Carter Preschoolers will enjoy joining in this incredibly exciting storytime event! The Country Bookshop. JAZZY FRIDAYS. 6 p.m. Enjoy a bottle of wine and dancing with friends under the tent while the Mike Wallace Quartet entertains you with live jazz music. Cypress Bend Vineyards. FAMILY MOVIE NIGHT. 8:30 p.m. Film: E.T. The Extra Terrestrial. Village Arboretum.

SANDHILLS SPRING CLASSIC. Carolina Horse Park. LIVE THEATER. Sunrise Theater presents the live community play “Rumors.” HORSE SHOW. The Moore County Driving Club. Pinehurst Harness Track. AUTHOR AT THE BOOKSHOP. 11 a.m. Peggy Payne and Carrie Knoles. AUTHOR AT THE BOOKSHOP. 4:30 p.m. Denise Kiernan. MOVIE IN THE PINES. 8:30 p.m.

Arts entertainment

Saturday SANFORD ARTS & VINE FESTIVAL. Artists from all over the region. Wicker Civic Center, Sanford. CAR SHOW. The Pinehurst Concours D’Elegance. BIRD WALK AT WEYMOUTH. 8 a.m. A 2-mile hike to look for these winged wonders. CAMERON ANTIQUES FAIR. More than 300 dealers display their antiques and collectibles in their village shops. FREE COOKING DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. “Beets.” MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Hollyhocks Art Gallery. CINCO DE MAYO POOCH PARADE. 3 – 5 p.m. The Moore Humane Society. Downtown Park, Southern Pines.

POETRY SOCIETY MEETING. North Carolina Poetry Society. Weymouth Center. JUNIOR FLEA MARKET. 9 – 11 a.m. Downtown Park. CARTHAGE BUGGY FESTIVAL. RAG QUILTING WORKSHOP. 10 a.m. – 2 p.m. SharonCooper Murray, “The Gullah Lady.” Douglass Center. COOKING DEMO. 11 a.m. Doughnuts. Pinehurst. BEVERAGE DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. Elliott’s on Linden. MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Hollyhocks Art Gallery. ROBBINS POTTERY CRAWL. 12:30 – 5:30 p.m.

SANDHILLS SPRING CLASSIC. LIVE THEATER. Sunrise Theater presents the live community play “Rumors.” Reserved seating. HORSE SHOW. Pinehurst Harness Track. BIOBLITZ & BIRD WALK AT WEYMOUTH WOODS. SENIOR EVENT. 11 a.m. – 3 p.m. Travel to Lexington Barbeque. Depart from the Campbell House. COOKING DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. Elliott’s on Linden. MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Hollyhocks Art Gallery. BALLROOM DANCERS OF THE SANDHILLS. 6:30 – 11 p.m. Country Club of Whispering Pines. MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Morgen Kilbourn. Hollyhocks Art Gallery. COOKING DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. “Radishes.” Elliott’s on Linden. CAROLINA CLASSIC POLOCROSSE. Pinehurst Harness Track.

cA l e n dA r

May 1

•

ART EXHIBIT & OPENING RECEPTION. 11 a.m. – 1 p.m. Student art exhibit. Show runs through July 31. Boyd Library/Hastings Gallery, Sandhills CommunityCollege, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 692-6185.

LUNCH AND LEARN. 12:30 – 1:30 p.m. SPF • 101 – All about Sunscreen & Sunblock with Neova

Smart Skincare. Complimentary lunch, gift bags, and specials. The Laser Institute of Pinehurst, 80 Aviemore Court, Suite A, Pinehurst. Info/RSVP: (910) 295-1130.

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 – 4 p.m. Dia • de los Niños Storytime. This celebration emphasizes the

NC SYMPHONY. 8 – 10 p.m. Tchaikovsky’s • “Pathetique” Symphony. Tickets can be purchased online. Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, 100 Pinecrest School. Info: (919) 733-2750 or www.ncsymphony.org.

May 3

FIRST FRIDAY. 5 – 8:30 p.m. Family-friendly • event. Live music by The Archbishops of Blount Street, food & beverages, and more. Free admission. The grassy knoll adjacent to the Sunrise Theater. Info: www.firstfridaysouthernpines.com.

importance of literacy for children of all linguistic and cultural backgrounds, and will feature special stories and activities to highlight other cultures and languages. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

GUEST LECTURE. 6 p.m. The English-Speaking • Union welcomes Ty Cobb. Topic: “American Foreign and Security Policy after the 2012 Presidential Election.” Cocktails with dinner to follow. Cost: $40.50. The Country Club of North Carolina, 1600 Morganton Road, Pinehurst. Info: Hope Price, (910) 692-7727; reservations: (910) 692-6565.

May 2

ART LECTURE. 10 – 11:30 a.m. The Arts • Council of Moore County and Weymouth Center

present the first of three lectures in the 2013 Fine Arts Lecture Series, “Objects of Desire: 20th Century Portraits of Women” given by Molly Gwinn. Gain a fascinating insight into the history of some of the world’s most popular portraits. Cost: $10/ACMC and Weymouth members; $15/nonmembers. Weymouth Center, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2787 or www.mooreart.org. GATHERING AT GIVEN. 3:30 p.m. Jennifer • Pollard from Aging Outreach Services will be speaking on Music Reminiscing. Music is a key to unlocking memories and keeping a positive mood in our lives. Free and open to the public. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022. AUTHOR EVENT. 5 p.m. Jamie • Mason talks about his very well received

thriller Three Graves Full.. The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

ca l e n da r ART EXHIBIT & OPENING RECEPTION. • Arts Council of Moore County is proud to present

an art exhibit called “Points of View” featuring oil paintings by Susan Edquist and Terri Birkhouser, with pottery by Anne Crabbe. The opening reception will be Friday from 6 – 8 p.m. Exhibit runs through May 31, 9 a.m. 5 p.m., weekdays. Info: (910) 692-2787 or www.mooreart.org.

May 3—5

SANFORD ARTS & VINE FESTIVAL. • Drawing artists from all over the region, the Arts

and Vine Festival adds to its predecessor’s focus on North Carolina pottery by including talented artists of other mediums, music and a larger selection of state wineries and culinary artists. Tickets: $15-$20/Friday night kick-off; $10/wine tent. Dennis A. Wicker Civic Center, 1801 Nash St., Sanford. Info: (919) 775-7341 or www.sanfordartsandvine.com.

CAR SHOW. The Inaugural Pinehurst Concours • D’Elegance. Features more than 150 of the most historic automobiles and motorcycles from around the world, including military vehicles. Events include a road rally and collector car auction. The Iron Mike Rally takes place on Friday the 3rd. Pinehurst Resort, 80 Carolina Vista Dr., Pinehurst. Info: (704) 6349022 or www.pinehurstconcours.com.

May 4

BIRD WALK AT WEYMOUTH. 8 a.m. Spring • migration is underway. Birds that have wintered in the tropics are making the incredible flight north to spend the summer months in North America. Join us for a 2-mile hike to look for these winged wonders. Meet at the park office, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

CAMERON ANTIQUES FAIR. All day, rain or • shine. More than 300 dealers display their antiques

and collectibles in their village shops and along streets in the Historic District of Cameron. 485 Carthage St., Cameron. Info: (910) 245-3415 or www.antiquesofcameron.com.

FREE COOKING DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. “Beets.” • Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775.

MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Diane Kraudelt. • Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 255-0665 or www.janecasnellie.com.

CINCO DE MAYO POOCH PARADE. 3 – 5 • p.m. The Moore Humane Society will hold its 2nd

Annual Cinco de Mayo Pooch Parade Fundraiser to raise funds for animal rehabilitation and adoption. Event includes dog games. Registration: $10/dog; $15/at the door. Downtown Park, Southern Pines. Info: www.moorehumane.org.

••• • •

Key: Art Music/Concerts Film Literature/Speakers Sports

• • •

Dance/Theater Fun History

May 2013 P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

ca l e n da r

May 5

May 9

to be a hero instead of the villain in his video game. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

and Natalie Wood. A young rebellious man moves to a new town with his family. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

MOVIE AT THE LIBRARY. 2:30 p.m. A • hilarious animated action-packed film! Ralph wants

WALKING FOR WILDFLOWERS. 3 p.m. NC • State Parks has declared 2013 to be the “Year of the Wildflower.” A 1.5 to 2-mile walk to look for spring wildflowers and other flowering plants. Meet at the park office. Weymouth Woods, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

•

ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m. David Jacobs-Strain and Bob Beech perform. Seating is by general admission. Doors open at 6. Tickets available at the door and online. The Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight St., Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www.theroosterswife.org.

May 7

TEQUILA TASTING AT SLY FOX. 6:30 p.m. • Taste four different high quality tequilas accompanied with a bite from the kitchen and learn something new or just enjoy the beauty of it all. Cost: $20. Reservations Required. The Sly Fox Pub, 795 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 725-1621.

GREAT ART ON SCREEN. 7:30 p.m. The • Sunrise Theater presents the exhibition: “Manet:

Portraying Life.” Experience a detailed, superbly crafted biography of Manet and 19th century Paris. Tim Marlow along with expert guests examine the work of one of the all-time great artists. Tickets: Ad ults/$15; Students/$10. Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-8501 or www. sunrisetheater.com.

OLDIES & GOODIES FILM. 2:30 p.m. • Presenting the popular classic, starring James Dean

May 10

AUTHOR AT THE BOOKSHOP. 10:30 a.m. • Kick off Children’s Book Week with Bestselling Pop

Up book author and artist David A Carter featuring his new book Princess Bugs. Preschoolers will enjoy joining in this incredibly exciting storytime event! The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www. thecountrybookshop.biz.

JAZZY FRIDAYS. 6 p.m. Enjoy a bottle of wine • and dancing with friends under the tent while the

Mike Wallace Quartet entertains you with live jazz music. Admission: $10/person. Reservations and prepayments are required for parties of eight or more. Food vendor on site. Cypress Bend Vineyards, 21904 Riverton Road, Wagram. Info: (910) 369-0411 or www.cypressbendvineyards.com

The Extra Terrestrial. Bring your blankets or lawns chairs and enjoy a free family movie at the Village Arboretum. Face painting at 7 p.m. Concessions will be available for purchase. Village Arboretum, 395 Magnolia Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-0166 or www.pinehurstrec.org.

May 11

POETRY SOCIETY MEETING. North • Carolina Poetry Society. Weymouth Center, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 6926261 or www.weymouthcenter.org.

JUNIOR FLEA MARKET. 9 – 11 a.m. Young • business people can put their bargaining skills to the

test as they sell their wares. Bring handmade crafts, toys, clothes, etc., set prices, and make some money. Sellers must pre-register. Booth fees: $2/resident; $4/non-resident (if you bring your own table up to 6 ft.); $5/resident; $10 non-resident (table provided). Downtown Park, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2463.

CARTHAGE BUGGY FESTIVAL. The festival • recognizes Carthage and the Tyson & Jones Buggy Factory that operated in the 1800s and early 1900s. Buggies will be on display along with entertainment, arts/crafts, antiques, great food, and the car show. Courthouse Square, 4396 US Hwy. 15-501, Carthage. Info: (910) 947-2331 or www.thebuggyfestival.com.

• FAMILY MOVIE NIGHT. 8:30 p.m. Film: E.T. • • • • • Key:

Art

Music/Concerts

Dance/Theater

Film

Literature/Speakers

• • Fun

History

•

Sports

May 8

NATIONAL BIKE TO SCHOOL DAY. 7 a.m. • This day provides an opportunity for schools across

the country to join together to celebrate and to build off the energy of National Bike Month. Meet at the upper parking lot at the Campbell House, then bike to Southern Pines Elementary School. Info: (910) 6927376 or www.southernpines.net/recreation.

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 – 4 p.m. • Infants and toddlers (ages birth through 5 years). Join us

for stories, songs, and fun, and then stay for playtime! Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

JOSEPHUS DANIELS: HIS LIFE AND TIMES. • 6 p.m. Lee A. Craig, an expert on economic history and Alumni Distinguished Professor at NC State, delves into Daniels’ extensive archives to inform this nuanced and eminently readable biography, following Daniels’ rise to power in North Carolina and chronicling his influence on 20th-century politics. The Country Club of North Carolina, Pinehurst. Info/tickets: (910) 692-3211.

   Fayetteville

To Advertise in the

Fayetteville Page Call Darlene Stark 693.2488

May 2013 P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

   Fayetteville cA l e n dA r

COMING

May

June ϭͲϮ͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘'ƵŶ Θ <ŶŝĨĞ ^ŚŽǁ ϱͲϴ͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘ ƵŵďĞƌůĂŶĚ ŽƵŶƚǇ ^ĐŚŽŽůƐ 'ƌĂĚƵĂƟŽŶƐ ϵ͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘ tt >ŝǀĞ͊ ϭϰ͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘>ĂĚŝĞƐ͛ EŝŐŚƚ KƵƚ ϭϱ͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘͘ ŚĂƌŝƚǇ ŽŵĞĚǇ ^ŚŽǁ ǁŝƚŚ DŝĐŚĂĞů ůĂĐŬƐŽŶ 1960 COLISEUM DRIVE FAYETTEVILLE, NC 28306 910.438.4100 910.436.TKTS (8587) WWW.A T T HE C ROWN.COM /crowncenternc

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2 THE CROWN...

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RAG QUILTING WORKSHOP. 10 a.m. – 2 p.m. Sharon-Cooper Murray, • “The Gullah Lady,” will introduce participants to the origin of rag quilting and

the heritage of the Gullah/Geechee folkways, provide hands-on instruction of Rag Quilting, and present a 30 piece rag quilting exhibit. Tickets: $20, and can be purchased at Southern Pines Public Library. Douglass Community Center, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-8235.

COOKING DEMO. 11 a.m. Doughnuts. Cost: $15. Doughnuts are sweeping • the country on the heels of the notorious cupcake craze. We’re promising to cut

back on some of the fat with all of the flavor. Cabinetry of Pinehurst, Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775.

BEVERAGE DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. With Mike, the bartender from Elliott’s. • Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Jane Casnellie. Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 • Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 255-0665 or www.janecasnellie.com. ROBBINS POTTERY CRAWL. 12:30 – 5:30 p.m. This Northern Moore • Family Resource Center 3rd annual benefit gives you the behind the scenes look. Tickets available at The Country Bookshop or online. Info: (910) 948-4324 or www.nmfrc.com.

May 12

MOTHER’S DAY AT SLY FOX. 11:30 a.m. Allow the chefs to cook for your • wonderful Mother. Amazing features along with our regular menu. Each mother will receive a gift. The Sly Fox Pub, 795 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 725-1621.

HIKE AT WEYMOUTH. 3 p.m. Get back to nature on this Mother’s Day • Sunday and discover helpful forest plants that mothers have used through the

centuries to improve family life. Join a ranger for a hike to learn about these plants. Free and open to the public. Weymouth Woods, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m. Harpeth Rising performs. Seating • is by general admission. Doors open at 6. Tickets available at the door and online. The Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight St., Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www. theroosterswife.org.

MOTHER’S DAY POPS CONCERT. 7 – 8:30 p.m. A tribute to moth• ers, with film scores of John Williams, selections from Showboat and Phantom of the Opera, as well as excursions into Italian opera, Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony and a touch of Mozart. R.E. Lee Auditorium, 250 Voit Gilmore Lane, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 687-4746 or www.carolinaphil.org.

May 13

OUTDOOR JAZZ CONCERT. 6:30 • p.m. Free and open to the public. Sandhills Community College Jazz Band - Rob Hill, Director. Barbecue dinner available at 5 p.m., charge per plate. Sandhills Community College, 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst. Info: mccune-7lakes.home. mindspring.com.

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Dance/Theater Fun History

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Sports

ca l e n da r

INNOVATE

SANDHILLS PHOTO CLUB MEETING. • 7 p.m. Topic: Capturing instant pictures versus

prepared pictures. Open to the public. Hannah Theater Center on The O’Neal School campus, 3300 Airport Road, Southern Pines. Info: www. sandhillsphotoclub.org.

May 14 275 Moss Farm Lane | $975,000 3,100 SF | 19.89 Acres 5 Stall Barn

769 Youngs Road | $875,000 3,300 SF | 8.9 Acres 3 Stall Barn

231 Ox Ridge Lane | $674,000 2,800 SF | 7.285 Acres 2-3 Stall Barn

620 N. Ashe Street | $229,000 Downtown 1915 Craftsman!

Horse Pen Lane | $299,999 Pasture, Pond & Dock 10.85 Acres

170 Bump Along Lane 2300 SF | 8.5 Acres 12 Stalls

For a map of all horse farms visit www.innovaterealestate.com. A portion of all sales are donated to the Walthour-Moss Foundation.

Broker/Owner

Your Specialist in Horse Country Farms, Homes & Land 1020 Youngs Road | Southern Pines 910. 528.6768 | cindy@innovaterealestate.com

AUTHOR EVENT. 4:30 p.m. Elaine Neil Orr, • author of A Different Sun: A Novel of Africa. Orr was

born in Nigeria in 1954, the daughter of American missionaries. At four-year intervals, her family came to the U.S. on leave but otherwise she grew up on compounds in Nigerian towns, leaving the country at age 16 to go to college in America. The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

May 15

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 – 4 p.m. • Infants and toddlers (ages birth through 5 years). Join us

for stories, songs, and fun, and then stay for playtime! Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

May 16—19

SANDHILLS SPRING CLASSIC. USEF “A” • rated hunter/jumper show. Pony Jumpers have been

added for Saturday and Sunday. Carolina Horse Park, 2814 Montrose Road, Raeford. Info: (540) 460-2305 or www.carolinahorsepark.com.

LIVE THEATER. Sunrise Theater presents • the live community play “Rumors.” Showtimes:

Thursday/Friday: 7 p.m.; Saturday: 2 and 7 p.m.; Sunday: 2 p.m. Tickets: $15; $10/students. Reserved seating. Info/tickets: www.sunrisetheater.com.

May 17—19

HORSE SHOW. The Moore County Driving • Club is having The Carolina Classic in the Pines Pleasure show, dressage and cones competitions; Saturday, ring classes; Sunday, parade through Pinehurst. Pinehurst Harness Track. Info: (910) 245-1917.

May 17

AUTHOR AT THE BOOKSHOP. 11 a.m. Peggy • Payne with her book Cobalt Blue, and Carrie Knoles

with her book Lillian’s Garden. Part of the Crazy Ladies book tour. The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www. thecountrybookshop.biz.

AUTHOR AT THE BOOKSHOP. 4:30 p.m. • Denise Kiernan will discuss her book, The Girls of

Atomic City: The Untold Story of the Women Who Helped Win World War II. This is the true story of the young

••• • •

Key: Art Music/Concerts Film Literature/Speakers Sports

• • •

Dance/Theater Fun History

May 2013 P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

ca l e n da r women who worked on enriching uranium for the first atomic bomb used in combat. The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 6923211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

•

MOVIE IN THE PINES. 8:30 p.m. Wreck it, Ralph. Free movie! Concessions sold on site. Downtown Park, 145 SE Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-7376 or www.southernpines.net/ recreation.

May 18

BIOBLITZ AT WEYMOUTH WOODS. A Bio• Blitz is a biological inventory to find as many plant and animal species as possible can in 24-hour period. Professional biologists, researchers and experts will come to do just that. Weymouth Woods, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

BIRD WALK AT WEYMOUTH. 8 a.m. Spring • migration is under way. Birds that have wintered in the tropics are making the incredible flight north to spend the summer months in North America. Join us for a 2-mile hike to look for these winged wonders. Meet at the park office, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

•

SENIOR EVENT. 11 a.m. – 3 p.m. May is National Barbecue Month. Travel to Lexington Barbeque to celebrate. Shopping at Randolph Mall to

Key:

• • Art

Music/Concerts

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Dance/Theater

follow. Cost is $9 resident/$18 non-resident. Depart from the Campbell House, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-7376.

COOKING DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. “Jams.” Some • of the most popular items in the store. This demo

will marry their popularity with the linzer tart, in a traditional sweet version and a savory version with goat cheese and roasted garlic jam. Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775.

MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Jane Casnellie. • Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 255-0665 or www.janecasnellie.com.

CHILDREN’S BOOK WRITING • WORKSHOP. 2 – 7 p.m. Kelly Starling Lyons will

teach a class designed to introduce those to the field with creating a basic understanding of children’s book genres, and gaining insight into the business of children’s book publishing. Call the Bookshop to register. Cost: $65. The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www. thecountrybookshop.biz.

BALLROOM DANCERS OF THE DISCOVERY HIKE AT WEYMOUTH. 3 p.m. • • SANDHILLS. 6:30 – 11 p.m. The annual formal dinLook at any flowers, shrubs, bugs, birds, frogs, toads, ner dance. Performances by Robertas Maleckis and Inga Sirkaite, world class Latin dancers. Cost: $48, reservations required. Country Club of Whispering Pines, 2 Clubhouse Blvd., Whispering Pines. Info: (910) 246-3320.

May 19

MOORE HISTORICAL LECTURE. 2 p.m. • The Moore County Historical Association presents a

one-woman program titled “Reflected Glory: Letters to Anna,” a dramatic monologue by Kelly Atkins Hinson dressed in costume as a widow of the 1860s. She will impersonate Confederate General Stonewall Jackson’s

• • Film

widow based on letters and memoirs of the couple during the Civil War. Free and open to the public. First Baptist Church, 200 E. New York Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2051 or www.moorehistory.com.

Literature/Speakers

• • Fun

History

•

lizards, snakes, turtles, mammals and anything else there is to discover! Meet at the park office, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

•

CONCERT IN THE PINES. 6 – 8 p.m. Pinecrest High Schools bands will perform a free concert. PHS band boosters will be on site selling concessions. Bring a chair or a blanket and enjoy. Downtown Park, 145 SE Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 6927376 or www.southernpines.net/recreation. ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m. • John Cowan and Tiller’s Folly perform. Seating is by

general admission. Doors open at 6. Tickets available

Sports

ca l e n da r at the door and online. The Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight St., Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www. theroosterswife.org.

May 20

WOMEN OF WEYMOUTH MEETING. • 11 a.m. Strawberry Festival. Sean Moore, Pianist.

Weymouth Center, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-6261 or www.weymouthcenter.org.

•

SANDHILLS NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY MEETING. 7:30 p.m. Topic: “Bats by the Millions.” Weymouth Woods Superintendent, Scott Hartley, will share slides and video from a trip to Texas to see several caves that contain huge maternity colonies of Mexican free-tailed bats. Meet at the Weymouth Woods Auditorium, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: www.sandhillsnature.org.

May 21

TRIP TO WITHERSPOON ROSE NURSERY. • 8:30 a.m. The Horticultural Society is taking a bus

trip to the famous Witherspoon Rose Nursery. guided tour of the nursery with rose growing tips, light refreshments & shopping time at the rose gardens. Followed by a leisurely stop at Southern Seasons in Chapel Hill for shopping & an optional independent lunch. Cost: $45. Info: (910) 695-3882.

LEAGUE OF WOMEN VOTERS MEETING. • 11:30 a.m. Dr. Michael Orbach, professor of marine biology, Duke University, will speak on climate change and the Outer Banks. Open to the public. Reservations required. Table on the Green, 2205 Midland Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 944-9611.

•

James Boyd Book Club. 2 p.m. The Tall Woman, Wilma Dykeman. Weymouth Center, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 6926261 or www.weymouthcenter.org. MAGICIAN AT SLY FOX. Sleight of Hand • extraordinaire Brandon Williams will entertain you

while you dine. The Sly Fox Pub, 795 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 725-1621.

May 25

•

MEET THE ARTIST. 12 – 3 p.m. Morgen Kilbourn. Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 255-0665 or www. janecasnellie.com.

•

COOKING DEMO. 12 & 2 p.m. “Radishes.” Did you know that radishes were first cultivated in China? Did you know radishes were related to wasabi? Did you know that we will be cooking up a creative radish dish in the demo kitchen? Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775.

May 25—26

CAROLINA CLASSIC POLOCROSSE. • The Carolina Polocrosse Club hosts the fields are

established polo fields with spectacular footing that drains well and holds up for an entire weekend of play. Pinehurst Harness Track, 200 Beulah Hill Road South, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 949-3345 or www.carolinapolocrosse.com.

May 26

FREE CONCERT. 2 p.m. The Moore County • Concert Band will perform. Grand Ballroom of the Carolina Hotel, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 235-5229 or www.moorecountyband.com.

NATURE WALK AT WEYMOUTH. 3 p.m. • “More than Pines.” Discover avariety of plants that

flourish in the Longleaf ecosystem of the Sandhills along this one and a half mile hike. Weymouth Woods, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

CONCERT AT SLY FOX. 5:30 – 8:30 p.m. • Come and enjoy the beautiful music of Autumn

Nicholas outside on the patio. The Sly Fox Pub, 795 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 725-1621.

ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT. 6:46 p.m. • Betse Ellis and Wurlitzer Prize perform. Seating is by

general admission. Doors open at 6. Tickets available at the door and online. The Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight St., Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www. theroosterswife.org.

May 29

SENIOR EVENT. 9 – 11 a.m. National Senior • Health & Fitness Day. An estimated 100,000 older

adults across America will participate in this 20th annual event and the nation’s largest annual health and fitness event for older adults. Participants will enjoy walking, fitness equipment, fishing, etc. Reservoir Park, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 692-7376.

CURRY & HOPS AT SLY FOX. 6 p.m. • Cost: $34. Demo (starts promptly). Chef Donnie

Wicker will be displaying his culinary passion for all to see . . . curries. The Sly Fox Pub, 795 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 725-1621.

WEEKLY HAPPENINGS Mondays

LIVE MUSIC AT CIRCLE M CITY. 7 p.m. • Gather at the wild west town’s free music event. 74 Cowboy Lane, Sanford. Info: (919) 499-8493.

Wednesdays

• FARMERS GREEN MARKET. 3 – 6 p.m. ••• • • • • • Key: Art Music/Concerts Film Literature/Speakers Sports

Dance/Theater Fun History

May 2013 P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

cA l e n dA r Cannon Park, intersection of Rattlesnake Dr. and Woods Road, Pinehurst.

Thursdays

ZUMBA CLASS. 7:35 p.m. No pre-registration • necessary. Cost: $10, cash or check. The Fitness Studio, 1150 Old US 1, Southern Pines. Info: (631) 561-5942 or thefitnessstudioinc.com.

Fridays

CHILDRENS STORYTIME AT THE • BOOKSHOP. 10:30 a.m. 140 NW Broad Street,

Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

“Pepper” Beagle mix

•

FREE COOKING DEMO. 5 – 6 p.m. A fun way to play with your food using quick, easy, in-season ingredients. Samples included. The Flavor Exchange, 115 E New Hampshire Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 725-1345.

graphite on Canson paper

Pamela Powers January

Saturdays

FARMERS MARKET. 8 a.m. – 1 p.m. • Downtown Park, Southern Pines. FARMERS GREEN MARKET. 10 a.m. – 1 p.m. • Village Green, Village Green Road W, Pinehurst. FREE WINE TASTING. 12 – 4 p.m. Elliott’s • on Linden, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910)

FINE

ART

PORTRAITS

PETS

www.pamelapowersjanuary.com

910.692.0505

215-0775.

Art Galleries ABOUT ART GALLERY inside The Market Place Midland Bistro Building, 2160 Midland Road, Pinehurst. The gallery features local artists. Open Monday-Friday 11 a.m. – 2 p.m. (910) 215-596. ART NUTZ AND RAVEN POTTERY, 125 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Come see the potter at work. Features art, pottery from local potters, handmade jewelry, glass and more. Monday-Saturday 10 a.m. – 5 p.m. (910) 695-1555, www.ravenpottery.com. ARTIST GALLERY OF SOUTHERN PINES, 167 E. New Hampshire Ave., Southern Pines. Features art and fine crafts from more than 60 North Carolina artists. 10 a.m. – 5 p.m., Monday-Saturday. (910) 692-6077.

Subscribe today and have PineStraw delivered!

$35/yr • In State $45/yr • Out of State 3 ways to subscribe: Fill out and return or Call 910.693.2490 or E-mail dstark@thepilot.com

ARTISTS LEAGUE OF THE SANDHILLS, 129 Exchange St. in historic Aberdeen. Exhibit hours are noon – 3 p.m., Monday-Saturday. (910) 944-3979. BROADHURST GALLERY, 2212 Midland Road, Pinehurst. Showcases works by nationally recognized artists such as Louis St. Lewis, Lula Smith, Shawn Morin, Rachel Clearfield, Judy Cox and Jason Craighead. Meet-the-artist opportunities available. Monday-Friday (closed Wednesday), 11 a.m. – 5 p.m.,

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Key: Art Music/Concerts Film Literature/Speakers Sports

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Dance/Theater Fun History

For Me: Name __________________________________________ Address _________________________________________ City ____________________________________________ State ________Zip _________________________________ Phone __________________________________________ E-Mail Address ____________________________________ Payment Enclosed ____

Bill Me Later ____

ca l e n da r Saturday, 1 – 4 p.m & special appointments. (910) 2954817, www.broadhurstgallery.com. The Campbell House Galleries, 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Monday-Friday 9 a.m. – 5 p.m. and every third weekend of the month from 2 – 4 p.m. (910) 692-4356, www.mooreart.org. The Downtown Gallery inside Cup of Flow, 115 NE Broad St., Southern Pines. Everchanging array of local and regional art, pottery and other handmade items. (910) 693-1999. The Gallery at Seven Lakes at the St. Mary Magdalene building, 1145 Seven Lakes Drive. Just nine miles from the Pinehurst Traffic Circle up 211, this gallery is dedicated to local artists. Wednesday-Thursday 1 – 4 p.m. Hastings Gallery in the Katharine L. Boyd Library at Sandhills Community College, Pinehurst. Gallery hours are Monday-Thursday 7:45 a.m. – 9 p.m., Friday 7:45 a.m. – 5 p.m. and Saturday 8:30 a.m. – 2 p.m. HOLLYHOCKS ART GALLERY, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst. Features artwork by local award winning artists, Phyllis Andrews, Betty DiBartolomeo, Equine Sculptor Morgen Kilbourn, Diane Kraudelt, Carol Rotter and artist/owner, Jane Casnellie. MondaySaturday 10:30 a.m. – 9:30 p.m. Fine oil paintings,

commissions and instruction. Meet the artists on Saturdays, 12 – 3 p.m. (910) 255-0665, www.hollyhocksartgallery.com.

Nature Centers

Lady Bedford’s Tea Parlour, 25 Chinquapin Road, Pinehurst. Features local artist Nancy Campbell’s original oil and watercolor paintings. Tuesday - Saturday 8 a.m. – 5 p.m. (910) 255-0100, www.ladybedfords.com.

Sandhills Horticultural Gardens (32 acres of gardens). The Sandhills Horticultural Gardens are handicapped-accessible. Daylight hours year-round. (910) 695-3882.

The Old Silk Route, 113 West Main St., Aberdeen. Specializes in Asian original art, including silk paintings, tapestries, Buddhist Thangkas and Indian paper miniatures. Monday, Thursday-Saturday 11 a.m. – 4 p.m. (910) 295-2055.

Weymouth Woods Sandhills Nature Preserve (898 acres). 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. (910) 692-2167.

Seagrove Candle Company, 116 N.W. Broad St., Southern Pines. Showcases art of the Sandhills and Seagrove area. Monday, Wednesday-Saturday 10 a.m. – 5 p.m., (910) 695-0029. SKY Art Gallery, 602 Magnolia Drive, Aberdeen. Tuesday-Saturday 10 a.m. – 5 p.m. (910) 944-9440, www.skyartgallery.com.

offers a variety of pottery. (910) 947-6100.

VILLAGE ABORETUM. 35 acres of land adjoining the Village Hall on Magnolia Road, Pinehurst. (910) 295-1900.

Historical Sites Bethesda Church and Cemetery. Guided tours for groups by appointment. 1020 Bethesda Road, Aberdeen. (910) 944-1319. Bryant House and McLendon Cabin. Tours by appointment. (910) 692-2051 or (910) 673-0908.

Studio 590 by the pond in Dowd Cabin, 590 Dowd Circle, Pinehurst. This historic log cabin is the working studio and gallery of artists Betty DiBartolomeo and Harry Neely. Fine oil paintings, commissions and instruction. (910) 639-9404.

Carthage Historical Museum. Sundays, 2 – 5 p.m. or by appointment. Located at Rockingham and Saunders streets, Carthage. (910) 947-2331.

White Hill Gallery, 407 U.S. 15-501, Carthage,

House in the Horseshoe. Open year-round.

May 2013 P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

ca l e n da r Hours vary. 288 Alston House Road (10 miles north of Carthage), Sanford. (910) 947-2051. Malcolm Blue Farm and Museum. 1 – 4 p.m. Wednesday-Saturday. Group tours can be arranged by appointment. (910) 944-7558 or (910) 603-2739. North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame. 10 a.m. – 2 p.m., Monday-Friday, at the Weymouth Center for Arts and Humanities, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. (910) 692-6261. Shaw House Property. Open 1 – 4 p.m. TuesdayFriday. (910) 692-2051.

A Treasure Chest Sale

Union Station. Open 8 a.m. – 5 p.m. Located in downtown Aberdeen. (910) 944-5902.

It’s easy to support the Arts Council of Moore County just donate your old treasures for our upcoming fund raising sale. Antiques, art, pottery, china, silver, fine jewelry and other collectibles are welcomed. Items may now be dropped off at the Campbell House or call for information and pick up of donated items,

Sandhills Woman’s Exchange Log Cabin Open 10 a.m. – 3 p.m. (910) 295-4677. PS

Donations are tax deductible

Tufts Archives. 9:30 a.m. – 5 p.m., MondayFriday, and 9:30 a.m. – 12:30 p.m. Saturday. (910) 295-3642.

To add an event, email us at pinestraw@thepilot.com by the first of the month prior to the event.

910.692.2787 or email katherine@mooreart.org

And don’t forget to come to our sale on

Saturday, July 13 — 9 am to 4 pm 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines

PineNeedler Answers From page 111

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MOORE COUNTY

FARMERS MARKET Food Demonstrations by Chef Warrenʼs Saturday May 18 • 9:30 - 11:30am

Tomatoes, Strawberries, Fruits, Veggies, Jams, Meats, Flowers & Plants Mondays- FirstHealth (Fitness Center) Facility courtesy of First Health 170 Memorial Dr • Pinehurst 2pm-5:30pm Will be open through October 28th

OpenYearRound•Thursdays- 604W.MorgantonRd (Armory Sports Complex) Facility courtesy of Town of Southern Pines Southern Pines 9am-1pm

Saturdays - Downtown Southern Pines Facility courtesy of Town of Southern Pines Broad St & New York Ave 8am-Noon Will be open through October 26th

Call 947-3752 or 690-9520 for more info

Websearch: Moore County Farmers Market Local Harvest www.facebook.com/Moore County Farmers Market SNAP Welcomed Here

May 2013P��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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SandhillSeen Habitat for Humanity of the Sandhills Spring Gala Saturday, April 13, 2013 Photographer Katie Bolt

Beth Dowd, Whitney Parker & Leann Parker

Nelson Neil, Ellen Pearsall Marilyn & James Grube

Richard Verrilli, William Gozzi, James Buck

Ellen and Phillip Pearsall, Tom Owen & Jackie Garris

Linda & Gen. Clarence Lindsay

Jamie & Rick Luzar

Carol Dowd-Kamalbake & Rahmean Kamalbake

Diane Tate, Jim Van Camp, Kathyrn Tate

SandhillSeen

LindaLaura Hoover, Newt Gaither

Companion Animal Clinic Fundraiser at the Jefferson Inn Friday, April 12, 2013 Photographer Jeanne Paine

Dr. Debby Day, Bobbie Mudge, Babs Minery

Dr. Jock Tate

Kaven Haley, Carol Dowd, Erin Kirkland

Lincoln Sadler, Greg & Woody Wilder, Gerald Movelle Dr. Lori Heim, Bob Johnson

CAC Board Members

Abby Shultis, Rahmean Kamalbake

Michael Lamb, Joanie Thiele

Shannon Hoffman, Linda Hoover, Kea Meacham, Leann Parker

PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May 2013

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NOW IN OUR NEW LOCATION

Carpets • Area Rugs Custom Rugs and Rug Repair Installation Hardwood Laminate Floors • Ceramic Tile

ABERDEEN CARPET FLOORING CENTER OPEN MON - FRI 9 TO 5 AND SAT 9 TO 4 2314 HWY 5 • ABERDEEN • 910-944-6204

www.aberdeencarpet.com 102

May 2013 i��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

SandhillSeen Horse Trials II Friday, March 22-Sunday, March 24, 2013 Photographs by Jeanne Paine

Allie Conrad, Lisa Austin Ray Douglas, Whitney Mahloch Caitlin Silliman

Will Faudree Erica Carson

Haley Armstrong-LaFramboise, Kylie Figueira, John MacPherson

Nancy & Dan Hathaway Dan Nesser, Lefreda Williams, Rod Lynch

Vicki Reynolds

Carolyn Kotila, Kathy Beran

Lori Kathryn

Judy Dermot, Barbara & Ciive Kelly

Sarah Berhalter

Susan Beebee

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Beth St. John, Jeannie Gentry

SandhillSeen

Laura Gaither

62nd Annual Stoneybrook Steeplechase April 6, 2013 Photographs by Jeanne Paine

Taylor Bunch, Whitney Parker, Leann & Jim Heustess

Myrl Law

Patsy Ringler, Irene Russell, Taniya Smith, Carole Landoll

Bamboo Tailgating

Harold Myers

Stephen Later, Effie Ellis, David Woronoff

Diana Furr, Janet Dubar

The Howe Family

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May 2013 i��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Trevie Cato

Ann & Elton Newbern

Darius, Brian & Christina Stoner

Windridge Sarah & Emily Tieszen

Grace Bozick, John Taw, Kimberly Daniels

Gardens

1650 Valley View Road â&#x20AC;˘ Southern Pines, NC Adjacent to Hyland Golf Course on US 1

910-692-0855 www.WindridgeGardens.com Spring Hours

Mon-Sat. 10am-6pm | Sun. 1pm-6pm

Summers WinnersCircle Tailgating

Anthony Mouzon, Kris Ward, Harold Myers

Anthony Mouzon

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May 2013 i��PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

T h e A c c i d e n ta l A st r o l o g e r

By Astrid Stellanova Taurus (April 21-May 21) Stubborn don’t even begin to describe it. But you are one clever beast, Darlin’, and right now hotter than a sun spot after making that love connection last month. You are about to flame like a solar spot and I’m thinking the rest of us might get torched. The last half of the month is yours, Baby. There’s gonna be more energy radiating off you than a shot of Red Bull! Mid-month, you are bedazzled by gawd-knows-what in conjunction. That’s time to pull in your horns and get in touch with your sensitive side. What can I say? Some days you ride the bull and some days you get ridden. Gemini (May 22-June 21) You got more moves than an Amway dealer — but what on earth has got ahold of you now? One day you are strutting your stuff on center stage, and the next day, sitting in your bedroom alone. Ordering out cheeseburgers like Howard Hughes in Vegas. Chill, Child. And I don’t care what that slick operator told you — a lot at Lake Lure right where they filmed Dirty Dancing ain’t now, ain’t ever, going to get liquidated for only $99.95 a month with no money down. And mind your sassy tongue from the 19th till the 22nd. You got a lot to say but we just ain’t in the mood, Chile. Cancer (June 22-July 23) Lawd, it’s just one thing after another by the 9th. It’s a great big world, but I wouldn’t want to paint it, either. Ain’t no wonder you feeling all give out, stuck in some kinda rerun. Feeling like you’re the Karate Kid with that paintbrush in Mr. Miyagi’s backyard. (“Show me, ‘paint the fence!’”) This ain’t going to last, so pick up the brush and get on with it, up, down, up, down. I swear, Sweet Pea, it gets better after the 25th when Mars and Mercury slide on into home plate. Use them karate moves — where you be like a tree and stay grounded — and you won’t get knocked out. Leo (July 23-Aug. 23) You just thought last month was tough. You got a whole lotta hurting going on, and karma is tricky, ain’t she? Learn anything? If you weren’t so dang smart, not to mention contentious, you might a quit on us. But no. You already found an escape hatch, and you got one foot on the ladder and one on the wall. There’s some tricky business ahead but there’s more roar in the ole Leo yet. Be patient. By the 11th Mercury and the Sun give you a little breather. Take your time, Kitty Kat, and pull in those fangs. Purrs get more pets than roars. Virgo (August 24-Sept. 23) Lordamercy, I used to date a Virgo, and he was a crazy flirt. Trouble was when he flirted with insurance fraud and wound up doing 5-10 for torching his trailer. He melted the siding right off mine, which was way too close to his pad. You got charm oozing outta every pore, but you get a little stuck in your ways. This can make others (moi, for example) confused trying to figure you out. When the dust settles down after the 18th, you’ll remind every single one of us that you got a level head on you. By the 27th, show us you know how to use it, Darlin’. Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 23) Nobody ever said Libras were dumb. They just plumb wear our little butts out — nobody beats a Libra at the waiting and cogitating game. But go on, put on your radical pants and bust a move, Baby, cause this is your month for love connections and all kind of happiness conjunctions. You might want to kick that old love interest to the curb if you ain’t getting what you need. You gotta move off the wall and get in the passing lane if you want the victory flag to drop, Dumpling, and this is the time. Pssstttt: On the 28th it is your race to lose, you sweet freak!

Scorpio (October 23-November 21) Listen, you gotta put on your walking shoes and stop digging in — go with the flow, why don’t you? Saturn and Mars got you all uptight. Somebody who gives a crap has got your best interests at heart, so how about meeting a body halfway? Winning ain’t the only thing, Honey; even if you spend the first half of the month fighting that losing battle. By the 16th you got some options opening up. Maybe you can try it — you might like it. Hey, nobody said you gotta jump on the sofa and go all Tom Cruise on Oprah on us. But give and take, Child. Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 21) Looking at the star chart, I’m thinking you might wanna see if you can get a spin of the wheel on my favorite TV show, Wheel of Fortune. That Vanna is an inspiration to hairdressers everywhere. Honey, I see you got two big influences colliding — your dazzling ways and gift of gab — thanks to Mercury’s conjunction with Jupiter late this month. Throw in that wit, and spin the wheel. And if you don’t get on the wheel, get behind one! Drive yourself to a new love connection on match.com. Lordamercy, come May 20, love is coming right straight at you! Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 20) Shut the front door! Mars and Saturn are in the house and it may leave you flat out pissed off at the start of the month. But you been having more flashbacks than Bobby Ewing lately, and by the time you get past week one, I gotta give you a little heads up. Listen here: Do yourself a favor and snap outta it. Reality isn’t just a TV show, honey. Keep your cool, and by the time the midmonth hits, you got a change coming. That’s right. Things get all shook up before May is done, and listen here: Ch-ch-changes can be mighty, mighty nice. Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19) Ain’t no mountain high enough, huh? Wellll . . . you got your knickers in a knot, didn’t you, overcommitting your bad self? Shift it in reverse, if you have to, and get outta that corner, Baby, cause, well, nobody puts Baby in the corner. Then, look to the wide open road, and put the top down, and enjoy the breeze. You are sometimes like a Thelma without Louise, going it alone, but there is no reason to drive off the cliff just when things are looking very, very interesting. I’m just saying. Yin and yang, Baby Cakes. And pack some Aqua Net for the highway. Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20) Slow and steady. One day at a time. Let go, just like we say in AA meetings. You got some transitions going on in the chart. You think you need to give everybody a peace of your mind this month. Uh, NO. Take your own inventory, just like my AA sponsor says, and by the second week things will look a lot different and you’ll be glad you kept your peace. And swallowed it, too. This is a stop-and- smell-the-roses-but-don’t-buy-any kinda month until the last week. From the 27th on, Honey, if you get a good idea from your fortune cookie, go for it! Aries (March 21-April 20) Who gets a thank-you card from Michael Kors? Back away from the plastic, my favorite shopaholic, cause this month you gotta work hard for the money and pay it off. Start off disciplined with a capital “D.” Then, by the 20th you gonna see the best thing you can do is keep on keeping on, steady like. Nobody said it was easy being a Ram, but tuck your head down. C-H-I-L-L. You gotta keep things loose, cause come the 26th, you gotta tack faster than a sailboat in hurricane Sandy. If anybody can handle change, Sweet Thang, you can. PS After a necessary hiatus to attend to unfortunate personal business, Astrid Stellanova is back and all is right with the universe.

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May 2013 i�� PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

T h o u g h ts f r o m T h e M a n S h e d

Of Stink Bugs and Presidential Monuments

By Geoff Cutler

Welcoming us to Monticello, our guide

told us that when Thomas Jefferson was in residence, the president might be sitting on the porch of the Virginia monument in front of which we now stood, and over the crest of the mountain would come the occasional unannounced visitor to catch a glimpse of the man who penned our Declaration of Independence. A recluse by nature, Jefferson might have been irked by the intrusion into his privacy, but recognized that he was, at least in the public’s eye, beyond famous. Reluctantly, our guide continued, Thomas Jefferson might then invite the stranger in for a brief tour of his beloved masterpiece. And then abruptly send the visitor back down the mountain. “Have any of you ever been to Monticello before?” our guide asked. A few from our group of twenty-five threw up their hands, but Bennett spoke right out and said, “I was here sixty-one years ago!” “Good heavens!” our astonished escort replied. “Sixty-one years ago! Was Jefferson sitting on the porch to welcome you?” The trip was Andie’s idea on account of a visit to Monticello has always been on her “bucket list.” Since Brooke’s mom and stepfather have a farm in Little Washington, Virginia, an hour’s drive north of Monticello, we decided to make a weekend of it and stay with them. Mary and Jere decided to come along as well. They have a big car, and this meant there was enough room to bring our dog, Wyatt P. He got to ride in the way back and thus have a chance to visit with his Virginia cousins, a small herd of King Charles spaniels belonging to “Bunkie” and “Sully,” Brooke’s parents. If you haven’t seen the home and grounds of our third president, the time is not wasted, but since this is a tale of friends on the road, we’ll press on to the farm, where we were greeted warmly by Brooke’s parents and Wyatt P’s little doggie cousins.

The truth is, Brooke’s mom’s house is as impressive as Monticello. What started in the early 1700s as a simple Colonial cabin was significantly added on to in the following century, and then again in the latter quarter of the 1900s. It is now a sprawling four-floor conglomeration of architectural eras, and with Brooke’s parents’ keen sense of interior decoration, something to see. On a tour of the house, Bunkie relayed to us when we passed from one era of the house into another. It’s hard not to recognize the Colonial wing, for it reminds one of an old English tavern, where travelers might dismount their sodden horses to come in out of the cold and rain to warm themselves by a fire. The air is close, the ceilings low, and the wood is dark and deeply aged, perhaps smoldered to its rich color by smoke from the fireplace at one end of its two small rooms. This oldest area of the house was Bennett’s favorite. In the third floor room where Jere and Mary were to stay, Bunkie pointed out a small clear plastic cup with blue liquid in it. “Oh,” she said. “I almost forgot to tell you. We’ve a terrible problem with stink bugs. If you see one, just brush it gently into this cup of dishwashing liquid, and it’ll die quietly. Whatever you do, be sure not to swat it! They really do smell horrible.” Bunkie had turned the top floor into the “African rooms” after a visit to that continent with her grandchildren. They’re decorated with photos from the safari, rugs, papier-mâché animals and other bric-a-brac from the trip. Under an antelope rug, house legend has it that the ingrained blood stains on the floor are from wounded Civil War soldiers, hidden up in these rooms of what was then a makeshift hospital. We pulled the rug back to have a peek. Most of the weekend we spent around the living room fire with good books and conversation, long walks through the village lanes, and one outing to a local winery where we sat outside in the afternoon sun and watched it make its way toward the snow-topped Blue Ridge mountain range. We enjoyed many good cocktails, and Bunkie prepared delicious food for our dinners, and Mary took her turn at the stove for breakfast, short-ordering eggs just the way you liked them. Doing nothing in the country with friends and family are the best weekends of all, and . . . oh . . . lest I forget! Getting ready to retire one night, a stink bug landed on or around Jere’s mouth. He slapped it hard, and an unholy stench enveloped his visage. Rushing to the bathroom and thinking the cup of blue dishwashing liquid was relieving mouthwash, he poured himself a shot and started to gargle before realizing his mistake. He watched in horror as bubbles floated gently toward the ceiling. PS Geoff Cutler is owner of Cutler Tree LLC in Southern Pines. He is a regular contributor to PineStraw. He can be reached at geoffcutler@embarqmail.com.

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May PineNeedler

ACROSS 1 Young Irish girl 5 Guiding principles 10 Relieve, as pain 14 False god graven image 15 May National Observance 16 Chowder ingredient 17 Tropical bird 18 Ushers to 19 Hearty’s partner 20 Women’s undergarment 22 Gladiator nationality 23 Movie 2001’s talking computer 24 River (Spanish) 26 Peculiar 27 May National Observance 30 Duds, as in clothing 33 __ A Small World... 35 Pull along 37 Petty fault finding 42 Donate 43 Toilet, in England 44 Canal 45 Improvement 49 Room divider 50 Snakelike fish 51 Horse fly 53 Actor Beatty 54 May National Observance 57 ____Wasserman, Hollywood movie mogul 59 Greensboro dir. 61 Get your kicks on ____ 66 63 May National Observance 69 Afresh 70 __graph machine, before fax and copiers 71 Singing voice 72 Roman emperor 73 Protective war covering 74 Sandwich fish 75 Hangs on the line 76 ____ your sorrows (in beer?) 77 Listen

By Mart Dickerson

May . . . National What Month?

DOWN 1 Tree branch 2 Jewish calendar month 3 Tofu 4 Swipe with a knife 5 5th Greek letter 6 Biblical “you” 7 Frost 8 Swimming mammal with ears 9 “May Day!” initials 10 Mountaintop repeat 11 “Remember the __” 12 May National Observance 13 Make corrections to 21 Rested 22 High School Military unit (abbr.) 25 Caesar’s three 27 Brink 28 Depressing, gloomy 29 “ I __ at the office” 31 Gold coated 32 Unemotional 34 Stab kabob meat 36 Heredity component 38 Concrete pond 39 Iraq’s neighbor 40 Egyptian river 41 Neuter, on Young’s Rd. 46 Erase button 47 Squire’s Pub offering 48 Infant 52 African antelope 54 Cattle marking 55 Blooper, mistake 56 Question 58 Spinning sound 60 Ire 62 Deuces 64 Bullets 65 Cat’s cry 66 Rubber cement, for example 67 Bunsen burner 68 Lion’s warning 70 Angry

Sudoku:

Fill in the grid so every row, every column and every 3x3 box contain the numbers 1-9. Puzzle answers on page 97

Mart Dickerson lives in Southern Pines and would welcome any suggestions from her fellow puzzle masters. She can be reached at martaroonie@gmail.com

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SouThWordS

By eD GlassMan

Surely by now you must have

noticed the gnarled and grotesque pine trees growing along Midland Road in Pinehurst between the Traffic Circle and National Golf Club. When I first saw these awesome sculptures that nature designed, I had a momentary feeling that I had stumbled upon the evil witch’s forest in the 1939 movie The Wizard of Oz.

About ten to fifteen trees strung out along that road looked like a nightmare: swirls of thick, leaf-free branches flowed upward into a tangled mass, the dark brown bark occasionally creating a monster, disturbing and beautiful at the same time. I half expected them to throw pine cones at me, or at least apples as in the movie. I later saw more pine trees with varying degrees of distortion beside Midland Road, and some incredibly gnarled pines along North West Broad Street north of Vermont Avenue in our town. I wonder why they grow that way. What forces manufactured such misshapen trees, haunting reminders of Halloween? If you know, please let me know. I think these trees were forged many years ago when workers cut the trees’ top, probably when installing power lines. With the growing point of the tree gone or harmed, new branches competed to become the leader, growing upward over the years, thickening, sometimes wilting when a more dominant branch achieves leadership and becomes the growing point. Nature can, on occasion, react strangely around humans, and alas, these sculpted trees suffer that fate, growing fiercely and surviving grimly. My other favorite trees provide me more fun than that. When my daughters and my numerous grandchildren visit, I sometimes declare a “tree tour,” and we drive around to see our favorite trees. We start our tour with an interesting tree that lightning reportedly hit five times, and which carries the blackened scars to this day. Large, aweinspiring, and located across the street from my house. Then we marvel at the massive magnolia tree in Southern Pines’ downtown park on South East Broad Street, a spectacle worth admiring; I gape in wonder every time I view it.

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We look upon and long to climb the large live oak located at the entrance to the circular driveway of the Campbell House on East Connecticut Avenue, a monster tree, utterly, totally, and enticingly climbable. We also gawk at the oldest longleaf pine tree in the world, an impressive 465 years old, a mere sapling when Queen Elizabeth I ruled England, and well worth the effort to find and hug it. Located on the Boyd Tract and accessible from Den Road, obtain detailed directions from the ranger in the information center at Weymouth Woods-Sandhills Nature Preserve on Fort Bragg Road. Include the center in your visit. Finally, we look aghast at those maniacal, now almost picturesque, pines on Midland Road near the National Golf Club in Pinehurst, and along North West Broad Street in our town. Trees, I do love them, their green shady environs, their soothing effect on our town. I enjoy the beauty of Southern Pines: summer beauty when the trees and plants display leafy foliage; winter beauty when the pines and other evergreens maintain the green; spring and fall beauty when vivid, vibrant colors provide a visual feast. So naturally, when I drive from our town to Pinehurst, I choose to go the long way around, using NW Broad Street and Midland Road, happily surrounded by trees all the way, including the malformed pine trees growing vigorously alongside the road. Many months ago, I wandered into the train station in our town, a lovely building, still operating partly in its original role, as the daily train whistles attest, though now also used as a tourist welcome center, where I obtained a splendid booklet called “Significant Trees Of Southern Pines,” a handsome, illustrated guide published by the Southern Pines Appearance Commission in 2009. I found three of my aforementioned favorite trees in this booklet: the magnificent magnolia; the large live oak; the long-lived long leaf pine, but alas, no twisted pines. The booklet contains color photos and the dollar value of about 60 wonderful trees in our town, valuing the magnolia at $37,994, the live oak at $30,062, and the oldest long leaf pine in the world at a measly $7,625, surely an oversight. The booklet states that a tree’s “estimated valuation equals the replacement value.” Help me please; tell me how to replace a 460-year-old tree? My guess is, it will take a lifetime or many more. PS Ed Glassman is a retired professor at UNC-Chapel Hill and a former columnist for The Chapel Hill Herald.

May 2013 i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

ILLUSTRATION BY PAMELA POWERS JANUARY

A Town of Trees

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