November PineStraw 2011 by PineStraw Magazine

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November 2011 Volume 6, No. 11 Departments

10 15 17

Sweet Tea Chronicles Jim Dodson

PinePitch Our Favorite Cookbooks Letter From The Hills

Shari Smith

19 Postcard from Nicaragua Cassie Butler

21 23

Cos and Effect Cos Barnes The Omnivorous Reader

Stephen E. Smith

27 31 33 35 37 39 41 43 47 51 55 88 99 107

Bookshelf Hitting Home Dale Nixon The Kitchen Garden Jan Leitschuh

109

The Accidental Astrologer

111

Features

58 Turkey Day Disasters We’ve all had them. Time to eat and tell

62 Making An American Quilt By Nicole White Piece by piece, tradition is born and history recorded 70 Horse Sense By Dedi McHamm Trainer Carla Wennberg listens to her clients

73 Just Add Water Sandhills Photo Club’s latest competition winners

76 The House That Peggy Built By Deborah Salomon America’s first lady of golf hit 90 82 Ma Bell’s Life Lessons A granddaughter’s tribute to a living legend

85 Garden Almanac: November

Clear your garden, look up and give thanks

Vine Wisdom Robyn James Spirits Frank Daniels III Out of the Blue Deborah Salomon Birdwatch Susan Campbell The Sporting Life Tom Bryant Golftown Journal Lee Pace PS Traveler Claudia Watson Pleasures of Life Tom Allen Calendar SandhillSeen Thoughts From The Manshed Geoff Cutler

Astrid Stellanova

PineNeedler 112 SouthWords

Mart Dickerson Chris Larsen

Cover Photograph by Tim Sayer 2

November 2011 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

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

Kathryn Galloway, Associate Art Director Ashley Wahl, Editorial Assistant Editorial

Deborah Salomon, Staff Writer Stephen E. Smith, Staff Writer Sara King, Proofreader Mary Novitsky, Proofreader Photographers

Tim Sayer John Gessner Laura L. Gingerich Hannah Sharpe

Contributors

Tom Allen, Cos Barnes, Tom Bryant, Cassie Butler, Susan Campbell, Geoff Cutler, Frank Daniels III, Mart Dickerson, Robyn James, Pamela Powers January, Chris Larsen, Jan Leitschuh, Melinda Kemp Lyerly, Scotti McGowan, Dedi McHamm, Dale Nixon, Lee Pace, Jeanne Paine, Shari Smith, Astrid Stellanova, Claudia Watson, Nicole White

David Woronoff, Publisher Advertising Sales

Darlene Stark, Advertising Manager 910.693.2488 • dstark@pinestrawmag.com Ginny Kelly Terry Hartsell, 910.693.2513 Kerry Hooper, 910.693.2508 Perry Loflin, 910.693.2514 Peggy Marsh, 910.693.2516 Darlene McNeil-Smith, 910.693.2519 Johnsie Tipton, 910.693.2515 Karen Triplett, 910.693.2510 Pat Taylor, Advertising Director Advertising Graphic Design

Kristen Clark, Kathryn Galloway, B.J. Hill Mechelle Wood, Scott Yancey Circulation & Subscriptions

910.693.2487

PineStraw Magazine

910.693.2467 173 W. Pennsylvania Avenue Southern Pines, NC 28387 pinestraw@thepilot.com • www.pinestrawmag.com ©Copyright 2011. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. PineStraw magazine is published by The Pilot LLC

PINEHURST OLD TOWN

LAKE PINEHURST

PINEHURST # 6

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This gorgeous custom home overlooks the 1st green with views of the 2nd green and Doon Pond in National Golf Course. 4 BR / 3.5 BA $600,000

Tucked away at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac on Lake Pinehurst, this beautiful home offers water views from almost every room! 3 BR / 3.5 BA $575,000

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This warm and inviting family home features a wonderful ﬂoor plan, spacious rooms, huge private backyard as well as many upscale touches! 4 BR / 3 BA $336,000

This all brick home is located in a desirable neighborhood! It features split bedrooms, covered front and rear porches and beautifully landscaped yard! 3 BR / 2.5 BA $299,000

Beautiful all brick home located on large private lot. A large partially covered rear deck, fenced backyard & screened porch are just a few of the features! 3 BR / 2 BA $224,900

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www.565BurningTreeRoad.com

www.8TullLane.com

SEVEN LAKES WEST

CCNC

PINEHURST

This home is located on a quiet street near the beach and marina and features fenced backyard, covered back and front porches, golf cart storage and more! 3 BR / 3.5 BA $325,000

Hardwood ﬂooring, an open ﬂoor plan and guest suite with kitchenette, private bath & separate entrance are featured in this brick ranch in CCNC. 3 BR / 3 BA $350,000

Lovely all brick home w/Pinehurst membership! Decorative columns, French doors to patio & see through ﬁreplace are featured in this charming home! 3 BR / 2.5 BA $249,000

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www.45BrookHollowDrive.com

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

www.MarthaGentry.com

SweeT TeA chroNicleS

Sticky Toffee Thanksgiving

By Jim DODSON

i suppose it’s a glimpse of the future for our own Modern Family.

Thanksgiving this year will be a rather quiet affair. With all four of our kids committed to be with the other halves of their extended families, we’re facing our second Thanksgiving without our youngest members. As always, fortunately, we’ll have my wife’s folks and my surrogate parents Max and Myrtis and hopefully their adult daughter Jean joining us at the table. But the household teenagers — half of whom are no longer teenagers — will be hundreds of miles away when the blessing is said and the serving dishes get passed. For a short time, I confess, my wife and I actually considered hopping a plane to someplace exotic for the big day. It would be kind of a kick, for instance, to have Thanksgiving dinner in a Left Bank bistro in Paris or maybe the venerable peas and salmon meal at the old golf club we belong to on the windswept traces of North Devon, England. The last time this happened, in fact — must have been seven or eight years ago — without informing a soul, we grabbed a couple of discount flights on Thanksgiving Eve and slipped away to England for a long weekend of golf, sticky toffee pudding, and a West End show. Our dear friends Charles Churchill and Pinkie Slocum, who lived in the absurdly beautiful seaside village of Appledore and were headed to South Africa within days, kindly threw together a delightful “pre-Christmas-American-Thanksgiving” dinner com-

plete with roasted goose and figgy pudding. Pinkie, who owned a collection of antique kitchen utensils dating back to Elizabethan times, made everyone wear festive paper hats and sing carols while she distributed small gifts. My wife received a Victorian pill case, and I took home a faded vellum edition of Bernard Darwin’s golfing essays. Pinkie’s late husband Reggie was one of the world’s great golf book collectors. We finished a lovely holiday getaway by dining at Rules in Covent Garden, catching “Stones in My Pocket” in the West End and getting caught up in the vast London crowds following church services at St. Martin’s in the Field on Remembrance Sunday, even managing to spot a couple of the Royals — Harry and his dad Charles, as I recall — laying a wreath of red poppies at the Cenotaph in Whitehall. After that, we ducked into my favorite pub in the shadow of Westminster Abbey and ate our weight in sticky toffee pudding that was so good my plucky bride marched brazenly into the kitchen and convinced the startled chef to give up his private recipe. All in all, it was a terrific Olde English Thanksgiving weekend, though our children expressed mild astonishment to discover their irresponsible parents would up and run away without telling them a thing about it. “Dad,” said Maggie, the oldest, “you really should have let us know what you were doing. A simple phone call would have been nice.” From my point of view, the only negative from our Anglo-Thanksgiving adventure was that there weren’t any leftover turkey sandwiches. I mentioned this fact so frequently on the return flight my traveling companion,

PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

sweet tea chronicles

upon landing, went out and secured and cooked a 30-pound turkey with all the trimmings. We ate turkey leftovers for the next week — thus, in a sense, having two holidays in one. This year, even if we weren’t lacking lunch money most days owing to two in college, one just out, and a fourth on the way, not to mention the malingering effects of the Great American Recession, a similar getaway to England or France just isn’t in the cards even if we wished it to be. Besides, as happily reported, we have the senior faction of the family coming plus three large dogs whose appetites for table scraps are insatiable, especially young Ajax, an amiable lug of a golden retriever who will turn six months old on or about Thanksgiving Day and shows early signs of being a world-class food mooch. Mulligan and Ella, his female mentors, a black foundling retriever and an elderly golden,

Young Ajax will certainly bear watching this year, for he appears to be a food-mooching prodigy, displaying both the blond charm and expertise of a Monte Carlo jewel thief... respectively, are seasoned holiday food-beggars, alas, gifted in the art of cadging scraps from kindhearted table guests. As history has shown, if we segregate them separately to an upper bedroom or shoo them collectively to the fenced backyard during family meals, they’ll howl indignantly or team up to beat the doors down like Huns battering the gates of ancient Rome. So we allow them access to the feasting hall with repeated threats of banishment, all of which they blithely ignore. One year — this was Christmas Day two years back — everyone shifted to the living room for dessert and coffee when a mysterious thud came from the just-vacated dining room. Unfortunately, several minutes passed before anyone thought to go investigate, whereupon we discovered the remains of a large Christmas ham missing from its previous known location on the serving platter on the sideboard. A short time later, both thief

SweeT TeA chroNicleS

and ham were found in the remotest section of the house, a rarely used upstairs bedroom, where Miss Mulligan sprawled leisurely on the bed gnawing on the Christmas joint. Young Ajax will certainly bear watching this year, for he appears to be a food-mooching prodigy, displaying both the blond charm and expertise of a Monte Carlo jewel thief, having recently purloined the remains of a filet from an idle dinner plate in the time it took an unsuspecting houseguest to turn and speak to her table companion about what a beautiful and well-mannered beast he was. When she glanced back, there he sat, the picture of smiling golden innocence, with the filet nowhere to be seen, having vanished down the little red lane. One of his best parlor tricks is to amble into the living room holding one of the empty feeding bowls in his mouth. “Aw, look! How cute! He’s hungry!” the uninitiated will coo, unaware of his devious endgame. The English, of course, dearly love their dogs — hold and treat them better, some say, than most humans. I suppose, in this regard, we’re a bit English in our observance of the classic American holiday. It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without our crazy canine corps, especially in a year in which they’ll undoubtedly feel the absence of any teenagers on the premises. I’ll be thankful for them and a few other things, too: A wife and life companion I treasure and admire even more as the years unfold. Four great kids who inspire me with their pluck, decency and independence — young folks who I have no doubt will make a fine mark on the planet. Work I love and friends and colleagues I deeply value. A glorious final garden I aim to someday build, a fine novel or two I may leave behind, a handful of places I still dream of seeing with my bride — Istanbul’s Blue Mosque at sunset, the River Jordan at dawn, Norway in high summer, Bavaria at Octoberfest. At the end of the day, I suppose that’s not a lot of remaining ambition. On the other hand, I’m a simple man who has traveled far and holds no particular fear of death, thankful that I seem to worry less and less about the unforeseen challenges and terrors of this life by concentrating on the unexpected pleasures and modest joys of the moment. That will be my blessing come this emptynest Thanksgiving Day: Thank you for these loved ones near and far, those on two feet as well as four. To be sure, I shall dearly miss our suddenly grown-up brood, but at least there will be a fine sticky toffee pudding. All I’ve got to say is, young Ajax had better watch himself. PS

A fresh philosophy Serving the best and freshest locally produced agrarian products to every guest. Come experience the fruit of Southern farmers’ labors in Chef Elliott’s world-class cuisine and see why we are this year’s Best Dish NC Winner...

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Food less traveled is best... Our refrigerated truck travels to the local farms of North Carolina to bring the best in meat, dairy, and seasonal produce. This is the greatest gift you can give your family over the holiday season. So come in...Taste the difference.

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Play it Again, Play it Again!

Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?

Jeff Foxworthy or no, Nov. 17 promises to entertain with a program loosely based on the popular Fox-TV series: Are You Smarter Than A Moore County Schools’ Fifth Grader? Local fifth-graders will be asked questions based on the NC curriculum; local celebrities, including Jim Dodson, Baxter Clement and Chris Metzger, will offer guidance. Event benefits the Public Education Foundation and their efforts to award grants to teachers and schools within the Moore County school system. Patrick Coughlin will be the MC. Tune in at 6:30 p.m. at Owens Auditorium, Sandhills Community College. Donations only. Info: Andrew Lyons at (910) 692-6222 or www.mcpef.org.

Christmas Goodies

Browse the antique shops of Historic Cameron in a traditional holiday setting Nov. 19, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., and Nov. 20, from 1 to 5 p.m. Hot cider and homemade cookies to boot. Info: (910) 245-3055 or www. antiquesofcameron.com.

Play Date

Bring your game face to The Country Bookshop on Nov. 18, 6:30 to 9 p.m., for Game Night. Fun for all ages. 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 6923211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

Who knew the original production of Tchaikovsky’s ballet was a flop? Now it’s the most celebrated ballet of all time. Don’t miss the Moore OnStage production of The Nutcracker, directed by Rita and Gary Taylor, Nov. 25 through 27 at 7:30 p.m. (Fri. & Sat.) and 2 p.m. (Sat. & Sun.). Tickets: $23/ adult; $15/students (18 & under). Robert E. Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, Southern Pines. Info: www.mooreonstage.com.

Christmas Past

See more than just the halls of the historic Georgian Weymouth House decked with boughs of holly Dec. 1 through 3, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Christmas at Weymouth will showcase 23 rooms decorated for the holidays, with refreshments, musical entertainment and holiday demonstration Friday and Saturday at 1 p.m. Tickets: $10/advance; $15/at door. Tickets available at The Country Bookshop and Weymouth Center in Southern Pines, The Given Bookshop at Olmsted Village and Phoenix Fashions in Seven Lakes. Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities, 555 East Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-6261.

Blue Grass at Sunrise

The Sunrise Theater presents A Night of Blue Grass on Friday, Nov. 12, 7 p.m. Samantha Casey & The Bluegrass Jam will headline; show also features the Sourwood Mountain Band and Moore County’s own South Ridge Bluegrass Band. Can you hear the banjo music? Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Tickets: $20. Tickets/Info: (910) 692-8501 or www.sunrisetheater.com.

November 2011 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

A Dance to Remember

Dance to the swing music of Sandhills Community College Jazz Band in honor of Veterans and American Military/ Aviation at a WWII/CAF Dance to be held at the Moore County Airport Nov. 12 from 7 to 10 p.m. Event features USO show and dance prizes. Tickets: $20, available at the Airport, The Country Bookshop in Southern Pines and the Gentlemen’s Corner in Pinehurst. Proceeds benefit the Commemorative Air Force Carolina Wing. Info: (910) 215-0155 or (910) 692-3719.

Cold Turkey

Rise and shine on Saturday, Nov. 19 for Pinehurst’s 31st Annual Turkey Trot, featuring a One-Mile Fun Run, 5K, 10K and Half Marathon all starting and ending at Cannon Park. Overall male and female winners in each race take home a frozen turkey. Registration opens at 7 a.m., races begin at 8:30 a.m. Registration/Info: active.com or firsthealth. org/turkeytrot. Additional questions: Jodi at (910) 715-1843.

Let There be Tree Lighting Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Any dollar donation will grant you access to a spread of over 200 beautifully decorated trees, wreaths, gift baskets and gingerbreads Nov. 8 through 13 at The Carolina Hotel in Pinehurst for Sandhills Children’s Center’s 15th Annual Festival of Trees. Items also available for silent auction. Hours: Tuesday Saturday, 10 a.m. - 9 p.m.; Sunday, 10 a.m. - 3 p.m. Info: Teresa at (910) 692-3323 or www.FestivalofTrees.org.

The shops of historic downtown Southern Pines will kick off the holiday season Saturday, Nov. 26 from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. during the annual Holiday Open House. Streets feature live entertainment and Christmas trees decorated by Southern Pines businesses. Bring a camera and a wish list for free pictures with Santa at the train station, 4 p.m., followed by the tree lighting ceremony at 4:30 p.m. with entertainment by local choirs. Info: (910) 315-6508.

Little, HO-Scale Wonders Lucky Rabbit Feet

“It’s a story anyone can relate to, child or adult,” says Carolina Performing Arts Center’s Artistic Director Diana Turner-Forte of The Velveteen Rabbit: A Ballet, to be performed by CPAC students on Nov. 19, 2 p.m. at the O’Neal School Theatre. “It’s about being loved so much that you start to change.” Georgian-era costumes will dazzle as dancers tell a timeless tale through movement, featuring CD accompaniment with narration by Meryl Streep, George Winston on piano. Tickets: $10/student; $12/adult. Info: (910) 695-7898 or www.cpac. webimaginarium.com.

All aboard! Sandhill Central Railroad Club’s 29th Annual Train Show, to be held Nov. 19 and 20 from noon until 4 p.m. at Aberdeen Depot, features HO-scale freight and passenger trains on a layout that features the town of Southern Pines and its surrounding areas. Tickets are $3. Free entry for children under four-feet, eight-and-a-halfinches (the distance between railroad rails). Info: (910) 692-7439.

PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

THE

Holly & Ivy Dinner

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$ANCING &LAPPERS "OOTLEGGERS 'ANGSTERS 'REAT *AZZ AND #ELEBRITY 'HOSTS OF #HRISTMAS 0AST (OSTED BY *IM Â±!L #APONEÂ² $ODSON -ENU BY #HEF 4HIERRY $EBAILLEUL

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0INE3TRAW -AGAZINE AND 0INEHURST 2ESORT

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Christmas in the Roaring â&#x20AC;&#x2122;20s

The Gift of Song

Love is a Battlefield

In the midst of celebrating its 50th season, Cape Fear Regional Theatre presents perhaps the greatest love story of our time, Miss Saigon, from Nov. 3 through 20. This musical theater must-see tells the epic love story of an American GI and a Vietnamese girl, set in war-torn Saigon, 1975. Cape Fear Regional Theatre, 1209 Hay St., Fayetteville. Tickets/Showtimes: (910) 323-4233 or www.cfrt.org.

The Old School Quartet, the 2010 Barbershop Harmony Society International Champions, will headline the Golf Capital Chorusâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; annual show, held Nov. 5, 7 p.m. at Pinecrest High Schoolâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s R.E. Lee Autitorium, Southern Pines. The show, Harmony in Nature, is GCCâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s principal fundraiser and benefits local charities. Tickets; $15. Info: (910) 246-6551; www.thegolfcapitalchorus.org.

Horseplay

The Carolina Horse Park presents the annual Thanksgiving Classic on Sunday, November 27, 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Take a break from the pumpkin pie stupor to watch nationally acclaimed jumpers from a ringside tailgate parking spot ($75) or while enjoying a patron luncheon under the Big Tent ($25). General admission: free. Event features Celebrity Five Bar Competition, a Carriage Driving and Jumping Team Derby, a $5,000 Mini Prix and $1,000 Jumper Classic. Tickets/Info: (910) 875-2074 or www.carolinahorsepark.com.

Think Warm Thoughts

The opening reception for Birds, Beaches & Blooms will be held Nov. 17, 5 to 7 p.m. Exhibit, on display through Jan. 31, features the works of Gwen Dumas and Vicki Jolliff, no doubt inspired by warmer weather. Hastings Gallery, Sandhills Community College. Info: (910) 695-3879.

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November 2011 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

o u r FA V o r i T e c o o K B o o K S

centennial cuisine: 100 Years of excellent Food west end Presbyterian church In the opening pages of West End Presbyterian Church’s celebratory cookbook, Centennial Cuisine, a note from Pastor Larry Lyon says the good news of the Gospel appeals to the heart, the soul, the mind and the stomach. An old proverb suggests the stomach is an especially effective entryway. “Read this book, savor this book, and then eat well, very well,” Lyon writes. With the holidays in mind, the Church cookbook committee recently met for lunch and sangria — a recipe they’re still perfecting — to hand-pick two well-revered recipes from their sacred collection of several hundred to share with the readers of PineStraw. We say, Amen! Does your church or organization have a great cookbook? We’d love to know about it. Bring a copy by the PineStraw ofﬁce!

Retire

Corn Stufﬁng Balls Recipe submitted by Nympie Gordon 1/2� cup chopped onion 1/2� cup chopped celery 4 T. margarine 1 can (13 oz.) cream-style corn 1/2 cup water 1/8 tsp. pepper 1 tsp. poultry seasoning 1 pkg. (8 oz.) herb stuffing mix 3 eggs, beaten 1/2� cup melted margarine In saucepan, cook onion and celery in 4 T. margarine until tender but not brown. Add corn, water, pepper and poultry seasoning and bring to a boil. Pour over stuffing mix and toss together lightly, then stir in eggs. Let cool for 10 minutes. Shape into 12-15 balls and place in baking pan; pour 1/2� cup melted margarine over tops. Cool in refrigerator temporarily, if desired, or overnight. Bake at 375° for 25 minutes.

Hawaiian Turkey Curry Recipe submitted by Dodie Mulready 1/2� cup minced onion 1/3 cup butter 1/3 cup flour 4 tsp. curry powder 1 tsp. salt 1/4� tsp. ginger 2 cups milk 2 cups turkey broth 3 cups diced cooked turkey 1 cup pineapple chunks, fresh or canned Cook onion in butter until soft. Blend in flour, curry, salt and ginger; then add milk and broth all at once. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until thickened. Add turkey and pineapple and heat thoroughly. Makes 6-8 servings.

Brilliantly...

Note: Serve with hot rice, chutney, raisins, coconut and peanuts. PS

Live Resiliently

When family members come to visit, are they spending all of their time helping you with home maintenance — gutters, lawn care, plumbing issues? Free yourself of home ownership worries and spend more quality time with family by choosing resilient retirement living at The Village at Brookwood. With a vibrant, maintenance-free lifestyle, you’ll have more control of your circumstances and a lot more time to spend with those who matter most. Increase your quality time with family. Come explore The Village at Brookwood today.

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PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

The Ryder Cup Lounge D r i n k I n Th e G a me

iscover a whole new dining experience at the

Ryder Cup Lounge located just off the porch of the historic Carolina Hotel. From the Rosemary Shrimp ‘N Grits to the Pretzel Panini, our menu is as unique as Pinehurst itself.

�

We d n e s d a y S p e c i a l

Li v e Mu s i c

Get complimentary Deconstructed Nachos –

Bob Redding

tortilla chips, pulled pork

Friday & Saturday nights

BBQ, queso sauce, hoop cheese, refried beans, cilantro cream, salsa and guacamole – with the

Sunday brunch

purchase of one entrée. *

The Carolina Hotel • Village of Pinehurst, North Carolina • 910.235.8415 • pinehurst.com

* Limit one appetizer per table.

Letter from the hills

A Separate Peace

For those who serve, and those who wait, coming home is what matters By Shari Smith

or a smart girl, I can be a real dumbass. Boonie Miller has eaten at least one meal a day, six days a week every one of his fifty-some years at the Claremont Cafe. If you’re looking for proof that man can survive on a diet of lard and starch, Boonie Miller is it. I like Boonie, always have. Boonie does doughnuts with his truck in the City Hall parking lot when it snows real heavy and is good to explain protocol to first-timers in the Cafe when they sit down and actually think someone is going to come to their table to wait on them. He has been married to Lisa for twenty or more years. Six years ago her daddy went missing. He was a strange old character, did things his own way and had the cash to pay for it. He owned quite a bit of land east of town and spent his days at the Cafe and his nights in the Pool Room or down at Boxcar Grill near the highway, not all that different from many others here in Claremont. Not so much the church-goin’ folks but for the backsliders, Wayne Connor’s life was fairly typical. His dog was home and half-starved. His truck was parked in his driveway, his answering machine had seventeen calls, and his keys and wallet must have been with him when he got gone, for they were never found. They figured he’d been gone six days when Boonie finally took the key from Lisa’s trembling hand and went in to see if his wife’s daddy had a heart attack or drank himself to death. It was like he vanished. They did all the things heartsick people do. They called, they cried, they walked the pine woods of Catawba County calling his name, but nothing, nowhere has ever been found. There are as many theories as there are citizens in Claremont, but it has stumped law enforcement at city, county, state and federal levels. Twice a week, Lisa calls the detective on the case to see if there is any news. If he is out to lunch, he calls her back. He must be a good soul, that man, because he does call her back. I had been reading Joe Galloway’s first book, We Were Soldiers Once and Young. Joe is a good friend of mine. The only civilian awarded the Bronze Star, Joe is a badass who likes whiskey and smart women and puts out his cigarette with the toe of his cowboy boot but will weep openly over the brothers he made in a battle known only to those who fought it had Joe passed on writing the book or giving the okay to the movie. He is all of that and a damn fine writer, but it was a slow read for me. Despite having the vocabulary of a truck driver and a take no prisoners’ reputation, I am a fake, a phony. Even so. My heart is a tender, soft place capable of breaking into so many pieces you’d need a good tracking dog to find them all. Sometimes, most times, when reading Joe’s book, it was hard to turn the page for fear of what was coming. I wanted it to stop, the gunfire, long enough for me to catch my breath. I wanted Joe to stop writing about the bullets, the way they tore through boys who must have looked like my own son, and I would try and comfort myself by looking for clues in the tense of Joe’s style whether a soldier lived, that he lives still, a way of coping, I suppose, with a story that needed telling. It was pretty self-absorbed, to sit in my comfortable living room by a warm fire and think I had any right to wish it would stop, to hope that Joe Galloway would give me just a small break in the carnage and the death and the grief, time to find a moment of peace in a book I could close and put down anytime I wanted and skip on over to the kitchen for a glass of sweet tea. It was shameful, but not the worst of my self-indulgence.

Every time I listened to Joe speak about those men going under fire to retrieve the dead I believed that, were I in charge, I would have had better sense. It defied logic for me, why the good Colonel Moore would risk more lives to gather up the corpses of those already lost. Dead is dead. Bringing them home in a box would not give their wives more babies to rock or fill another seat at their momma’s Thanksgiving table. Seemed a waste to me, seemed wrong no matter how much respect I had for what they went through in those days and nights, no matter how many pages I forced myself to turn to understand what it was like ... I could not bring myself to think that sending the living after the dead had been the right choice. Boonie and Lisa Miller sat down with me at the Claremont Cafe one day while I was reading the book. Boonie commented on the high worth of his fried bologna by calling our attention to the amount of grease that had soaked through the paper. “That’s how you know it’s gonna be gooooood.” I reckoned so. Lisa asked me to explain what it is I do, how is it that I justify my existence in the literary world. She has met a truckload of writers who have come to town to rock or write on my porch. She, once, had her picture made and put in the local paper with Karen Spears Zacharias so, on this day, after she had given up on trying to find any good reason for me to be earning a paycheck, she asked about Karen, trying to remember their conversation. “She lost her daddy, too, right?” “Yes,” I said, “He was killed in Vietnam.” “Did she get him back?” Even now, the sound of her voice rings in my head and hits me square in the center of my fragile heart. I hadn’t been looking at her when she asked it. I’d been searching for the best way to pick up a sandwich too full to stay inside the confines of a bun. I don’t know how I knew, but I did; I did know what her face would look like when I raised my eyes to hers. Betcha I will see Lisa Miller a million times before one of us ain’t here no more. I’ll run into her at the Fish Camp or the Bluegrass Show in the parking lot. I will sit with her and Boonie while we take years off our lives by eating at the Cafe, but I will forever think of her in that moment. Her eyes were pleading and her stare was one of needing me to say that, yes, a daughter could get her daddy back even if it was in a box, even if he was in pieces. He might could come home. Sometimes, you get them back. Afraid to speak, I nodded. Tears came anyway so I choked out, “Yes, Lisa, she sure did. She got him back.” “I’m glad,” she told me. “I’m glad he came home.” I’m not going to whine anymore about wanting the bullets to stop in Joe’s books or movies. I will turn every page he writes until the story is told and I will never again believe that my way would have been smarter, that it would have been a better choice to leave a man behind, a man who isn’t breathing. For those who were called and answered out of a sense of duty or for fear they couldn’t learn to speak Canadian, believing they were coming home, through hell and high water, was all they had. For the man who seemed to just disappear from the slap middle of town, it’s all that’s left. Lisa Miller, decades and oceans away from the LZ in a book by Joe Galloway, taught me that it isn’t about logic and it isn’t about war. It is about peace. Shari Smith is at work on a book called “I Am A Town.”

Postcard From Nicarag ua

Flooded With Thoughts of Home

By Cassie Butler

Nostalgia is overtak-

ing me. With my favorite season almost at its height, I have been missing fall in Southern Pines. The cool breezes, the trees changing colors, the foxhunting, the layering of clothes, the excitement of all the holidays around the corner — these things hold special places in my heart. Little did I know, Nicaragua has its own version of autumn, disguised as rainy season, which runs simultaneously with ours.

I now realize why Nicaraguans call this time of the year “winter,” though I have dubbed it more appropriately “autumn.” Nicaragua is experiencing record lows, with temperatures in the mid to low 70s. When I am dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, I see Nicaraguans wearing winter jackets and toboggans complaining of the frio. Even if the Nicaraguans aren’t enjoying the fresh weather, I relish in memories of home when I can hear the rustling breeze from my desk at work and when yellow leaves fall from the trees on my walk home, but there are also destructive results of this autumn season. After frequent downpours, Managua’s roads turn into rivers and pull the hexagon-shaped brick roads apart, creating one giant puzzle for construction workers to piece back together.

The wind picks up, and as a result, power and Internet connection become unstable. I had to throw out rotten chicken and moldy beans because my refrigerator was in and out of power this past week. These problems disrupt daily life in the developed capital where the most prosperous live, but in rural parts of Nicaragua, matters are much worse. Eleven months out of the year, Nicaragua’s northwestern municipality of Chinandega is the driest area where AMOS Health and Hope works, but for one-twelfth of the year, Chinandega turns into an island. This year is no exception. AMOS is mobilizing to provide relief to this community for the third time of the five years of the nonprofit’s existence. In the AMOS vehicle, a Land Cruiser ambulance equipped with a snorkel, I will forge the highway’s waisthigh waters in order to document the delivery of food and medicines to the stranded community that has been surviving on tortillas and salt. In Haiti’s hurricane floods last year, I was concerned about the cholera epidemic, but in Nicaragua’s floodwaters this year, I have to take preventive meds to avoid Leptospirosis, an animal-transmitted disease also known as Fort Bragg fever. I know I’ll be thankful for many things this month after my eyes are opened on this trip to Chinandega. In my mind, if only everywhere had a fall season like North Carolina’s, the world would be much better off. PS

At The Sly Fox, we’re excited about the opportunities to delve into the flavors of the new season. Braised Meats, Sunday Roasts, Autumnal Salads featuring beautiful Root Vegetables, and of course our fabulous Curries will all be featured at The Fox this Fall. And, as always, the Draft Beer lineup will change with the season as well. We’ll be featuring phenomenal Dopplebocks, Marzens, Stouts, and many more big malts to stave off the oncoming chill. Enjoy Fall properly at The Sly Fox!

Cassie Butler was recently PineStraw’s intern.

C o s an d E f f ect

A Good Recipe for Moose Stew (And other Alaska adventures)

By Cos Barnes

had a wonderful history and geography lesson in Alaska in late summer. I learned a lot of things, such as Alaskans refer to us in the continental United States as the “Lower 48.” They call America’s tallest mountain Denali rather than Mount McKinley, the name given it in 1896 in honor of our future president who never visited Alaska. They prefer Denali, which means “the high one” or “the great one” and was the name used by local Athabascan Indians. We were very fortunate. We saw “the great one.” The clouds fell away, and we were able to see the mountain, something our guide told us was very unusual. Our guide was exceptional. He had been in Alaska for 17 years, had no running water nor television. That is why he was so well educated, I suppose. He said there were two seasons, winter and getting ready for winter. Knowing exactly how to approach, he enabled us to see grizzlies, reindeer, dall sheep, caribou and moose, but no wolves. During the gold rush, prospectors criss-crossed Alaska naming landmarks after local politicians. I got caught up in the gold rush, also, as all tourists are invited to “pan” for gold at the El Dorado gold mine. My take was worth approximately $3. We rode the White Pass and Yukon Railroad, constructed in 1898, which climbs from sea level in Skagway to almost 3,000 feet at the summit in just 20 miles and features steep grades of almost 39 percent. It features a narrow gauge railroad with the rails only three feet apart on a 10-foot-wide road bed. The faint of heart should never look down. I learned more about Iditarod, too, the thousand-mile sled dog race from Anchorage to Nome held annually; in fact, we met Dave Monson, who with his late wife, Susan Butcher, a four-time winner of Iditarod, authored Granite, a children’s book about the sled dogs. The first Iditarod race was a 1925 serum run that began in Nenana and ended in Nome. A diphtheria epidemic threatened the people of Nome; planes could not fly, so a relay team of 20 mushers, usually over 100 dogs, passed the frozen serum from village to village en route to Nome. Many lives were saved. Aurora borealis (Northern Lights) did not fail us. The last night on board the ship they were evident — even more so from our stateroom window with all the lights out. The most impressive part of our trip: We were in a storm with 30-foot-high waves and winds of 70 miles per hour. Our captain, a Dutchman named Frans Consen, who has been a captain for 30 years, maneuvered us safely through the storm. Three of our group spent one day in their stateroom with ocean sickness. Waiters escorted us to our dinner seats, and dishes and silverware flew about. At the final event, all personnel were introduced, and our captain had tears in his eyes. It was rumored it was the second worst storm he had ever navigated. Among other things, I came home to the Sandhills with a great recipe for Moose Stew. PS Cos Barnes, is a longtime contributor to PineStraw magazine. She can be contacted at cosbarnes@nc.rr.com. PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

ThE oMNIvoRouS REAdER

To heller and Back The iconic author of Catch-22 is ably revealed

By sTePHen e. sMITH

If you came of age in

the 1960s, you probably said or heard someone say that Catch-22 was the Great American Novel — 550 dense pages of satirical fiction that gave voice and validation to the counterculture. In present circumstances, it’s difficult to grasp the connection between Capt. John Yossarian and the peace movement, making it necessary to qualify the absolute: You had to be there — you had to experience the decade of disillusion — to fully appreciate the power of Joseph Heller’s acerbic wit.

Just One Catch is the first attempt at a definitive biography of Heller, and author Tracy Daugherty meticulously details Heller’s life and times and, to a lesser degree, his novels, plays and nonfiction with thoroughness, objectivity and a touch of psychoanalysis. It’s an impressive accomplishment, the text running almost 500 pages, every sentence stuffed with the minutiae biography junkies crave. If you’re a Catch-22 fanatic, you already know that Heller was raised poor on Coney Island, the child of Jewish immigrants, and that he served as a bombardier on B-25s in World War II, flying over 60 missions out of Corsica. His war experiences were, by all accounts, mundane — Heller referred to his missions as “milk runs” — but they nonetheless gave shape to his first novel. His fellow crew members

— Francis Yohannan, Joe Chrenko, the dead soldier with whom Heller believed he shared a tent, etc. — were loosely employed as models for characters in Catch22, and he embroidered on his wartime experiences to reflect his tragic-comic existentialist philosophy. Readers will be surprised to learn that Heller, who is usually identified on dust-jacket bios as a former “ad man,” was always a member of the literati. He wrote and published short stories (greatly influenced by Hemingway’s fiction) during his studies at the University of Southern California, NYU and Columbia University, from which he received his M.A. in English in 1949. Following graduation, he spent a year as a Fulbright scholar at St. Catherine’s College in Oxford University, and then worked in advertising for a decade. Much of the biographical information included in Just One Catch is readily available in Heller’s autobiographic writings or can be gleaned from interviews published during his lifetime, the oft repeated story of how he conceived the opening lines of Catch-22 being the most familiar: “I was lying in bed in my four-room apartment on the West Side when suddenly the line came to me: ‘It was love at first sight. The first time he saw the chaplain, Someone fell madly in love with him.’” And a sizable portion of the biography focuses on Heller’s struggle to complete Catch-22 (originally titled Catch-18) and to the trials and tribulations of seeing the novel through to publication. (Simon and Schuster finally published Catch-22 in October 1962, almost ten years after Heller began writing the manuscript.) Daugherty cautiously considers the criticism that Heller never wrote anything as good as Catch-22, that he was a one-book man, but he recognizes that Heller’s second novel, Something Happened, is a worthy successor to Catch-22. Set in post-war America, Heller drew his inspiration

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T h e Omni v o r o u s R ea d er

from the space he occupied: â&#x20AC;&#x153;â&#x20AC;Śmiddle-aged men, veterans of the war, muttering past one another on the sidewalks, indistinguishable in their suits, propelled, it seemed, by briefcases; frowning, wives, wailing kidsâ&#x20AC;Śconvinced that if everyone else got out of their way, they would arrive at fulfillment, only to find, at their coveted destination, the parking lot full or doors boarded up.â&#x20AC;? Because of the continued popularity of Catch-22, Something Happened was an immediate financial success, and the reviews, at first ambivalent â&#x20AC;&#x201D; â&#x20AC;&#x153;Nothing happens in Something Happenedâ&#x20AC;? one critic wrote â&#x20AC;&#x201D; later waxed positive, just as the novelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s popularity grew with the passage of time. Hellerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s other novels â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Good as Gold, God Knows, Picture This, and Closing Time â&#x20AC;&#x201D; never achieved the lasting popularity of Catch-22. Late in his life, when answering a criticâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s observation that he had never written anything that was the equal of his first novel, Heller responded: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Who has?â&#x20AC;? Daugherty seizes on Hellerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 1981-82 hospitalization for Guillain-Barre syndrome (not the ironically fictitious Garnett-Fleischaker Syndrome from Catch-22) as the turning point in the novelistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life. Heller remained in intensive care for more than a year, unable to feed or care for himself, his limbs paralyzed. Old friends Mario Puzo, Mel Brooks, Dustin Hoffman and George Mandel visited him often and joked that heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d become the immobile Soldier in White from Catch22. Hellerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s illness and recovery are the subjects of his autobiographical No Laughing Matter. In 1998, a memoir, Now and Then: From Coney Island to Here, was released. Heller died of a heart attack on Long Island in December 1999. His last novel, Portrait of an Artist, as an Old Man, was published after his death. Daugherty maintains that Heller had a talent for anticipating societal trends. Catch-22, written in the â&#x20AC;&#x2122;50s, encapsulated the fears of the â&#x20AC;&#x2122;60s generation, Something Happened profiled the â&#x20AC;&#x153;Me Decade,â&#x20AC;? Good as Gold mapped out the neoconservativesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; lock on political power, and God Knows depicted the greedy entrepreneurs who would precipitate the deepest economic crisis since the Great Depression â&#x20AC;&#x201D; suppositions that thoughtful readers might find something of a stretch. The generation that found vindication in Catch22 will likely experience mild disappointment with the totality of Just One Catch. Daugherty has given us the facts of Hellerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life, but he has failed to unlock the mysteries of the heart. Still, he succeeds, as any able biographer should, in gently coaxing his subject down from Olympus. PS Stephen Smithâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s most recent book of poetry, A Short Report on the Fire at Woolworths, is available at The Country Bookshop. Contact him at travisses@hotmail.com.

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Bookshelf

New Releases For November Fiction Hardcover Out of Oz, Gregory Macguire. In the final installment of his Wicked series, Macguire takes us on a journey through a war-torn Oz with Rain, Elphaba’s granddaughter. While on a search for her identity, Rain helps to unravel the political and personal reasons that Oz has fallen apart. Micro, Michael Crichton and Richard Preston. Seven graduate students are recruited by a pioneering microbiology start-up and sent to work at a mysterious lab in Hawaii. Danger confronts them around every corner and they find themselves prey to a technology so advanced that their only chance of survival means harnessing the forces of nature. Explosive Eighteen, Janet Evanovich. Bounty hunter Stephanie Plum is forced to watch her back after a passenger on her plane to Hawaii is murdered during a layover for having a picture that many are dying to get their hands on. Plum’s life is put in danger when it’s found that she’s the only other person to have seen the picture. V is for Vengeance, Sue Grafton. In the 22nd installment of the Kinsey Millhone series, seemingly disparate characters from varying walks of life are trapped in a web of violence, betrayal, and deception. Hotel Vendome, Danielle Steel. After transforming the rundown Hotel Vendome into one of New York’s top luxury hotels, Hugues Martin is left by his wife and forced to bring his young daughter up by himself. Raised in a world filled with celebrities, politicians, world travelers and loving hotel staff, Heloise longs to one day follow in her father’s footsteps and run the hotel. Three-Day Town, Margaret Maron. While on her honeymoon, Judge Deborah Knott is asked to deliver a package to Lt. Harald. Harald agrees to swing by and pick up the package, but when he arrives the package is missing and the doorman has been murdered. The Angel Esmeralda, Don DeLillo. In the first collection of short stories by DeLillo, we follow the writer on a journey that chronicles and foretells three decades of American life. DeLillo is a powerful writer whose ear for the American language worked to change the literary landscape. The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugenides. Devoted English major Madeleine Hanna is busy writing her senior thesis on Jane Austen and George Eliot (originators of the marriage plot that is at the core of many of the greatest English novels) when two very different men take interest in her.

inspired by the inn she owns and the town she loves. The historic hotel in BoonsBoro has seen a lot and now it is getting a makeover from the Montgomery brothers and their peculiar mother. The Tiger’s Wife, Tea Obreht. After her grandfather’s mysterious death, Natalia begins to search through his things for clues. After looking through his old copy of “The Jungle Book” and going back over the stories he told her about his encounter with “the deathless man,” Natalia learns that the greatest story is one that he never told her. The Strangers on Montagu Street, Karen White. The third installment in this series finds psychic realtor Melanie Middleton restoring her house in Charleston when an unexpected houseguest, Nola, and all of the spirits that accompany her, show up and don’t want to leave.

Nonfiction Hardcover I didn’t Ask to be Born (But I’m Glad I Was), Bill Cosby. Part memoir, part comic routine, Cosby reminisces on his past and makes witty observations about the commonplace happenings of life today. Includes old characters such as Fat Albert, as well as brand new characters. Inside Seal Team Six, Don Mann. After having been deployed to the Middle East a number of times on missions with Seal Team 6, author Don Mann became a trainer and helped instruct many of the current members of Seal Team 6. This book is an inside look at one of the world’s most elite military groups. Civilization: The West and the Rest, Niall Ferguson. From a renowned historian, “Civilization” argues that the West trumped the seemingly more powerful East through competition, science, democracy, medicine, consumerism and work ethic. Now he wonders whether the West has lost its monopoly on these things. No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington, Condoleezza Rice. Rice offers up her perspective on the most consequential issues of the administration and describes the events of September 11 and the aftermath in her own words. And So It Goes: Kurt Vonnegut: A Life, Charles Shields. In the first authoritative book on Vonnegut, we examine the life of one of the most influential and iconic writers of his time.

Fiction Paperback

The Time of Our Lives: A Conversation about America, Tom Brokaw. Based on the lessons and values passed on to him by past generations, Tom Brokaw weaves together stories of Americans who are making a difference with stories of his upbringing.

The Next Always, Nora Roberts. Nora Roberts starts an all-new trilogy

Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman, Robert Massie.

Bookshelf

Tells the story of a young German princess who traveled to Russia at the age of 14 and rose to become one of the most remarkable and powerful women in history.

Nonfiction Paperback After the Falls, Catherine Gildiner. Sequel to the bestselling memoir Too Close to the Falls, this book is a touching account of coming to age during a turbulent time and learning what it means to be a daughter. Atlantic, Christopher Rose. Intertwining history with anecdotes, this book tells the epic saga of the Atlantic Ocean through its history, geography, importance, as well as a number of stories.

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Robert Morris: Financier of the American Revolution, Charles Rappleye. Robert Morris was one of the most successful businessmen in the world, going on to help finance some of the most crucial battles of the Revolutionary War. After a few bad investments, he ended his life in modest circumstances, but Rappleye returns him to his place as an incredibly important Founding Father. Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia, Michael Korda. This book tells the epic story of the life of Lawrence of Arabia, revealing the mysterious and extraordinary Englishman whose daring exploits and romantic endeavors made him an object of fascination around the world. A Covert Affair, Jennet Conant. This is a fascinating portrait of Julia and Paul Child’s experience in the OSS and the years they were caught in the McCarthy spy hunt. It includes a shocking account of the men and women recruited by the citizen spy service during the 1950s. The Kennedy Detail, Gerald Blaine. Blaine, a member of Kennedy’s Secret Service detail, offers up this inside look of the president’s assassination, including the days and weeks leading up to it and the turbulent aftermath. The Ninth: Beethoven and the World in 1824, Harvey Sachs. In this uncon-

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

Bookshelf

ventional book, Sachs uses Beethoven’s masterpiece as a way to look at the politics, aesthetics, and overall atmosphere of the time. This book does a wonderful job of exploring the complexities of Beethoven’s last symphony.

children & young adult The Artist Who Painted a Blue Horse, Eric Carle. Inspired by Expressionist painter Franz Marc, an early 1900s’ German artist known best for his use of color as an expression of emotion, Carle’s newest picture book is a celebration of imagination and creativity and a tribute to the incredible power of art. I Survived: The Bombing of Pearl Harbor, Lauren Tarshis. In this newest volume of the “I Survived…” series, elevenyear-old Danny Crane is alone on a beach in Hawaii the morning of December 7, 1941, when Japanese warplanes began their attack and the United States became officially involved in WWII. Inheritance, Christopher Paolini. Eragon, the first book in the Inheritance Cycle, is the biggest thing in fantasy literature since Harry Potter. With the publication of Inheritance on November 8, Eragon lovers everywhere will finally discover the destiny of the young dragon rider and his companion, Saphira, as the fate of an entire civilization rests upon their shoulders. Meet Cecile; Meet Marie-Grace. Two New American Girl Characters are introduced in these fabulous historical fiction titles set in 1853 New Orleans. Cecile Rey, whose prosperous family are free people of color, makes friends with Marie-Grace Gardner, a doctor’s daughter who has just returned to her native New Orleans in 1853, and persuades her to change places at their separate Mardi Gras balls. How to Survive Anything. If a lion attacks, never run. Instead, shake your keys, sing those crazy songs parents hate, scream, snarl, or bare your teeth. But never, ever play dead. From embarrassing parent issues to earthquakes; from volcano eruptions to the very first day of middle school, this handy field guide gives practical tips on how to survive (almost) anything. PS PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

   Fayetteville

h i tt i n g h o m e

The Big One

I’m finally at an age where I can relax and enjoy life

By Dale Nixon

This month is my birth month,

Cake by Kraz Elegance Cakes, Pinehurst.

November 13th, as a matter of fact, and it’s THE BIG ONE. It’s so big I have to finally admit to myself that I’m, well, old.

Now, you’re probably settling back into your easy chair right now, sipping a cup of coffee, thinking, “Hmmm … This is going to be a funny column.” You’re probably thinking that I’m going to write about gray hairs, wrinkles, being short of breath and all the other things people my age joke about and pretend are funny. Wrong. This is not going to be a funny column because I’m serious when I say I’m proud to be, well, old. I’ve struggled through many years to get here, and I like where I am. You couldn’t pay me enough money to go back and start my life over. I wouldn’t want the headaches, heartaches and decisions that accompany youth. Knowing what I know now, I probably would have the same headaches, heartaches and decisions anyway. Sure, I made a lot of mistakes, but I know I learned something valuable from each and every one of them. I like being old enough to appreciate my parents. I appreciate my parents because I now know what it’s like to raise a child, from allnight bouts of colic to rearing a teenager, and seeing them grow into responsible adults. I know what it’s like to make a living and to pay the bills. I know what it’s like to worry. I know what it means when a child, no matter the age, says, “I love you.” I’m not afraid to say “yes,” and I’m not afraid to say “no.”

I know what having and being a friend means. I know the qualities I can accept in someone and the qualities I have to walk away from. Although I appreciate and value my friends, I enjoy being by myself or just with my family. The quiet times have become more special. I understand more about problems now. I know almost anything can be worked out, given a little time. I can relate to the clichés I’ve heard and read all my life: “You’re not getting older, you’re getting better.” “The best is yet to come.” “Once you’re over the hill, you pick up speed.” I truly feel as if I have been given a second life. I have the freedom to accomplish some things on my own (like writing a column without interruption). I have the confidence to widen some horizons, grow in different directions; perhaps try out a dream or two. I mean, if I don’t do it now, when will I do it? I actually feel as if a hand is on my back, pushing, pushing … guiding me, leading me, showing me the way. The struggle is over. The only person I have to prove anything to is me. The only person who can make me happy is me — and it took all these years to realize it. My only regret is that I can’t give this feeling as a gift to my children. It’s a feeling that needs to be shared. But it’s a feeling that only comes from years of living. Youth does not understand. I told you this wasn’t going to be a funny column. Maybe tomorrow I’ll poke fun at gray hairs, wrinkles and shortness of breath; but for today and especially on THE BIG BIRTHDAY, I like where I am. PS Columnist Dale Nixon resides in Concord but enjoys a slice of heaven (disguised as a condominium) in the village of Pinehurst. You may contact her by email at dalenixon@carolina.rr.com.

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

November 2011

The kitchen garden

Pecans

Nothing says autumn like the sound of the ultimate nut raining down

By Jan Leitschuh

Granted, a pecan tree isn’t the sort of kitchen

garden item one plants in the side garden vegetable patch, but pecans grow fairly well here in the Sandhills. Despite favoring rich river bottoms, they like a welldrained soil, which we tend to have in spades. A November scan of area properties reveals a number of full-grown pecan trees raining down pecans onto driveways and pinging off shed roofs like buckshot.

It’s a tree that appreciates a long view. My husband, a Carolina native, recalls the neighborhood kids gathering pecans off the ground at his family’s place in Charlotte. Ordinarily, the Queen City would be a bit too far west for consistent pecan cropping but, according to family lore, this tree would absolutely stand and deliver — still does, actually. His family’s backyard was large enough to support not only a few nut trees, grapes and a healthy vegetable patch, but a few fair-sized neighborhood football games as well. Thus, the 60-foot pecan bore witness to many a childhood shaping of sports character and life lessons — lessons assisted, no doubt, by the nut-marbled, husk-strewn lawn. The property was still on the brisk edge of Charlotte in the 1960s — half-country, half-city — and had not yet morphed into the glossy, upscale, high-traffic Queen City neighborhood it was destined to become in the ’90s. Come cold weather, the neighborhood kids would spontaneously appear for rowdy ball games, tumbling like puppies across the Millers’ generous back lawn. During breaks between innings or quarters, the players would pause to gather the sweet, high-oil nuts to restore their youthful vigor and tackling ability. “You’d put two pecans together in your palm, and squeeze,” my husband recalls. “The shell on one would crack, and you’d pick out the pecan, trying to avoid the bitter, brown stuff.” The real masters could extract the nut whole. After the obvious good nuts were gathered from the ground, the kids would eyeball the plenitude of cracked shucks on the branches above, the ripened brown nuts peeping through. They’d toss a baseball bat or a football high into the branches, and the nuts would come raining down. “We’d have to dodge not only the nuts coming down, but the bat too,” my husband remembers fondly. More life lessons, this time referencing dexterity, speed and common sense. Often his father would join the plunder. They’d gather the fallen soldiers, heft them in their hand, and pitch out the light ones. Then they set the heavy nuts to dry out in the sun for a couple days in a paper sack: “Our worst enemies were squirrels. You had to watch them.” Remember the perennial nut bowl of 1950s holidays? The old-fashioned two-armed cracker and the little silver nut pick?

Eventually tiring of shell bits all over the house, the adults would take over the bulk of the cracking, and the results would end up in one of Grandma Miller’s pecan pies. My husband’s other favorite use was a roasted mix with fresh pecans, pretzels and Chex mix, tossed in butter and salt. It’s not likely you’ll plant your own, but if you have a little ground, all you have to do to motivate yourself is think, “... $10 a pound and up!” Select a sunny site where you can irrigate in dry years, and a goodly space around it — a 30-foot circle, ultimately. It would be unwise to plant where the nuts can rain down upon parked cars. Protect young plants from deer. Short of planting your own, look for fresh local pecans via casual sellers, signs on farmsteads and driveways, small towns down East that you might pass through, and possibly farmers markets and the local Co-op. Be ready to shell your own, if you want fresh, though you could get lucky and find a pound of shelled nuts. As with any oily nut, refrigerate for best freshness. They’ll store for a year in your freezer. Everyone has Grandma’s favorite pecan pie recipe, so we’ll end with a simple treat everyone will love, Sugar-Roasted Pecans.

Sugar-Roasted Pecans

Whip up an egg white with a little water (a tablespoon or so). In a Ziploc, mix up a sweet spice mix of a cup of dry granulated sweetener (brown sugar, white sugar, stevia or Splenda), 3/4 teaspoon sea salt and a slight teaspoon of cinnamon. Chunk a pound of pecans into the egg wash and stir. Fish the pecans out with a slotted spoon, and dump the damp nuts into the spice coating bag. Toss to coat. Spread out on a baking sheet and roast at 250 for an hour. Start over soon because they don’t last long. PS Jan Leitschuh is a local gardener, avid eater of fresh produce and cofounder of the Sandhills Farm to Table Cooperative.

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

November 2011

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The Pinehurst Shops are full of shirts, shoes, jackets, spa products, bags, gifts and accessories from brands like Vera Bradley, Adidas, Nike, Peter Millar and Cole Haan. So come in and find your favorites. Village of Pinehurst, North Carolina s 910. 235.8154 s pinehurst.com

Vine Wisdom

In the Grip of Gewurztraminer By Robyn James

Every Thanksgiving I try to think of different options for Thanksgiving dinner, but I can’t seem to abandon my No. 1 choice: Gewurztraminer.

What a lovely wine that certainly has phonetics against it. Having recently used this wine in a tasting, it was far and away the favorite, yet tasters were struggling with the pronunciation. It’s “Guh-Vertz-trah-meener.” This grape is actually red to pink colored when growing, yet produces a white wine. Instead of fruity, it possesses more of a floral character, particularly one of roses and the spicy aroma of geraniums. Flavor qualities include honey, pumpkin spice, cinnamon, apricot, pear and rose. It has a rich, decadent mouthfeel while retaining a lively acidity. This golden wine reminds me of pear compote (with just a whiff of mango) and its delicate spicing feels perfectly fall-like. Buy a few bottles and keep one to serve with your Christmas goose. The traditional Thanksgiving fare is heavy. We have mashed potatoes with gravy, sweet potatoes, stuffing and pumpkin or pecan pies. Gewurztraminer is a heavier wine that can be finished sweet or dry, depending on the wine maker’s preference, but always maintains its spicy, unique character. This white wine tends to have the aromatic gusto and spicy palate appeal that give it a solid standing with turkey and gravy, bringing out the best in both. It thrives in many countries, particularly France, the United States and Germany, and is gaining popularity in New Zealand. Gewurztraminer is particularly fussy about soil and climate. The variety has high natural sugar and the wines are usually off-dry, with a flamboyant bouquet of lychees. Indeed, Gewurztraminer and lychees share the same aroma compounds. Dry Gewurztraminers may also have aromas of roses, passion fruit and floral notes. It is not uncommon to notice some spritz (fine bubbles on the inside of the glass). Gewurztraminer also plays well with others. Grapes that blend well have always been my favorites, and this one loves to complement other grapes and stamp its own nuances onto proprietary blends. So, here are my picks for Thanksgiving or Christmas fare, my favorite straight and blended Gewurztraminer wines. Hogue Gewurztraminer, Washington $12 “Soft and spicy, offering cinnamon, clove, lychee and pear flavors that glide easily through a charming, lightly sweet finish. Drink now.” Rated 89 Points, Wine Spectator Columbia Gewurztraminer, Washington $9 “Bright and open textured, this is a sunny wine with spicy tangerine and cream flavors. Drink now.” Rated 87 Points, Wine Spectator Bright Light Blended White, California $10 Bright Light is a fresh, aromatic blend of chardonnay, albariño and gewurztraminer sourced from the cool, coastal valleys of Sonoma and Monterey Counties. PS Robyn James is proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at winecellar@pinehurst.net.

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

November 2011

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S p i r i ts

Fashionably Old-Fashioned With the coming of autumn, nothing is cooler

By Frank Daniels III

The whispers of fall,

leaves showering from the maples, poplars and oaks, not really cold enough for a fire, but when has that stopped us, and finally a quiet evening. Time to reflect… my grandfather loved Old-Fashioned cocktails; he would have a couple nearly every evening after work. When he got older, Dr. Gaddy told him he could only have one, no more, preferably less. I recall that as the months went by his glass kept getting bigger, but he only had one. I can see him now, his silver-maned leonine head bent forward by 80-odd years of corralling his brothers and then his son, chuckling at putting one over on young Dr. Gaddy.

Or, of this rare quiet evening, time to choose a book, perhaps something we cheated ourselves out of when we younger. “When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got up out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn’t set down again till they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and he held it in his hand and waited till Tom’s and Bob’s was mixed, and then they bowed and said, ‘Our duty to you, sir, and madam’; and THEY bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and the mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and give it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.” (Twain, Mark. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Published 1885. Ch. 18) Some have called the Old-Fashioned the original whiskey cocktail, a mixture of sugar, bitters, a small amount of water (to melt the sugar) and rye whiskey, cooled by a couple of large ice cubes. Regardless, a cocktail that is described in the great American novel, and has glassware named for it, deserves our full attention. The Old-Fashioned is fun, simple to make well, and lends itself to experimentation with the basic ingredients to make the cocktail sweeter, drier or even tart. The quality of the whiskey is paramount. If you want a sweeter OldFashioned, use a Kentucky straight bourbon like Woodford Reserve, Four Roses Single Barrel, or, if you can find it, something like Whipper Snapper from Oregon’s Ransom Distillery. For a drier, almost tart Old-Fashioned, use a quality 100 percent rye such as Sazerac Rye or Black Maple Hill Rye Whiskey.

The fun part of making an Old-Fashioned is the muddle, where you get to make a mess in the bottom of the glass, and is a good place to experiment. Originally the muddle was made with a sugar cube, bitters, an orange slice and a bit of water, and if you are using rye whiskey, this muddle is excellent, with the sugar balancing the dry tartness of rye. With the sweeter tasting Kentucky bourbons, I leave out the sugar and enjoy muddling the orange slice with a bit of lemon zest along with Cointreau or Combier Orange Liqueur and bitters. Until recently almost everyone I know used traditional Angostura bitters, but there are a spreading variety of bitters available to try. I have experimented with Peychaud’s, Regan’s and Fee Brothers, though I generally stick with the old Angostura. Lastly, I love cocktails that suit glassware. Forgive my pettiness, but a martini from a Reidel martini glass with a rim that is so thin it disappears just tastes better. And an Old-Fashioned desires a heavy-bottomed double old-fashioned glass that feels meaty in your fist; one that holds a substantial amount of whiskey and a couple of large, slowly melting ice cubes. The Old-Fashioned is a cocktail that pleases your senses, the sight of condensation beading on the outside of the glass, the rich smell and taste of good whiskey, the sound of ice, and the feel of the weighty glass as you lift it to your lips… each sense adds to the enjoyment. Enjoy.

Old-Fashioned 1 sugar cube (or 2 tsp. sugar or Splenda) 3 dashes Angostura bitters ¼1/4 oz Cointreau or Combier Orange Liqueur lemon zest 1/2½ orange slice 1 maraschino cherry 2 1/2 ½ oz Kentucky straight bourbon or 100 percent rye whiskey Orange slice Maraschino cherry In a chilled old-fashioned glass, soak sugar with bitters and orange liqueur. Add lemon zest, orange slice and cherry. Muddle well. Fill glass with ice and add whiskey. Stir well to combine flavors. Garnish with orange and cherry. PS Frank Daniels III is an editor and writer living in Nashville, Tenn. His cocktail book, Frank’s Little Black Bar Book, Wakestone Press, is available at The Country Bookshop. fdanielsiii@mac.com.

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

November 2011

November 11 & 12

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FURNITURE

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out of the blue

Incredible Shrinking Me (and just about everything else)

By Deborah Salomon

My method of dealing with

inflation is shrinkage. I got this idea from Tropicana — and toilet paper manufacturers. Here’s how it works.

Tropicana decided to raise prices on their best-selling OJ. To avoid negative reaction, they scrapped the familiar 64-ounce (half-gallon) container for a spiffy 59-ounce decanter which they advertise as holding 15 oranges but left the price unchanged. To compensate, I bought smaller juice glasses. Who needs 8 ounces of orange juice for breakfast anyway? This ancient smoke-and-mirrors is practiced by coffee cans, ice cream cartons and cereal boxes. Counted the cookies in your bag of Oreos lately? I recall the shock when I unpacked a carton from move-before-last that contained rolls of toilet paper. So wide were the sheets. And so many of them. To camouflage, manufacturers confuse us with double, triple, giant, endless rolls which cost considerably more per square inch. But so soft! So strong! To compensate, I reduce tinkles by about two per day — easier when you’re drinking juice from smaller glasses and coffee from smaller cups. Coffee is ridiculous. Maybe price hikes result from a monsoon, blight or earthquake. But double? Triple? Coffee may be an institution in American life but not mine. A mug of decaf in the morning and I’m good. Usually, at least that much is left in the pot. Instead of cold turkey, to compensate I bought a tiny coffee maker like you see in motel bathrooms (near the shrunken roll of toilet paper) and some cups. Cups hold less than mugs but drinking the contents does the job for me. Call it trompe l’oeil. I don’t eat meat. The other day I stopped for a Burger King Veggie Burger. I travel interstates and airports on BKVBs. Dressed with lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles and ketchup you hardly miss the moo. But this most recent one, I swear, was a slider. Four bites at most. That’s OK; I need to cut down on soy and vegetables. Movies used to be two hours plus a few coming attractions. Today the average movie runs 1 hour, 41 minutes — just seems longer, with 20 minutes of previews and 10 of car/cell phone/soda/everything-but-toilet paper ads. Shorter movies mean less-expensive production costs. This is important when the tab runs

upward of $1 million a minute. Yet ticket prices continue to rise. To compensate, I see practically nothing and use the rest room at least twice to save on toilet paper back home. Have you noticed the width of a newspaper lately? A recent Time magazine bottomed out at 68 pages, understandable given coverboy Rick Perry. The cover price remained unchanged. Gasoline. What a nightmare. A gallon is a gallon, so I had to shrink my gas tank. This I accomplished by buying a summa-sub-compact with less power than a golf cart but touted for good gas mileage (on the highway, it says in teensie print). I don’t do much highway driving, so I’m getting about the same as my last subcompact (which cost less than the summa, three years ago) except for one thing: This egg beater has an 11-gallon tank that needs frequent filling. To compensate, I cuss, stomp and stay home. While at home, I watch something that hasn’t shrunk: Flat-screened HDTVs are enormous — all the better, the wolf cackled to Red Riding Hood — to observe the shrinking economy, the shrinking job market, the shrinking dollar and the shrinking number of good shows. With premium cable I get almost 100 channels plus On Demand and an endless list of movies I’ve never heard of. Yet all that’s on is “CSI,” “Criminal Minds” and “Law & Order” reruns. That’s because the TV “season,” formerly September to May, has shrunk to 10-week mini-seasons which come and go at will. Worst of all, I’m shrinking. This happens starting at an age which I am long past. At half an inch per year, pretty soon I’ll fit comfortably into an airplane seat. Honestly, water boarding seems kinder than telescoping tall, chunky guys into those seats. The bottom line is that Americans must now, after decades of expansionism, shrink their expectations. College, a good job with benefits, a home, kids, retirement, fishing trips, steak have been whittled away like the TV season and the toilet paper roll. Lordy, I’m beginning to sound like Andy Rooney’s 90-second essay at the end of 60 Minutes. I like Andy Rooney, but those essays always made me mad. He gets paid over $10,000 for a fleeting observation of the obvious. Curmudgeonly Andy, now 92, just announced his retirement. Bet CBS is looking for a replacement. Somebody please tell them I’m available…for much, much less. PS Deborah Salomon is a staff writer for PineStraw and can be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.

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

November 2011

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B IRD WA T CH

Homing Pigeons Raised by humans, these birds are often seen at Sandhills feeders

By Susan Campbell

Rock doves,

or pigeons, as they are commonly referred to, are birds just about everyone is familiar with. They are actually quite beautiful birds. Native to the higher cliffs of Britain and Europe, they have become widespread here in the United States from captive populations as well as likely small-scale introductions by settlers across the country. Their ancestors include doves of several species, not true Old World pigeons. Color and size are quite variable with the mainly pale gray version the most numerous. However, brown and pied birds are frequently found in larger mixed flocks. Due to the color variations and ease of domestication, doves of many species have been kept by man for thousands of years. There are many “pigeon fanciers” worldwide. These birds are kept more for entertainment and aesthetic reasons than for their meat these days. There are a plethora of breeders, shows and associations across the globe. Without a doubt the largest contingent of pigeon lovers is those who race them. For reasons that we do not completely understand, pigeons have a strong affinity for their home roost. They have the ability to return to it when released from locations hundreds of miles away. They use not only the Earth’s magnetic field to navigate but a sense of smell once they get close to home. In modern racing, they are rewarded for the speed of the return flight as well as the accuracy. Probably the best known birds are the ones that were reported on during wartime in Europe. During World War I, when communication from the front lines was difficult (at best), carrier pigeons were used heavily. Dedicated staff on both sides of the conflict bred and raised birds that were relied on to

fly through the worst of the artillery fire, carrying status reports back to base camp. “Long John Silver” (later referred to as Stumpy) was the first bird decorated for his heroic service in the U.S. Army after a remarkable 25-minute flight home with a severely injured leg during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. However, there were countless generations of Army pigeons used in both World Wars. “Gimpy” had the longest active service (over 20 years) on record, both as a carrier and then as a trainer during World War II. Here in the Sandhills, pigeons are evident daily on the wires along U.S. Hwy. 1 or in places around Horse Country. But about once a month the phone rings, and I find myself speaking with someone who suddenly has a tame pigeon in the yard. Because the birds for racing are hand-reared by their owners, it is not surprising that they have little fear of people in general. It is likely that they are attracted to humans as a result of their association with people and food — even if they are strangers. Certainly other doves taking advantage of seed at bird feeders will get a stray’s attention, especially if they are lost and hungry. Unfortunately, a pigeon that does not immediately find its way directly home during training or a race is not likely to do so. The tell-tale mark of a racing pigeon, in addition to its behavior, will be the presence of plastic colored bands on its legs. Like the wild birds that I work with, racing pigeons are identified by their owners by a combination of bands. Usually these bands have letters and/or numbers on them not only to identify the individual bird but the area (often the racing club) of their origin. It may not be too difficult to get close enough to read the symbols. From there, a visit to the American Racing Pigeon Union’s website may reveal the owner. You can simply log on to www.pigeon.org and click on “Lost Bird.” The closest club around is in Fayetteville although there are people who keep pigeons here in Moore County. Birds whose origin cannot be traced are then destined to become a handsome neighborhood fixture as long as there is sufficient food, water and shelter available. PS Susan would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. She can be contacted by email at susan@ncaves.com, by phone at (910) 949-3207 or by mail at 144 Pine Ridge Drive, Whispering Pines, NC 28327.

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

November 2011

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

Earl’s Farm

How a little trespassing became duck-hunting paradise

By Tom Bryant

We were in a real pickle.

I had one leg over the barb-wired fence balancing the canoe with one hand, and the other hand was trying to keep the barbs from some very important body parts. My hunting partner, Dick Coleman, was on the safe side of the fence holding the other end of the boat, urging me on.

“Come on, Bryant, it’s getting dark. We need to get on outta here.” The here was a little creek in the northern part of the county that helped fill the county’s water reservoir, and we were just coming off it after a very successful duck hunt. We were in unfamiliar territory and had never hunted this part of the county. As a matter of fact, Dick had found the spot just the day before the season opened and hoped it could really pan into a good place to hunt during the year. Our scouting for likely duck holes was really very simple. We would ride around out in the country about sundown, find a swampy low area, park the truck, and watch to see if ducks were using it for a roost. Dick had actually stumbled across this little stream, with its banks covered in hardwoods, by accident. Taking a short cut on the way home from work one evening, he heard some unusual noises coming from his old Blazer and pulled off to the side of the road to investigate. It was just a loose fan belt, something he could take care of when he got home. As he closed the hood, he looked up and saw about a dozen mallards, wings locked, feet down, dropping into a shallow slough that ran under the little bridge that was just ahead. He called me later that evening. “Bryant, you’re not gonna believe it. The ducks were swimming back and forth under that bridge like they were on parade. I sneaked over the fence that’s right there on the side of the road and watched them until it was almost too dark to see.” “It sounds great, Coleman,” I said, “but that’s the city lake and it’s out of bounds. You can’t hunt there.”

“Naw, you got it wrong. That creek just feeds the lake. We’re nowhere near the big reservoir.” “Yeah, but somebody owns that property. You had to cross a fence, you said. We don’t have permission to hunt.” “Come on, Bryant. Free flowing water belongs to everybody. All we have to do is get to it. Look, the season comes in tomorrow. We can go back to our usual place and just watch a beautiful sunset without even loading the gun, or we can hunt here and shoot some ducks! I say hunt here. I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon around four. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to set up and get ready for the evening flight.” “No, let me pick you up,” I replied. “I’ve already got the canoe on top of the Bronco. All I’ve got to do is throw in some decoys. And maybe after we hunt, we can find out who the land belongs to and get permission.” “Yeah, yeah, right. Shoot up some guy’s farm and then see if we can find him to tell him that we were the ones doing the shooting. I’ll leave that up to you,” he replied. “You’re always good at that kind of stuff.” Coleman was born too late. If he had come along during the era of mountain men, he would have put Jim Bridger to shame. Always out of doors, hunting, fishing, camping or canoeing, if he wasn’t doing it, he was planning on doing it. We had a lot in common, but perhaps I was a little more tempered on the conservative side when it came to taking risks. I had just got the canoe and then myself over the barb-wired fence when up the hill we could see headlights coming our way. A pick-up truck came around the curve, slowed when his headlights framed us like prisoners making a break, drove across the little country bridge to where I had parked my Bronco, turned around and slowly drove back toward us. “We’re in for it now,” I said to Coleman. “The fellow in that truck looks as if he means business.” The pickup came to a stop just this side of the little bridge and a man stepped out holding a flashlight. He left the truck idling and his door open. “How you fellows doing?” he asked as he surveyed us with his flash. “See you been hunting. Have any luck?” I put my end of the canoe down. Coleman still held on to his, mesmerized. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. I figured I had better step

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November 2011

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up and say something. “Yessir, we were getting in some ducking right here before the sun went down. We got a limit. It sure is a pretty place down here.” He shined the flash on me. I could make out he was a heavyset gentleman with a work jacket, jeans and brogans. He had a cap on, and I couldn’t see his eyes. “Where you folks from?” Coleman still stood mute holding his end of the canoe. I answered and finally Dick came to life, and we played who do you know. We were fortunate because we had mutual acquaintances, and the conversation went from an inquisition to a more friendly talk. “I own the farm on this side of the creek all the way up to the top of the hill,” the farmer said. “I’ve got Black Angus cattle in the pasture across from my house and tobacco planted on the back side.” “It sure is a nice looking farm,” Coleman said, “and we’re sorry if we trespassed. We were just trying to get to the creek.” “Yeah. Well, do y’all deer hunt?” “No sir,” I replied, knowing that Coleman deer hunted, but I didn’t want to push our luck. “We hunt mostly ducks, turkeys, doves and quail, when we can find quail.” “Well, you’re out of luck with quail. I haven’t seen a partridge around here in years. And I’m saving the deer for me.” The truck was still grumbling in idle as if it wanted to get back on the road. “OK. Here’s the deal. Get all your stuff loaded and stop back by my house. It’s up there on the left.” He turned his flashlight off and walked back to the truck. I just knew he was going to have a deputy sheriff waiting with a summons when we got there. He got in, shut his door and lowered the passenger side window. I could see his face illuminated just a little by the dash lights. He was grinning at us. “I want to give you a key to my pasture gates so the next time you come you won’t break down my fences.” For the next fifteen years, I hunted what became known simply as Earl’s farm. Earl eventually sold out to developers, bought a big Grady White boat and moved to the coast. Friends tell me the farm is now a beautiful housing development and that I should check it out. I don’t want to. I would rather remember it the way it was, one of the finest and most beautiful places I’ve ever hunted. PS Tom Bryant, a Southern Pines resident, is a lifelong outdoorsman and PineStraw’s Sporting Life columnist.

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G o l ft o wn J o u r na l

Let the Party Begin Dame Peggy Bell’s mark on the game has been incomparablep

By Lee Pace

Peggy Kirk Bell

often wonders what happened to that aspiring golfer she took to the practice tee at Pine Needles one morning in 1954. A guest at the resort Peggy and her husband, Bullet, had bought just a year before came into the golf shop and asked for a lesson, and Bullet sought out his wife, a pupil of the great Tommy Armour in the 1940s, the winner of the 1949 Titleholders, a member of the 1950 Curtis Cup team, and a competitor on the four-year-old LPGA Tour.

“I can’t give her a lesson,” Peggy protested. “I don’t know what to tell her.” “You know a lot more than she does,” Bullet answered. “Tell her anything.” At the time there was no formal practice range at Pine Needles and, in fact, the sprawling array of Swiss-style chalets that serve as the resort’s guest rooms today had not yet been constructed. Guests stayed in barracks-type facilities near the original Pine Needles Inn, which fell into disrepair during the Depression and World War II and eventually would morph into the extended care and retirement center it remains today. There was a rudimentary practice tee to the left of the first fairway, and golfers hit shag balls across the fairway into a scruffy area that would later become the current practice range. “I told her everything I knew,” Peggy remembers. “We were out there for two or three hours. She’d hit it bad and I’d say, ‘Try this.’ Another bad shot.

‘Try this.’ I was going crazy trying to get her to hit it like I could.” Finally, the woman said, “Can we quit? I’m dead.” Peggy says she would have stayed there until midnight but couldn’t blame the woman for packing it in. “I’m sure she quit golf then and there,” Peggy says with a laugh. There was only one place for Peggy’s teaching career to go from there. Up. And its ascension eventually found the stratosphere of the golf instruction business: books, awards, international travel, thousands of testimonials

and loyal pupils. The Grand Dame of Sandhills Golf celebrated her 90th birthday on Oct. 28, and a gala in her honor is planned for Nov. 19 at Pine Needles. Proceeds will benefit the Peggy Kirk Bell Foundation, which exists to lend support to a variety of junior golf initiatives, including the Peggy Kirk Bell Girls’ Junior Golf Tour. “It’s funny, Peg has come full circle from that first lesson,” says son-in-law Kelly Miller. “She overloaded that first lady and learned over the years the beauty of keeping things simple.” Peggy’s teaching skills had evolved several years after that fateful first lesson, and one day she and her friend Ellen Griffin, an instruction pioneer in women’s golf from Greensboro, were having lunch at Pine Needles when a frustrated Bullet told them a big group planned for the following month had canceled their outing at Pine Needles. “Bullet, let’s put in a golf school for women,” Ellen said. “We can’t do that. No one will come,” Bullet said. “Well, let’s try,” Ellen said with conviction. So they took out an ad in Golf World magazine and charged $105 for four days and three nights, and promoted the fact they used video equipment for golf lessons, a cutting edge feature at the time. They mailed out fliers

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November 2011

G o l ft o wn J o u r na l

to all the country clubs in North Carolina and attracted 53 women. The Pine Needles “Golfari” was born. It’s now been more than half a century since the beginnings of Peggy’s instruction career and Pine Needles’ niche as a bastion of golf schools. Since whittling down her teaching tools to the basics, Peggy has touched her own little universe of golfers. “Let the club swing you,” she told daughter Peggy Ann who, as a child, was struggling to navigate a full-size club. “She still teaches that theory today,” Peggy Ann says. “If you have a soft grip, smooth tempo and ‘let the club swing you,’ you have the start to a successful swing.” “ ‘G.P.A.’ is another — for grip, posture and alignment,” adds daughter Bonnie, who has followed her mom’s footsteps in teaching the resort’s Golfaris each May and September. “Those are her three keys for developing a great golf swing.” Armour, the Scottish pro who won three major championships and taught at the Boca Raton Club in Florida following his retirement in 1935, stressed to Peggy the importance of the high finish. “Hold the finish until the ball stops rolling,” Armour told her, the idea being that perfect balance at the finish was achieved only through proper tempo and execution of the full swing. Peggy watched Jack Nicklaus present a clinic on behalf of his clothing sponsor, Hart Shaffner and Marx, at Pine Needles in the early 1980s. Nicklaus talked about how the golf swing at its core was to “turn and return.” “The golf swing, in essence, is turning back and turning through,” Peggy has said in a thousand clinics and lessons. “If the idea is good enough for Jack Nicklaus, it’s good enough for me.” She talks of turning the belt buckle toward the target — a corollary to the “high-finish” dictum; of “pinching your knees” at address to brace your body on the insides of your feet and avoid lateral movement off the ball; of making a “low and slow” takeaway to promote good tempo and prevent premature lifting of the club on the backswing. Thousands of women have departed Pine Needles from Golfaris with golf gloves marked in thick red and black lines and black dots — Peggy’s handiwork to denote pressure points and grip placement in the hand. Son-in-law Pat McGowan, a former tour pro who now teaches full-time at Pine Needles, reached into his golf bag recently and found a white golf glove with Peggy’s tell-tale handiwork. “There are golf gloves all over the country with Peg’s markings,” he says with a smile. “The grip hasn’t changed in three hundred years.

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DEC. 24, 2011

Hold the club correctly. Have good posture. Get aimed right. I’ll wear one of them myself when I’m hitting balls just to remind myself of not only getting in the right position but having the proper pressure. Peg has always talked about grip pressure — that if you’re holding it too tight, your wrists won’t hinge and you lose distance.” The stories are legion of how Peggy Kirk Bell has touched someone in golf. Robert Haarlow moved to Southern Pines in the early 1970s to become the first headmaster at The O’Neal School, a private day school created by a number of area parents, among them Peggy and Bullet Bell. Haarlow’s son Chris loved to hit balls at a rudimentary range near the Southern Pines Elks Club, and Robert one day asked Peggy if he could help Chris learn the game. He took his first lesson from her at nine years of age. “She so graciously gave me the game of golf,” Haarlow says. “From lessons to range balls, she took me under her wing.” Haarlow took Peggy’s bedrock principles of having a good grip and “finishing high” and went on to become quite the accomplished player. He played collegiately at Guilford College in Greensboro, competed on the PGA Tour and now teaches golf at the Precision Golf School in Greensboro and operates the Triad Youth Golf Foundation, which promotes the game and offers playing opportunities to juniors in the Greensboro/Winston-Salem area. “She was that ignition, that spark,” Haarlow says. “She’s been that for me and literally thousands of people. That passion and spark she gave me years ago is still there today.” Haarlow created a tour for junior girl golfers in 2007 and approached Mrs. Bell about becoming the tour’s namesake. Today the Peggy Kirk Bell Girls’ Golf Tour is entering its sixth year, has 250 members and more than 20 tournaments every year. Through 2011, sixty-three participants have gone on to play college golf. The tour is not just about competition; it’s also about fostering sportsmanship, learning the rules and creating an environment where girls have fun — no matter if they shoot 77 or 107. “Peg’s gotten quite a charge in her later years being around these young girls,” McGowan says. “She’s so humble. She has no idea how many thousands of people she’s touched over 50 years. She’s still doing it today. “She’s an exceptional person,” Haarlow adds. “If just half the world were like Peggy Bell, this world would be an unbelievable Utopia.” PS

Downtown Southern Pines. Details coming soon.

P S T R A V ELER

True Deliverance

The unexpected pleasures of an unknown road to the edge of the world

By Claudia Watson

Recently, my husband and I spent a bone-rat-

tling day up in the high country trying to find a particular mountain-fed stream recommended by a fly-fishing guide. It was in the Wilson Creek area, a designated wilderness region in the Pisgah National Forest. But as with most guides, unless you are a paying customer, you’ll get directions — never the map.

We thought we had an easy day ahead, but within minutes of leaving the highway, the road turned from asphalt to gravel. After taking several wrong turns and backtracking, we finally found the guide’s landmarks, a Christmas tree farm and a collapsed chicken coop. Minutes later we were traveling down a narrow, steep dirt road and realized we’d probably missed the last, and most important, landmark — an abandoned, rusted tractor. So with no room to turn around and always game for an unplanned adventure, we journeyed on. It soon became apparent that we were heading into a gorge, so I pulled out the topographical map and attempted to read it as we bumped along the deeply rutted road. My rudimentary Girl Scout skills kicked in — I checked the supplies and water, and then I made a surreptitious reach for the pistol. As anyone who’s been in Pisgah knows, the trail system there is extensive and can be quite confusing. Roads are minimal and rustic, to say the least. There aren’t many alternatives, so if you find yourself hiking on a trail or road of any type, the best bet is to continue until you find a way out. The changing forest swallowed us. Its thick understory of mountain laurel and rhododendron kept the next bend in the trail hidden. But the longer we were on it, the more hopeful I became that we’d find an undiscovered fishing spot to make our adventure complete.

At each switchback, I’d eagerly look over the cliff for a waterfall pool or an accessible stream. But since there was nowhere to stash the truck and I’m not sure-footed in steep, rocky terrain, we decided it would be foolish to pursue the stream in the name of a fish. Eventually we came to a cluster of rough-looking pick ups, most without windows and door handles, but the first evidence of human life in miles. I was hopeful that this was a fishing spot, as I could see a pretty stream tumbling over rocks. But from the look of the crowd of characters standing around, there wasn’t much fishing going on and this wasn’t where I wanted to spend the afternoon, so we moved on. I could swear I heard the banjos in the distance. Finally, an hour into our downhill adventure, we came to the end of the road — an isolated little settlement buried deep in the Pisgah — nothing more than a few deserted buildings. We’d arrived somewhere, though I wasn’t sure where there was, but it had the most beautiful wide clear stream. The smell of rich, moist earth and spicy watercress filled the air. I climbed onto the moss-covered rocks looking for a sweet spot in the water to fish only to have multiple “No Trespassing” signs dash my hope, again. A bit farther down the road, we discovered a white-framed country store positioned high on cinderblocks. We peered into the windows and wiggled the locked doorknob, and soon the bearded owner, who had a pistol tucked into his belt, greeted us. A talkative fellow, he explained how the old store, which used to house a post office, was built in the late 1800s. It had survived the Great Depression and many floods, including one in the ’40s that moved the store downstream to rest against a tree, where it still remains. Its wide plank floors carried the dings of the ages, but its shiny galvanized stamped metal ceiling still looked new. He led us through the store’s narrow aisles and showed us his collection of animal skeletons, World War II trinkets, liniment bottles and old typewriters. Then, seeming to trust us, he slipped a rusty key ring from his pocket and unlocked a dimly lit back room, motioning us in. Cobwebs hung from the corners, and the windows were caked with dust. As

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November 2011

P S T R A V ELER

APPAREL

he flicked on a dangling light bulb, we saw shelves stuffed with hundreds of mint-condition, stillpackaged NASCAR models. He and my husband swapped racing stories and good-ol’ boy laughs, then he smiled widely offering the colorful inventory to us for $25,000. We looked at each other and back at him, wondering how this collection of NASCAR memorabilia ended up in this unmarked museum at the edge of the world. Not really wanting to know the answer, we continued the small talk and warily walked out of the little hideaway toward the front door, purchasing some stale Nabs and flat sodas while thanking him for his hospitality. But before we left, we asked about fishing the sparkling stream across the road. We’d come all this way, we explained, and hoped to tease some trout from the rushing water. Did he know the landowner? Could we get permission? We offered to pay for the privilege. He looked at us and without hesitation gruffly explained that access to the stream, from his store

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to the bend in the road, was private property and the trespassing law was enforced with a shotgun. Then, touching the rim of his threadbare cap, he gave a slight nod and returned to his store, locking the door behind him. I turned for a last look at that pretty stream and figured we’d just lost out on a great deal. If we’d purchased that NASCAR collection, we could’ve become the new owners of the country store, all its relics, and had access to a gorgeous stretch of Blue Ridge Water — a genuine fishing camp for all to envy — if they could only find it. Venturing off in our truck, we followed the stream up to the bend in the road until we found another road rarely taken and began our trip home. We didn’t hook or even see a fish all day, but we spent hours together, exploring and laughing like kids. Getting there, wherever there was, was half the adventure. The rest of it, time with my husband, my best friend, was priceless. PS Claudia Watson is a frequent contributor to Pinestraw and may be reached at cwatson87@nc.rr.com.

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November 2011

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P LE A S URE S O F LI F E

The Junk Drawer

Treasures or trash, its contents make up the story of a life

By Tom Allen

I have a drawer. Some might call it a

junk drawer. It’s in our bedroom. My wife controls the nine drawers of the dresser. I have five in a chest of drawers on the other side of the room. It’s the top drawer of the chest that’s my most revered area of storage and has been for the twenty years we’ve been married.

About this time of year, I pull out the drawer and make my way through its contents. Sometimes I throw a few items away, like a gas receipt that’s several months old or a broken golf tee. Sometimes I’ll find a piece of paper that needs to be filed in another drawer. Occasionally I’ll finish off a bag of M & M’s that mysteriously found its way into the drawer. I keep a couple of old cell phones in the drawer, state quarters I’ve saved with my kids, a set of earplugs that fall out of my ears, and six empty boxes that hold some of the Caithness paperweights my wife gives me for our anniversary. There’s a map of North Carolina, a pedometer, a piece of sandpaper, old eyeglass cases, a money clip with my initials, two postage-paid bags for recycling printer cartridges, four watches, three dead batteries, two plastic rulers, and a partridge in a pear tree. That’s about half of what’s in the drawer. The drawer holds a few keepsakes, too, like the Elgin pocket watch my ninety-year-old dad gave me. A railroad conductor gave it to him when Dad was in his twenties. There are three Morgan silver dollars, gifts from my grandfather when I was born. There were seven, but we sold four after our daughters were born and used the money to start their college funds. My wife gave me one of the watches. It’s inscribed with our wedding date, a gift to replace the watch she gave me on our wedding day, a watch I thought I’d lost, but found months after she gave me the second timepiece. But it’s the not-so-obvious keepsakes that also make the drawer much more than a holding pen for personal junk. As I mentioned, the drawer holds several eyeglass cases. A few contain old glasses; the rest are empty. Don’t know why I keep the empty cases, except for one. It’s an olive-colored case that held a pair of glasses I wore until the summer of 1999. That year, the church I serve hosted a group of children from the Republic of Belarus. These kids lived in areas contaminated by radiation fallout from the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear accident. Their stay in the Sandhills gave some respite from living in that unstable area. One of

those children, Sasha, came to live with us for six weeks, then returned every summer for the next seven years. That first summer, a couple in our church invited the children and their host families for a day at the beach. For most of the children, this was their first time in the Atlantic. The waves were high and rough that day, but the kids had the time of their lives. I had my glasses on, standing in waist-deep water, joking to my wife that if a wave hit just right, those glasses would be history. A minute later, a real pounder knocked me down, throwing me against the shell-laden sand and sweeping my glasses into the churning water. A frantic search began. After a few minutes, we knew our efforts were futile. The wife of the couple who’d invited us drove me to an optical shop. We called my eye doctor in Southern Pines for the prescription. A couple of hours later, I could see clearly again. That’s one story the empty case reminds me of, but there’s another. The church member who drove me to the optical shop called about a year later. Her daughter had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. “Pray for her,” she said. A few years, she called again. She’d been diagnosed with the same cancer. We prayed, again. Today, she, like her daughter, is winning the battle she’s waged against that disease, and both are doing great. Throw away that empty olive-colored glass case? Not a chance. But I think I may drop those pairs of glasses off at a Lions Club collection site. They’ll use them to help other people see. I could mail a couple of old cells phones in those pre-paid envelopes and reduce my carbon footprint. I may even hook the pedometer to my belt the next time I visit the fitness center and see how many of my steps are in a mile. What’s in your junk drawer? Probably some things that need to be discarded or a few items whose destination is yet to be determined, but no doubt, there are some simple treasures, cherished reminders of your journey and of the people whose lives and stories have intersected with yours. One person’s treasure might be another’s trash, but the treasures and trash, the jewels and junk, those are the things that make up our lives; those are the threads that weave the tapestry of our story. Most of the stuff in my junk drawer will probably stay right where it is until next fall, when I take another inventory. But every time I open it, I’ll be graciously reminded of the ebb and flow of life, mine as well as others, and of how grateful I am to be a part of its ever-flowing stream. PS Tom Allen is minister of education at First Baptist Church, Southern Pines, and a frequent contributor to PineStraw.

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

November 2011

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A Far Distant Cry

November 2011

We’ve come full compass, the year and I, in this new northern land. This solitary planet has once again turned and tilted on its axis, offering a moment briefly suspended — the season of instinctual gathering, of selves, of inner and outer stores; a golden swath of time that parts the glow of summer memories and the approaching winter’s bundled slumber. Fragrant wood smoke envelops my senses and the graceful lace of branches becomes still and stark against a blue paper sky. Vibrant, crisp light, that singular late autumn creature perches gently on my shoulder and caresses my hair, beckoning something deep within, wordless and waiting. The sound of muted trumpets rise and fall as winter geese wedge themselves through bright, cut-glass air all the way to the hard horizon, a vanishing point, leading south, to the land of my birth. Oh, the sight, the sound, fills me with such longing! How I ache to let loose wild, wishful wings, feathered in the last of the season’s fiery leaves, and allow the wind to take my body, to sweep my lonely spirit up and away, following them along their ancient migratory path, toward my heart’s home and the hushed notes of a far, far distant cry...

— Melinda Kemp Lyerly

Turkey Day Disasters Give thanks and tender mercies for Thanksgivings that come off as planned — though flying turkeys and fighting dogs make some unforgettable. Illustrations By Meridith Martens

or most of us, Thanksgiving represents the year’s highlight of family and food — a gathering of the tribe that leaves everyone pleasantly stuffed and eager for a nap. A dear friend of ours, however, likes to tell the story of her family’s most memorable Thanksgiving dinner, a four-legged disaster that’s fortunately recounted with a chuckle every year. Seems she and her future daughter-in-law worked for two days to put out an impressive spread of treasured family recipes and traditional favorites, including a large turkey that could feed at least a dozen. When the table was set, a setting worthy of a Martha Stewart shoot, before the guests all sat down, the host proposed that everyone step outside and gather in a circle, join hands and speak from their hearts about gratitude. Pretty soon they stood in a lovely circle of family and friends, each reflecting on the beauty and meaning of the day. Unfortunately, the house’s two rather elderly beagles were nowhere to be seen. “It didn’t take any more than ten minutes to go outside and do that blessing,” she recalls with a shudder. “But that was just long enough for disaster to strike.” Back inside, they were horrified to find the beagles standing on the table helping themselves to Thanksgiving dinner. “Basically, they’d sampled every dish and eaten half the turkey. Each was working a different end of the table.” Fortunately, a local inn agreed to take their party of twelve. “We were, aptly, very grateful for that.” Her story made us wonder about other memorable Turkey Day disasters. Luckily, several friends of PineStraw had some real doozies, making us even more thankful.

v While growing up in western Nebraska, Uncle Joe and Aunt Grytha traditionally hosted Thanksgiving dinner at their ranch. The uncles and aunts ate at the fancy table in the big room while we cousins were relegated to the long plank table in the kitchen.

On this particular holiday the blessing had been asked, and Aunt Grytha went about serving up the food for the grown-ups. She lifted the huge tom turkey onto his platter, turned, started for the door and tripped. Mr. Tom in all his golden glory slid off the platter and skidded across the kitchen floor. With nary a break in stride, our aunt picked up the turkey, dusted him off with her apron and plopped him back on his platter. “What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em,” she said, glared at us with a look which sealed our lips, and marched off to serve Mr. Tom.

Marjorie Hopkins, Southern Pines

v Paraphrasing Franklin Roosevelt, Thanksgiving 1985 was, for me, a day of infamy, or at least, the stuff that memories are made of. For the first time, I was cooking a holiday dinner and trusting Gourmet magazine for a complete dinner menu and recipes. The menu consisted of mashed potatoes with Gorgonzola cheese; green beans with prosciutto and shredded lettuce; stuffing with Italian sausage and hazelnuts; cranberry relish with raisins and orange zest; and a turkey flavored with Kahlua liqueur. I basted the turkey thoroughly with Kahlua, plugged in a timer and popped the turkey in the oven. At serving time, I pulled the roasting pan from the oven and gasped; my ample avian was cloaked with a black, charcoal crust, looking more like the Maltese Falcon than holiday fare. After I scraped off the charcoal carapace, the turkey was edible ... barely. Apparently, the Kahlua basting should have been applied after the turkey was cooked, prior to serving. When Gourmet magazine went out of business, I toasted its demise with – what else? – a glass of Kahlua.

Barry Tompkins, Whispering Pines

T U R K E Y DAY D I S A S T E R S

I’ll never forget Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ house when I was fourteen years old. The grownups had been drinking Mai Tais while preparing our feast. Very curious, I crept into the kitchen once it had cleared out, and stealthily grabbed what I believed to be a large glass of this mysterious brew. I drew it to my lips and took a large gulp of rendered turkey fat. What a truly disgusting lesson to learn! To this day, I still haven’t tasted a real Mai Tai.

Angel Smith, Pinehurst

v I think about Thanksgiving mishaps and I remember some things undercooked and some overcooked and some things left forgotten in the refrigerator. I do remember that the first turkey I cooked that was finally ready at 2:30 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving would have been upsetting to most people, but I remember laughing and being thankful for instant leftovers.

Judy Broadhurst, Southern Pines

v We brought the turkey and the deep fryer, but didn’t thaw the turkey correctly. So, off to Walmart I went hoping to find a turkey. I did, but it was frozen. We googled how to thaw a turkey quickly and safely and then called a friend. We ended up soaking it in cool water for an hour and a half, then let it sit in a sink with tepid water running over it for another two hours. Next, we set up the cooker — we turned the heat on the pot without anything in it — and it blew out the bottom of the pot. Forty-five minutes later we had a new pot. The thermometer for the oil was not working, so now we had to guess how hot the oil was. Now, the turkey went in — the oil was way too hot, the turkey was still wet from defrosting — the oil shot about 10 feet in the air from the pot, falling all around the burner and igniting the paper towels that someone had placed on the ground under the burner to clean up the peanut oil that had spilled. We figured the turkey would cook in about 30 minutes as opposed to an hour because the oil was so hot. Eventually everyone did sit down for dinner.

My parents snipped starches from their diet a few years back with no exceptions. Not even for Thanksgiving. So I helped peel, chop and hack at an insurmountable quantity of vegetables until the wee hours of the morning on the eve of Thanksgiving. Admittedly, the breadless spread was stunning: a colorful medley of deep oranges and dark greens. Moments before digging in, my grandfather asked where the stuffing was. His lip quivered at the response. “But we can’t have Thanksgiving without stuffing.” And so dinner waited. My dad drove to the deli and bought a tub of the pre-made stuff.

Ashley Wahl, Southern Pines/Greensboro Every Thanksgiving dinner that I’ve ever been present for was exactly like the Norman Rockwell painting.

Doug Gill, Southern Pines Outside Southern Pines, Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving. The food, foxhunting and family can’t be replicated in Mexico, Ireland, Haiti or Nicaragua, but my biggest flop was Mexico. As a college sophomore with hardly any experience cooking, I thought I could tackle my favorite dish, green bean casserole, but man was I wrong. Of course, I couldn’t find essentials like French’s French Fried Onions in Chedraui’s, Mexico’s Walmart, so I worked with what I could find. Mistake one: baking frozen green beans without boiling them first. Mistake two: using breading from onion rings I found in the frozen foods section as the French’s substitute topping. I hate to even refer to this dish as green bean casserole because had it resembled the dish at all, I wouldn’t have thrown five pounds of it away. Hopefully this year, I won’t be cooking… .

Cassie Butler, Southern Pines

Dee Partridge, Hollywood, SC PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

T U R K E Y DAY D I S A S T E R S

Back in the mid-1990s, I was a bachelor living in northern Kentucky. Family came up for Thanksgiving dinner. I volunteered to cook. Didn’t know much about cooking a turkey and didn’t bother to read the instructions — male hubris, I suppose. By the time family arrived, the turkey was cooked, yet frozen inside. Dinner was nearly ruined, but thankfully the local Chinese restaurant was open.

mighty chorus went up from the table, “You’ve never heard of the little boy who cried wolf?” The poor thing shrank into her chair and whimpered, “But I’ve never had dinner here before.”

Tom Embrey, Southern Pines

I grew up in Southern California and am the third child of George and Ziggy Ertter. My mother is 100 percent Spanish and father 100 percent German. When it came to Thanksgiving dinner, the German cook in the house, my father, ruled the kitchen. I loved to watch him do his thing, pull out the innards, wash the turkey, season with such detail, oh, and always tons of butter. Butter, butter and more butter, I guess, is the German way. Anyway, at 18, 31 years ago, I left home for school in Denver, settled in and made instant friends. I loved my new groove in Denver. My first Thanksgiving away from home, I insisted on making the turkey. Christine and her partner Sherry made the sweet potato casserole, Dennis and Tom made the rolls and bread, Kim and Steve made some sort of cranberry tart and Mike and I were to make the turkey. All went well, each of us focused on our task to make the perfect Thanksgiving dinner. It snowed that day, all day, really piling up. So much so that even a short drive was out of the question. So Mike and I walked; we walked through at least three feet of snow, I carried that turkey, taking humongous steps, walking past people digging out their cars, with one goal ... getting my first turkey to the dinner on time ... almost there, one block to go ... I dropped the whole turkey pot into a three-foot snowbank. The cranberry tarts, sweet potato casserole and home-made bread were amazing.

v One year, my father, after checking the turkey, closed the oven door, and for some unexplainable reason, pulled the level to lock the appliance and begin the self cleaning cycle. We tried to re-open it with screwdrivers, and then crowbars, but nothing would open that infernal door. My dad put in a call to our repair man, who said, “I’m real sorry to hear about that, Mr. Cutler, but some powerful cleansing agents are released into the oven when you close that door, and for your protection, it isn’t going to open.” My mother called the club and said fifteen of us would like to join them for Thanksgiving, and my dad pulled the plug so the extra-clean turkey wouldn’t catch fire and burn the house down.

Geoff Cutler, Southern Pines

v My son and I and his chocolate Lab Jasper go to my sister’s for Thanksgiving dinner. Her two Jack Russells hurl themselves like wrecking balls against the storm door. Inside, it’s total dog bedlam. Jasper urinates on the floor, sits in it, stands and wags her tail, flinging urine all over everyone. Then my cousin Laura arrives with her dogs Floppy Girl and Hobo. There’s a terrible dog fight in the dining room. Blood is everywhere. Floppy Girl’s ear is torn by the Jack Russells. Jasper sniffs crotches under the table. I offer grace: “Lord, help me stomach all I can.”

Betsey Mitchell, Pinehurst

Billie Ertter, Southern Pines

Stephen E. Smith, Southern Pines

v Thanksgiving was under way with four unexpected guests: a group of youngsters whose own dinner plans had failed. Turkey carved, stuffing praised when the conversation turned to my aunt, who related a story about a friend who had been calling her with a series of less-thanurgent problems. Mom punctuated the story with, “Well, perhaps she has cried wolf once too often.” One of our surprise guests was perplexed and asked for clarification. A

T U R K E Y DAY D I S A S T E R S

For many years, women in my family have been making turkey by putting it in a brown paper bag and baking it. I used a Today Show recipe, by infusing the turkey in bourbon the day before. Thanksgiving afternoon, the marinated Butterball set in a brown paper bag in the oven. As friends and family lounged in our living room, we heard the oven door explode open. The bourbon turkey was in flames. Husband Randy extinguished the fire. If anyone is interested, the food was delicious. The story is a holiday tradition in our house, at my expense.

Ellen Mantel Pfann, Pinehurst

v On a Christmas Eve in the 1950s, at the home of Great Aunt Frances in the first year that our family lived in the city (that is always New York City), having moved in from Manhasset, Long Island, going to the Thanksgiving Parade was a MUST. Sleeping a little later than we meant to, we practically ran from our apartment at Madison and 64th across Central Park to our chosen watching spot, the parking lot of Tavern on the Green, dragging our eight-year-old behind us. We arrived just in time to see the back of Santa on his float, the tail end, post balloons, conclusion to the annual parade. Alas. The next year we arrived perfectly on time and enjoyed looking down on much of the parade from our vantage above Central Park West, again in the Tavern on the Green parking lot. There was even a huge bonus. Walter Cronkite, his wife Betsy, and some of their family, including a precious toddler boy, were there with us. Not crowded, a Godsend in the city, particularly on celebration days. We simply basked in our good fortune. The following year we followed our recipe for perfection, as did the Cronkites. One BIG problem. The parking lot was filled to overflowing with people I had told what a good location it was to watch the parade. Neither the Cronkites, nor my family members, were pleased. I was the turkey of the day.

Lucille Buck, Pinehurst

In Neosho, Mo., we boys and men waited with growing hunger as women labored in the kitchen. Finally the lights were dimmed, candles lit, and Frances triumphantly entered the dining room, carrying a giant platter. Then she tripped on the rug and fell, sending the turkey and all the proverbial fixin’s crashing to the floor. She wept and wailed, as I recall. But what the heck. After a good rinse and a pat-dry, everything tasted even better.

Steve Bouser, Southern Pines

v My most memorable Thanksgiving dinner was the one that almost didn’t happen! My mother somehow managed to get all of her eight children together for a Thanksgiving feast only to discover late morning that the heating element in the oven had broken. The 25 lb. turkey was stone cold, and her guests were getting hungry and a little tipsy! We ended up cooking the turkey at my brother’s apartment. By the time the turkey was finally cooked, we were almost too tired to eat! Yet it was the best Thanksgiving we ever had!

Deborah Barber, Pinebluff

v I was born into a family, a large family, of visitors. Most every occasion found us visiting a relative. Holidays were almost always spent at someone else’s home. Thanksgiving was, for us, about eating, not preparing. We were told we just needed to bring an appetite. Then, I married into a family who had a glorious aunt who insisted on hosting and preparing everything for Thanksgiving. Again, we were just told to bring an appetite. One year, long after we both had children, my sister and I decided that we wanted to cook our families a turkey dinner. We headed to a local supermarket, bought a frozen turkey and proceeded to the checkout. Chattering on about all the great food we were planning on serving in a few hours, we were interrupted by a sweet teenage backwoods of Georgia girl who informed us that that turkey would NOT be thawed until the next day. I’m sure the whole store had a big laugh after we two old women left with a chicken breast. Since then, I’ve learned to bake, fry and grill a turkey, as has my sister!

Kelly Miller. Greensboro PS

Making An American Quilt Piece by piece, they create a legacy of love

By nIcole whIte • PhotograPhs By cassIe Butler

The afternoon sun

filtered through the kaleidoscope of color and patterns that draped over the large quilting frame. A handful of women surrounded the tightly pulled fabric, their fingers deftly moving up and down, in and out. There was a lull in the conversation. A young girl, sitting cross-legged underneath the quilt frame surrounded by folds of material, looked up and cocked her head. “I would just listen to all that gossip,” remembers my grandma with a laugh. “Now that was an education for a young girl!” So started my grandmother Deanna’s interest in quilting. From mother to daughter, generation to generation, it was a skill passed down first as a necessity and ultimately, a passion to create art. The traditional American quilt goes back to early Colonial times when money was scarce and most milled or woven cloth was an ocean away. Early American quilts were undeniably built around function rather than display, but evolution into an expressive art form was inevitable. Just as a sculpture uses clay and a painter uses his brushes, quilting allows the creator untapped self-expression through fabrics, patterns, colors and stitching. For some, the purpose was depicting or honoring relationships through friendship or album quilts. For others, it was achieving a sense of immortality, knowing their legacy would be cherished and kept through an heirloom quilt. Quilting was spawned in an era when women were taught to sew, but not taught engineering, science or design. In the early 19th century, when little else was offered to women, quilting encouraged the creator’s use of math, geometry, precision and color articulation. Those skills necessary to create a great quilt gave these women means for their creative genius — women who today we might find in a science lab, a courtroom, or at an operating table. As basic utility gave way to artistic exploration, quilting also became an important social gathering. Both an educational forum and a therapeutic “sisterhood,” quilting allowed a certain sensibility for the American woman after the classically austere environment of early American history. The quilt grew to symbolize American ingenuity, idealization and the coming together of all different backgrounds and cultures in the mixture of fabrics, color, and techniques. So popular became the art form that even today 21 million people in the U.S. express themselves through quilting. For my grandma, whose quilts have won her lauded praise from revered

Left and above: “Vincent’s Sunﬂower Daze” by Judy Petersen.

“Fandango” by Judy Petersen

“Angels Among Us” by Ellene Place

“Heart in Bloom” by Frances Yoder (hand quilted)

“No Foxes Allowed” by Ellene Place quilters to incredulous grandchildren, quilting came naturally. She was born to Mennonite German-speaking parents in the flat farm fields of South Dakota, and nearly all the women of her family were quilters, so it wasn’t a big jump for Deanna to go from sewing proficiently at age ten to quilting soon after. Function always came first in my grandma’s family. Her grandmother, the daughter of immigrants, had lived through the Great Depression and saved even old toilet paper rolls in the belief that everything could be re-purposed. These old quilts were typically made of scraps — my grandfather’s flannel shirts, the cousin’s overalls, curtains from an old house, or that one dress my grandma had always hated. No matter the pile of odds and ends, rhyme and reason would soon appear on my grandma’s cutting table. “Quilting satisfies a craving for creating,” says Deanna. “Making something both beautiful and unusual gives me a real sense of accomplishment.” Deanna’s favorite part of the process is simple: “I love taking yards of fabric, cutting it up in little pieces, and then sewing it all back together again.” It is this most base element that makes my grandpa shake his head in wonder, confiding, “She says she’s making a log cabin, but it don’t look like a log cabin to me!” And then he smiles with a knowing twinkle, “Quilting is to Deanna what tractors are to me. It’s her life.” And boy, is she good at it. Quilter of the Year last year and president of the Quilt Guild for the last two years, Deanna’s 40 - 50 quilts and wall-hangings have won her countless blue ribbons and a reputation to be proud of. From my grandma’s burgeoning quilt guild in Northern Montana to the Sandhills Quilters Guild (SQG) here in our community, one of quilting’s most important modern purposes is as an offering of love and hope. Using their talents to both figuratively and literally warm and comfort those in need, these quilters make an impact on the souls and the bodies of the homeless, addicts, babies, the elderly and even soldiers abroad. “Now that I’m finished with all the kids’ and grandkids’ quilts, my real focus is on missions,” says Deanna, whose current projects [she is in the middle of quite a few] include another quilt for the Men’s Shelter in Spokane, Wash. In over four years, their quilt guild has made more than 50 different quilts for the shelter. “The bunk dimensions require PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

“Fort Sumter Stars” by Mary Abbott Williams (was awarded best hand quilting in the 2010 NC State Fair)

a unique size quilt, 61" x 90", something impossible to buy in a store,” shares Deanna. On a cold northern night, the shelter houses close to 200 men, and the most popular room to stay in, the quilt guild has learned, is the room with all these colorful, hand-made tokens of comfort. Here on a local level, the Sandhills Quilters Guild reaches out in similar ways, making up to 30 quilts each year for the Quilts of Valor Foundation. The mission of this national organization is to provide every wounded soldier with a hand-made quilt. Through the foundation, the SQG has had a significant impact, touching many of the wounded soldiers in this community. In another project, the SQG set out to create 82 different quilts for the 82nd Airborne. In an incredible outpouring by other community members and quilt guilds, over 160 quilts were collected and parachuted in by members of the 82nd Airborne Division. Each quilt that was given to a wounded soldier included the name of the soldier who jumped it in. Just as the heroism of these wounded soldiers inspired the quilt makers, the quilt gives inspiration and healing to the one who received it. The heartfelt, hand-made token of appreciation meant so much to the psyche of some of these wounded warriors that one soldier told the Sandhills Quilters Guild, he had a feeling of emotional nakedness when he was without his quilt. “We do this to say thanks [to the soldier] and we care about you,” says Linda James, a member of the Sandhills Guild. “We put our heart and soul into these quilts.” James’ husband, Craig, was so drawn to this outreach that he started quilting alongside his wife in order to see more men and women receive the quilts whose healing power was so evident. “He was unhappy I wasn’t making more quilts for this specific organization, so he said ‘teach me’,” says James. Craig James has gone on not only to create many Quilts of Valor himself, but also won “best new quilter” award at a local show soon after. The Sandhills Quilt Guild has also recently supplied 19 quilts to the newly opened McLeanHospitality House at FirstHealth and is starting to make quilts for the program “Friend to Friend.” These projects are in addition to their steadfast supply for Habitat for Humanity, area nursing homes and the Sandhills Children’s Center. As traditional as a hand-made quilt might sound, Joan DeBruin from the Sandhills Quilters Guild is quick to point out that many modern quilts are “not your grandma’s quilts,” speaking to the diversity in techniques and even products used. From the use of paints and photographs to shading, computerization and even embellishments like beads, modern quilts fall under the category of art quilt, and epitomize the scope of change that has come from the traditional bed quilt. In what has been estimated to be a $3.5 billion industry by the 2010 Quilting in America Study, quilters spend on average nearly $220 million every year on their hobby. The century-old hoop, frame and quilting bee image has evolved to reflect significant changes in technology. Now there are long-arm quilters who use a special sewing machine to make intricate stitching over the surface of taut, stable fabric. In addition, the advent of tools like the rotary cutter have changed the entire landscape of quilting offering exponentially more precision, ease and speed to the cutting process. “With the mid-arm and long arm, the quilter can use that machine as if it is a pencil or a pen or a paintbrush and ‘draw’ to make this incredible work of art,” says DeBruin. It is a technical evolution that has changed quilting, significantly from even a decade ago. Quilting is also finding increasing popularity among young people, many of whom are exploring every extreme in the modern quilting trend. In some modern quilts, notes Mary Abbott Williams of the SQG, the different layers of a quilt, i.e., the top, batting and backing, are united without even any use of thread as people experiment with twine, rivets, etc. These modern quilters don’t follow any particular rules and much of this new movement is a reflection of the limited time younger artists have to spend on projects. “This kind of trend tends to be more minimalistic. The focus is more on color and style,” says James. On the other end of the spectrum is a miniature quilt such as Mary Abbot

“Anna LaFrance” by Linda James

“Untitled” by Judy Petersen (a Judy Petersen original design) Williams’ replica that involved over 100 hours of hand quilting and three months of painstaking appliqué and piecing. It is a project she worked on every day for those three months. This 22.5 x 22.5 mini quilt contains stitching on nearly every square millimeter of fabric, featuring the most minute perfection and attention to detail. For most, quilting comes through years of mentorship, teaching, and observation. For others, it is mostly a self-taught skill. “I’ve been quilting since God was a small boy in short pants,” declares DeBruin. “For years and years I never took a class because I never had time. I would just figure out what I needed to know.” DeBruin now participates in every class she can, slightly incredulous that she waited so long. Pat Scheideler-Kern’s passion for quilting came because of the quilters themselves. “The quilt guild is such a wonderful sisterhood,” says Scheideler-Kern. “Quilting is basically all I do now,” Even on vacation, Scheideler-Kern brings along her current quilting project. The inspiration is in the versatility for Jackie Wells. “I just want to do it all!”

she says. A visual ode to Wells’ favorite animal, the giraffe, Momma’s Got Bling is as whimsical as it is creative. Depicting a colorful momma and baby giraffe, the quilt showcases bling in the momma’s ears as fluttering butterflies. It is a quilt, Wells says, “You just can’t help but smile at.” Quilting is an art that relishes the process. Yes, there is satisfaction in the result, but the fascination is in the journey. As provoking as Van Gogh’s Starry Night, a quilt likewise stirs the imagination and inspires. It is part of the American heritage that is rich in ingenuity, persistence and creativity. I cherish my own quilt all the more knowing it is a tangible piece of both my history and my grandmother’s love. With the iconic crackling fire and a good book, I wrap myself in my quilt and I am wrapped in her arms. I smell her and feel her and hear her voice. No matter the distance or the years, there is power in the quilt that transcends both. PS Nicole White, a transplant to the Sandhills, loves exploring the unknown: discovering people and uncovering stories. She can be reached at nicolekwhite@gmail.com

Horse Sense Rather than whispering to her horses, Carla Wennberg “listens and learns”

By Dedi McHamm

“I love horses that have a little bit of a problem because I feel that if you can work through the problems, they turn

into great horses,” says Carla Wennberg, instructor and coach at the Equestrian Center at St. Andrews University in Laurinburg. “I’ve had many great teachers,” she says — Joey Darby, Mike Rosser, Don Sheehan and Bill Long, to name just a few, from the Pinehurst and Southern Pines area. But what makes a great student, she says, is “listening and learning.” And that means listening to and learning from the horses you’re training. Wennberg’s first three horses (she’s had 10) taught her nearly as much as all the other instructors she’s had since then. Step was the first step in Wennberg’s equine education. A bright sorrel, Step looked like a copper penny. At 16 hands, he was a large, heavily muscled Quarter Horse, very athletic with a beautiful neck. But as a baby, he had been through seven owners. Wennberg, who was only 13 at the time, instantly saw his distrust and understood where his bronky, snorty and quirky behavior came from. But how to alter it? “I probably didn’t give him enough credit, by petting him and telling him when he did good, letting him feel good about himself,” she says. Wennberg now realizes that “because of his nervousness, he was probably thinking, ‘I don’t know what to do,’ so he would react badly.” Together Step and Wennberg learned the essentials: “We learned together to side pass, turn around, leg yield, and also trail classes and reining. It was a relationship in confidence.” Learning through direct interaction with a

horse is a lesson she’s now passing on to others. “I try to teach my students how to deal with situations instead of my getting on their horse to correct the problem. I teach them how to get the job done.” But Wennberg says she also had “good teachers who taught me how to figure out the problem and get the job done.” Dr. Jim Heird and Lynn Palm were her instructors as a teenager. “I’ve had Lynn Palm throughout my life, and even today, we share dressage information together and compete together. She has been a very thoughtful instructor.” Wennberg won many state and regional awards with Step, an American Quarter Horse Association Youth Supreme Champion. The little horse, so undisciplined and afraid, allowed his child trainer to bring him to his full potential Born in Concord, Massachusetts, Wennberg and her family moved to Southern Pines when she was 7. When Wennberg was a teenager, they moved to a farm next to L. P. Tate’s Starland Farm on Midland Road, which is now Long Leaf. This is where Wennberg grew up. Tate was a very dear friend of the family and he let Wennberg ride on his property, even ride on his racetrack. Likewise, other horsemen in the area took an interest in her, perhaps seeing her propensity for becoming a great horsewoman. Tom Raffles, an Appendix Quarter Horse, was her next challenge. A trainer found Raffles, a horse with no show record or experience, in New Mexico. Watching this 16’2 horse being ridden on videotape made Wennberg’s mouth water. She couldn’t wait to get on him and flew out at Thanksgiving to ride him. Her father said, “Go out and try the horse. This is going to be your horse, and I want this to be your decision.” Wennberg immediately recognized that he was a good mover, had beauti-

ful extension and carried himself well. “I saw him as the hunter type that was in Southern Pines,” she says. Wennberg was 16. Admittedly she had gained some knowledge in how to deal with problem horses, but this horse was far from a pushover. Raffles would test her mettle. “Tom Raffles was not going to be my buddy,” she says. “He was all business — and very territorial. You didn’t go into his stall without announcing yourself.” But his good traits outweighed his bad ones: “He was attentive when we were working,” she says. “I could think of something, and he would do it. He was that intelligent and intuitive.” Tom Raffles turned out to be Wennberg’s three-time World Champion in AQHA World Shows. Spirit, a Hanoverian, was Wennberg’s third horse and nothing like Tom Raffles. She describes him as a “needy boyfriend.” And maybe that’s just what Wennberg needed at the time. In the beginning, he had been sold at auction to a horse farm in Germany. Then he ended up in France, where he was sold several times. Someone in Wellington, Florida, offered Spirit to a trainer Wennberg was using at the time, Dennis Callin in Raleigh. He told Wennberg, “He’s a lovely horse and he’s in our price range, but he’s horrible on the ground. If you can deal with that, you’ll love this horse.” Whenever Wennberg rode Spirit, she fell in love with him. But she was scared to death of him on the ground: “I knew this was something I would have to deal with. He would paw and bite at you.” And he was constantly fussing. “He was looking for you to whip him, swishing his tail and flattening his ears in anger.” When she’d put Spirit into a stall, he would lick the whole stall, then back himself into a corner and stand really quiet. “He was telling me he was very insecure because he didn’t know who to trust.” Nevertheless, Wennberg decided to take him on as a project because he was a joy to ride. “This horse had some good basic training already, so I did the ‘Quarter Horse’ things I knew in order to cope with this horse’s anger.” Lots of round pen work followed. She sacked him out and taught him how to tie in a stall, hobbled him, and did groundwork she’d been taught by Western horsemen. “It took me all of a year to get him to where I could trust him without being ill tempered,” she says. “The first horse show, I thought I was going to have to ear him down to get the bridle on him.” As predicted, Spirit was, in fact, horrible. “It was all about him. He would do weird things. When I took him out of the barn sometimes, he would jerk me off my feet just like he was a stud horse. I’d never see it coming.” Yes, Spirit lived up to his name and was a real nut case, “but I ended up absolutely loving him,” she says, and he reciprocated: “He would look for me, neigh to me.” Throughout her four decades of exposure and experience, Wennberg has been named Professional Horsewoman of the Year at the Quarter Horse Convention and has been honored as Clinician for the Youth World Cup. What have horses taught Wennberg? “I have learned that when I think I can fix a thing, that’s not always true,” she says. “And that’s an important lesson.” At least, she says, “I kind of know what I’m getting into.” Over the years she says she’s learned to “read horses fairly well and can tell which ones I can work with.” Most of all, Wennberg says, “I have learned to be a great behaviorist, probably better with horses than people.” Her students might not agree with her. PS

the hu m b l e j ud g e

Over the years, Carla Wennberg has taught at the University of Colorado, the University of Georgia and now at St. Andrews University. She’s also trained Arabian horses for singer Kenny Rogers at his 1,200-acre farm in Colbert, Ga. But she is perhaps best known as a judge. Wennberg has judged the American Quarter Horse Association’s World Show ten times and the American Quarter Horse Congress twice — not to mention being a steward at several Nations Cups. Wennberg says even as a young rider, she was interested in judging. In college at the University of Georgia, she took horse judging as part of her animal science major. She says she’s always loved the thought process and critical thinking that judging requires. Not surprisingly, she got an early start: “A judge from Georgia, Mr. Bill Springer, gave me several calls to judge open shows and 4-H, and it gave me lots of experience as a young adult,” she says. “I judged open for about four years before applying for a breed card. At 25 years old, you can apply, and I did and passed first time when I went for live and written tests in Texas.” Wennberg has been an AQHA judge for 25 years, and has judged for the National Reining Horse Association and National Snaffle Bit Association for 23 years. Judging has taken her to six foreign countries, including Australia, and to every state in the union. She has judged 11 World Championships for AQHA, two European Nationals and two Australian Nationals. She also stewarded the World Games. Ten years ago she became a steward for reining with Federation Equestrian International. “The World Games was the best,” says Wennberg. Wennberg has kept a journal for 20 years on her judging trips and someday plans to write about her judging experiences. She says being a judge helps you as a competitor because you have to know all the rules. “I’d love for people to know all the things you have to go through because it is never glamorous,” she says. “Showing horses and judging at horse shows can be very humbling.”

Please Vote! We urge you to vote for these well qualified candidates.

Sandhills Photography Club â&#x20AC;&#x153;Just Add Waterâ&#x20AC;? Competition Winners - Class A 1st Place

The Sandhills Photography Club welcomes all who have an interest in improving their photography skills and gaining the technical knowledge that goes along with it. The club meets at 7 p.m. on the second Monday of each month at Christ Fellowship Church on Midland Road at Pee Dee. Regardless of skill or background, any prospective member is invited to attend. Website: sandhillsphotoclub.org

Jill Margeson Hurry With the Water

2nd Place

Donna Ford On the Line

Honorable Mention

Dave Powers Failure to Follow Directions

3rd Place

Donna Ford Landlocked

Honorable Mention Jill Margeson Low Tide

bamboo

a boutique salon

Andy Pellegrino Jill Landingham Julie Albright Chas Chapman Katie Queen 120A W. Pennsylvania Ave. Southern Pines

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Sandhills Photography Club “Just Add Water” Competition Winners - Class B 1st Place

Diane McCall Water Level Lines in a Thirsty Reservoir

2nd Place Wesley Ford Drydock

Honorable Mention Chuck Kersey Skiing Anyone

Honorable Mention

3rd Place

Jeanmarie Schubach Wash Your Hands

Carole Barnard Just for Me

Honorable Mention Don Hiscott Just a Splash

S t o ry o f a h o use

The House That Peggy Built At 90, the golf legend still comes out swinging By Deborah Salomon • Photographs By John Gessner

verybody recognizes Peggy Kirk Bell as the grande dame of women’s professional golf. Her achievements read like a Sports Illustrated Who’s Who. She speaks of Babe Didrikson Zaharias and Donald Ross as if they just left the room. But not everybody knows the 90-year-old grandmother of eight still drives a golf cart, issues blunt political opinions, lived in a chicken coop, appeared in a Sears Roebuck catalog, and eats half a grilled cheese sandwich in the Pine Needles bar for lunch. “I’ll take the other half home, heat it in the microwave for supper,” eternally frugal “Ma Bell” says. Home is a gracious white-painted brick Tudor overlooking the 18th hole. In this house and one a few doors away, Peggy and Warren “Bullet” Bell, a professional basketball player, raised a family while developing a resort around the course deemed a priceless gem in the golf tiara that is Moore County. The pine-paneled lodge with pine-cone carpeting and deep leather sofas exudes the comfort of an era when golfers — serious and recreational but especially women — arrived for total immersion. Because, as golf writer and PineStraw editor Jim Dodson says, Bell is called the female Arnold Palmer for her impact on women’s golf, both

Ninety and counting: Most days, Ma Bell can be seen at the golf course she made famous.

Welcome to the Pines: The evolution of Pine Needles as told through memorabilia.

Guest quarters, then and now

competing and teaching. On Nov. 19th, friends, family, teachers and sports luminaries will gather for her 90th birthday gala — an entire weekend featuring tournaments, clinics, rounds and rounds and rounds of the game Bell has adored for more than seven decades. “Why are they having it in November? My birthday is Oct. 28th,” Bell asks, with typical saltiness. This party will differ markedly from her 70th, when friends placed 70 pumpkins on her front yard, or her 80th , a surprise Halloween costume bash for 60 guests at Taco Bell. “Have all the drinks you want — they’re free!” she announced. After one hip and two knee replacements, Bell no longer plays, per se. “I chip and take little shots. I’ll play again before I kick the bucket,” she insists. “But I still teach.” When a guest approaches the famed lady for advice, Bell rises and demonstrates grip and swing … with her cane. The years may have idled her driver, but Peggy Kirk Bell’s mind — and tongue — remain honed.

About that chicken coop … .

Pine Needles dining room, then and now

Peggy and Bullet Bell arrived in Southern Pines in 1953, to acquire and operate Pine Needles, which at that time was just a course with a small lodge, not a resort with owners’ quarters. Purchase price: $50,000 — a steal, Bell says. “The first place we lived was a chicken coop that we rented from the Cosgroves, who we were in business with. It had three rooms. It was fixed up all right, but when it rained the smell was awful. But it was free. That was important.” After a while they moved to an apartment on May Street. The heat never stopped Bell’s game but back then, the course closed during mid-summer. “That’s when we built a house for something to do.” This first real home was a simple three-bedroom kit house delivered by truck and assembled in two days. They called it 19th Hole Lodge, still standing as a rental property. As the family grew, the Bells bought the brick Tudor from their pro, who was moving to Florida. “We couldn’t afford it, but (the pro) said we didn’t have to pay until we could,” Bell recalls. Their furnishings were hauled up the block in a dump truck. In 1955, Peggy and Bullet borrowed $100,000 from a local bank whose president was none other than Richard Tufts and constructed four rustic lodges, a new pro shop, locker rooms, bar and first-class dining room. “We originally thought we would just own a golf course,” quips the First Lady of Golf. “Suddenly we were in the hotel business, too.” By then, Bonnie, Peggy Ann and Kirk had been born. “When Peggy was four, she told me all she wanted for her birthday was a boy baby.” Mom and Dad obliged.

Updated lodge guest room

The hotel: Main lobby today remains an updated oasis of serenity and warmth

growing up bell … “Our house was the place to be,” Bonnie Bell McGowan says. They frolicked under the sprinklers, used pine straw bales to construct forts. “We had great cart races in the woods. Sure, we hit a few trees … and who put that cart in the pond?” Ma Bell smiles: “I spoiled them rotten.” But everybody worked: “I was digging ditches at 13,” Kirk says. Later, he caddied for mom at Northridge, proudly announcing (despite her warnings not to “wise-off”), “My mother’s Peggy Kirk Bell.” Bullet came home to eat with the children every night, then dressed and returned to the lodge until closing. He often made beds and even mopped floors. Among guests, Bullet became known for being a snappy dresser, favoring suede jackets and monogrammed shirts. “I’m doing all this for you and the kids,” he told his wife, who seriously took up teaching about that time. The Bell children went to different schools but brought friends home for après-football parties. They were especially popular during the summer: By then, the club had a pool and tennis courts. “My friends are kicking themselves that they had the opportunity to learn (golf) from my mom,” Bonnie continues. The garage housed 20 sets of clubs. “When Mom was teaching we’d go down and swat the ball around,” Peggy Ann Miller recalls.

Opting out wasn’t an option. “They all had to learn,” their mother adds. “When you’re young, it’s tough having a parent teach you. She’s just Mom, not your teacher. But they all went on to play on college teams.” The grandchildren are coming along quite nicely in the sport.

Working mom… “When we were growing up, moms stayed home and dads went to the office,” Bonnie says. Not so at Pine Needles, a glorious version of living over the store. This changed during the summers Peggy Bell joined the fledgling LPGA Tour. Road trips! “I took the kids and a nanny with me when I went to tournaments,” Bell says. She drove a big Cortez trailer-bus, which needed explaining. “We got stopped by the police who said you’re not allowed to drive a truck on this highway. I had to show him our license.” Bonnie, Peggy Ann and Kirk remember being the only three children on the tour, running around locker rooms with famous women players. But that was normal. They wanted excitement. They wanted a monkey. The nanny was persuaded to buy not one but two spider monkeys, who proceeded to wreak havoc on the trailer. Bell grimaces, remembering. The monkeys made it back to Southern Pines where they were relocated in favor of corgis, which became the family’s signature breed.

Working or not, Bell rarely cooked. Even Thanksgiving dinner originated in the lodge kitchen. “That’s pretty funny, since Sandhills Community College named their culinary school after me,” she chuckles. “We didn’t really think of her as a working mom,” Bonnie adds. “She was just mom,” a mom who found time to chaperone a beach trip and attend school athletic events. After all, this mom used to be catcher on the Hunt Ave. boys’ baseball team in Findlay, Ohio.

Plane speaking …

Dame Peggy of the air

Everybody on the pro tour could buy a Cadillac for $1,400, but Peggy Kirk Bell hated cross-country driving. So when a pilot friend said if you can ride a bike you can fly a plane, Bell signed up. They went plane shopping in Dallas. Bell wanted a snazzy Bonanza, deemed too fast for a beginner. So she selected an $18,000 Cessna 170. Too expensive, the friend said — and had $10,000 in equipment, including the radio, removed, not knowing that Bell was color-blind to red-and-green directional lights. After 10 lessons and enough hours to obtain a license, Bell departed California, alone, for Ohio. Oops. She took off west, had to bank around and head east guided by a map, railroad tracks and highways visible from aloft. “I made only three stops, as few as possible,” because landing wasn’t her forté. When Bell reached Ohio she missed the landing strip on the first try. Yet she continued to tournament-hop, sometimes with Bonnie on her lap, often with Zaharias aboard. “My husband hated it but then he learned to fly,” Bell notes.

Growing pains …

The Bell clan, teenaged years

Following Bullet Bell’s death to cancer in 1984, Peggy Ann and husband Kelly Miller took over a lot of the resort’s duties. Peggy Ann ran the summer camps and set out to revise the décor of the resort. “That meant, among other things, getting rid of a lot of orange shag carpet,” she says with a laugh. “Mom was very resistant to that.” Husband Kelly took over as General Manager. When sister Bonnie and her husbnd Pat weren’t off competing on their own tours, they joined in to teach at the resort’s increasingly popular golf schools. By this point, Pine Needles was known far and wide across the golf world for its air of comfortable informality — a place that made every visitor feel like a member of the club. Among early fans were Arnold and Winnie Palmer, who later used Pine Needles as the inspiration for their own Bay Hill Lodge in Orlando, Florida. In 1994, the family acquired neighboring Mid Pines Resort, an Aymar Embury gem built in the early 1920s by the Tufts family and Donald Ross, meant to be a getaway from the madding crowds at Pinehurst. The two resorts were the perfect complement — old world elegance meets Sandhills grace. “I’ve always loved the Mid Pines course ,” says Dame Peggy, “and the minute you walk into the hotel, well, it’s like being in another time. We wanted to keep it just like that. ” The historic hotel was handy to have when the opportunity to host three U.S. Women’s Opens (’96, ’01 and ’07) was granted to the House of Bell, largely on the strength of Peggy’s reputation as someone who pioneered the popularity of women’s golf. A shower of prestigious awards have fallen like a warm rain ever since, including the coveted Bob Jones Award.

And a little wicked fun ... Ma Bell’s eyes sparkle wickedly at the mention of Atlantic City. She loves gambling (mostly craps, although she won a blackjack tournament on a cruise), adores football, bets on games, brags about winning a dollar and change at cards. The Bell family circa 1982: (Front) Bonnie, Peggy Ann and Mrs.Bell. (Rear) Pat McGowan, Kelly Miller, Kirk Bell.

Tiger’s tumble …

A life — full, rich, well-lived …

“Golf is a game of honor,” she declares. “Any time you break rules in golf, there’s a penalty. Tiger didn’t break golf rules, but he cheated on his wife. That hurt his game, got into his head.” Bell calls Tiger’s return to play, albeit shaky, “Good for the game.”

“Frank Sinatra sang a song about my mother, ‘My Way,’” Peggy Ann jests. Bing Crosby serenaded her in the Pine Needles bar. Perry Como played her course. Jimmy Carter stayed at the lodge during the National Governors’ Convention. Rudy Vallee was a guest. Michael Jordan played with Bell — and threatened to give up basketball. “You’re too tall,” she told him. Peggy Ann lives next door, Bonnie down the road. Kirk comes from Washington several times a month. Her grandchildren are close. Belle, the current corgi, keeps her company. Ma Bell has written two books and inspired thousands of women in the sport. Her only regret: “I’d like to have won an open — any open.” “Mom is still going. She still has things to do,” Bonnie says, to which the legend replies impatiently: “Hurry up, Lord, and fix my legs. I gotta get back to swinging.” PS

Sustained by faith… A Presbyterian minister’s granddaughter, Mrs. Bell attends church every Sunday. She insisted her children set that day aside for family activities. “No movies,” was the rule. She advocates reading the Bible and praying daily. Faith has sustained her through a child’s serious illness, Bullet’s death in 1984 and near-calamities during the 10 years she piloted a plane to tournaments.

The Bell family circa 2011: Mrs.Bell, Bonnie, Kirk and Peggy Ann. Photographs By Tim Sayer

Lesson of A Lifetime By Scotti McGowan

“Whoosh, ping!” The golf ball zooms into the air.

“Hmm ... better,” I mutter to myself. “Woosh, crack,” goes my shank. “Really, in the woods? Are you kidding me?” So many thoughts raced through my head about how I wanted to get better at the game of golf. I knew that I wasn’t the best, but considering my genes and the heritage I come from, my ability could be absolutely amazing. All I wanted was a person to look up to, a person to help me understand how to conquer the sport I knew I had the most potential in; a true leader. All of a sudden, tearing up the fairway, deflating the tires, and just ruining anything imaginable with a four-wheeled golf cart-type vehicle, came Peggy Kirk Bell, a famous golfer, or as I’ve always called her, “Mammar.” She was flying up and down and side to side with all different types of limbs flinging all over the place, darting straight for me, as I was swinging away. I was laughing hysterically, so hard that at the time I had lost control and couldn’t breathe. Then she came to a final, sudden stop. She looked at me and said, “Oh, don’t you laugh at me, now. Look at you swinging that club; I’m pretty sure you just killed a family of birds ... maybe even two because, I mean, you shanked it pretty badly.” I looked at her and said, “Hey now, I’m sorry that you looked like a fake doll on a roller coaster, and if you saw that last shot, maybe you should help me!” At that time, I wasn’t breathing, and it wasn’t from laughing, but it was from me realizing how thankful I was to have somebody as special as her fit so perfectly in my life. Staring at my body’s position, Mammar looked up at my face and said, “G.P.A. is the most important lesson you will ever learn and hear in the game of golf: your Grip, Posture, and Alignment. Remember that, and you’re already on the right track.” I tried and tried for hours with her correcting me numerous times. Finally, I looked up and said, “You have no idea how badly I wish I was as good as you when you were my age!” She started laughing. “I didn’t even know there was a sport called ‘golf’ when I was your age!” I stuttered in surprise, saying, “WHAT! When did you start?” “The summer after I turned eighteen,” she replied. This was definitely news to me! “How are you a professional?” I asked. She sat there in shock that I didn’t know this fact about her, and I’m her grandchild. She said, “Ya know what ... come and sit in the cart and take a breather for a while, so I can tell you the story behind everything, and so you can

stop making the range helper’s job worse than it is with all of those fresh divots you’re creating. “Well, when I was your age, I didn’t do what you thought I did, but I did love sports and I was a real tomboy. I mean, you can say that I swung at a ball, but my sport just wasn’t titled ‘golf’. I was the all-time catcher for the Hurd Avenue baseball team; I was the only girl on the team. When I got to high school, I went to an all-sports camp every summer in Boston. After four long summers at my favorite camp, I found out that I was too old to go anymore. I then realized that I had absolutely nothing to do during summer. “One night during dinner, your Grandfather Kirk told us that he had bought a membership at Finley Country Club in town. My dad owned a warehouse that was a wholesale grocery that also sold sporting goods, so I went to the warehouse the next day and searched around for a golf bag. I ended up stashing a three-wood, three-iron, five-iron, seven-iron, nine-iron, a putter, and also threw in a sleeve of three balls. The next day, I was off to the club. I went inside and booked a tee time and was off to the first hole. Well, it took me about forty-five minutes to find the first tee box, and I still ended up at the wrong place. I asked many people where to go and they all just giggled and pointed, so I assumed that the tees were no different and just picked the set all the way in the back. I teed my ball up and swung the iron shaft the only way I knew how, as a baseball bat. I shanked it so badly into the trees that I looked for it for, legitimately, two hours and forty-five minutes. Back to the tee box I went, teeing up my second ball. Once again, no improvement! I had nailed it so far to the left this time I went searching for about a half an hour longer than my last hunt! I only threw in one sleeve of balls, so all I had left was one single ball. I teed it up, having a bit of confidence because I felt I was in a baseball game and had the first two balls go by, so now I could nail the third ball as hard as I could! Then, all of a sudden, I realized that I had hit but not managed to even see where the ball had gone. “I, being a phenomenal athlete, found this sport, by far, the hardest. I just needed a little help. I went inside, heading straight toward the guy at the front desk named Leonard Schmutte. I asked him, ‘Do you know where someone could tell me how to hold this thing?’ “He looked down at me and said, ‘Yes. That would be me. I’m a professional, but we’re going to have to book you for tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.’ “I looked up at him and said, ‘No, I want a lesson now!’ “The very first thing Leonard said to me was, ‘G.P.A.: it stands for Grip, Posture, and Alignment; it is the most important lesson and advice you will ever receive from a professional in golf.’ Recognize this, Scotti? “After the lesson, he asked me, ‘How serious are you about becoming a golfer?’ “I had told him, I would be there everyday hitting balls!’

“He said, ‘Well, then, you can hit all the balls you want for free and I will not charge you for lessons.’ “Wow, I couldn’t wait to hit as many balls as I wanted! I also couldn’t wait to learn how to hit all my clubs and different shots! I practiced hitting balls all day, every day that summer, until I had to go off to college. So, if you want to be great at this game, then you need to love to practice. “When I went to Sargent College in Boston, I had found a place to play, but the weather wasn’t very conducive for golf. “During the winter, my dad flew me down to Florida to meet him. It was about ninety degrees when I arrived and got off the plane. I had never been to Florida before, and I asked him, ‘How long has Florida had warm weather like this in the winter?’ I decided right then that I knew what the solution was. I knew I just had to transfer to Rollins College, where I could play year-round. From then on, I was hooked on golf. “That very next summer, I was lucky enough to win the Ohio State Amateur. I remember how Leonard and some members from Findlay Country Club came to watch me. I was so nervous to have the man who had gotten me started in the game of golf come and watch me. I felt amazingly accomplished already! “So, Scotti, you have a lot more years to learn the game than I had. Just like Leonard told me: Having a perfect G.P.A. was the most important thing in golf ever to be told. “I realized that I obviously wasn’t good at all because it was my first day, but I knew I had something very special going for me. That day, Leonard Schmutte had told me that I had more potential than anybody he had ever seen on the first day of holding a golf club. All I needed to do was practice every single day and get serious, because I could become a huge success with these iron shafts if I was willing to put forth the commitment and hard work.” Mammar went on to win the Ohio State Amateur three times along with many other amateur events. She won the prestigious “Titleholders” professional tournament as an amateur. She was a charter member of the LPGA. She has won about every award given for teaching and for her contributions toward women’s golf. My grandma, Peggy Kirk Bell, is an amazing lady, and at the age of almost ninety, she is still out there teaching and practicing the game of golf. As she would say, “You never stop learning.” Who would have thought that her very first golf lesson would turn into a lifetime of golf? It’s been seventy years since her first lesson, and now my lesson for a lifetime has just begun. PS Scottie McGowan was 13 when she wrote this as a class assignment at the O’Neal School. She is the granddaughter of Peggy Kirk Bell.

IT’S A NEW SEASON…

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A Writer in the Garden

“November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.” — Emily Dickinson November’s Skylights

Thanksgiving Grace

Look up at the night sky this month — what a feast of light. The stars and planets actually become brighter as the month proceeds. The six November constellations — Andromeda, Princess of Ethiopia, Cassiopeia, Queen of Ethiopia, and watery Pisces, believed by the ancients to be a string of fish tied together by their tails — are all beautifully on display. Venus also returns in November as the “Evening Star” while Jupiter stands brightly to the South just after sunset. Mars puts on quite a show, too — growing brighter every evening.

Time is… Too slow for those who wait. Too swift for those who fear. Too long for those who grieve. Too short for those who rejoice. But for those who love, Time is eternity. Hours fly, flowers die. New days, new ways pass by. Love stays. — Henry Van Dyke, American writer and clergyman (1852-1933)

The Month of Marriage, Blood and Bonfires “November’s child is born to bless,” goes an ancient Scottish ditty, “He’s like a song of thankfulness.” This refers to a child born on the first day of the month, All Hallows, traditionally celebrating the end of harvest and remembering the departed. It is a time for lighting bonfires, burning up the refuse of autumn. According to the Shepherd’s Prognostication (1729), icy weather on the third presages a warm Christmas. On the ancient calendar, Martinmas on the 11th marked the festival of winter’s beginning, the time for slaughtering hogs, making sausage, and hunting wild game. It is also the last good month for laying in stocks of good firewood. Legend holds that St. Martin of Tours was a fourth-century Roman cavalry officer who was moved by the sight of a beggar to provide his cloak only to find the figure was Christ. He is thus the patron saint of soldiers and beggars. “It is the day of Martinmas/Cups of ale should freely pass.” The 21st is traditionally regarded as the day Noah entered the ark, preceding “Stir Up Sunday,” the last Sunday before Advent — a good time for preparing holiday puddings. Remember, Christmas puddings should always be stirred clockwise with a wooden spoon, and everyone in the household should take a turn stirring for good luck. According to The English Husbandman (1635), November is also the season for making delicious eel pies. In old England, the 29th is traditionally considered the last day to safely marry before Advent. Marry in green, shame to be seen Marry in gray, you’ll go far away Marry in brown, never live in town Marry in red, wish yourself dead Marry in yellow, ashamed of your fellow Marry in blue, love ever true Marry in white, you have chosen right

In the Garden With the harvest over and the final rose of Indian summer fading, this is the ideal month to clean up your garden, repair and put away tools, and put your shed into shape. Before the first killing frost arrives — in the Sandhills that roughly happens around the fifth day this month — several flowers put forth a glorious valedictory bloom, including cosmos, amaranthus, bittersweet, yarrow, quince, Gerber daisies and some varieties of zinnia. Dahlias will also hang on as long as there’s warmth. This is the month to prune grapevines and other shrubs and plant container gardens with pansies, flowering kale and cabbage. It’s the ideal time for planting and transplanting shrubs and trees, the ground being just warm enough to encourage small but important root growth. That winter greens garden you planted in early September should begin to produce a bounty of delicious greens for your Thanksgiving table — Swiss chard, endive, arugula, beet greens, bok choy, mache, spinach and indispensable collards.

HomeStyles

Sunday

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

CULINARY INSTRUCTION

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME.

GATHERING AT GIVEN

THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME.

NC SYMPHONY: ESPAÑA!

1 2 3 6 7 8 9 10 13 1415 16 17 20 21 22 23 24 27 28 29 30 FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS GOING NUTS @ GREEN GATE

SUNDAY AFTERNOON MOVIE

CULINARY INSTRUCTION

THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT

DRESS UP THE SALAD @ GREEN GATE

MOORE COUNTY CONCERT BAND

CULINARY INSTRUCTION

THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT

SANDHILLS PHOTO CLUB MEETING

RETIREMENT CELEBRATION

STARTER HORSE TRIALS

JAMMIN @ GREEN GATE CULINARY INSTRUCTION

FESTIVAL OF TREES AFTERNOON TEA SERIES CULINARY INSTRUCTION CAROLINA PHIL CONCERT FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME

RETIREMENT CELEBRATION

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME

ART EXHIBIT & SALE

ENGLISH SPEAKING UNION

OLDIES & GOODIES FILM SERIES

LEAGUE OF WOMEN VOTERS MEETING PIZZA WITH PIZZAZZ CULINARY INSTRUCTION RUTH PAULY LECTURE SERIES FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS

CULINARY INSTRUCTION

FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME PRESCHOOL STORYTIME

ONE-DAYFOUR-BALL TOURNAMENT

PINEHURST PERFORMING ARTS & CAROLINA PHIL POPSCONCERT

EXPLORATIONS: A FROG’S LEAP Forum for Adults. 6-COURSE WINE DINNER THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT SOUPS ON @ GREEN GATE

THANKSGIVING CLASSIC

WINE TASTING FUNDRAISER.

PINE NEEDLESMID PINES TURKEY TRADITION

CULINARY INSTRUCTION

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME

FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME

FINE ARTS LECTURE FAMILY FUN NIGHT

INFORMATIONAL FORUM MOORE COUNTY HOUNDS

Friday FALL WREATH WORKSHOP CULINARY INSTRUCTION ART EXHIBIT & OPENING RECEPTION AMERICAN 200 MEET THE ARTIST ANTIQUES SALE & SHOW MIROCK SUPER BIKE SERIES

4 11 18 25

CULINARY INSTRUCTION JAZZY FRIDAYS

SCC JAZZ BAND ANNUAL VETERANS DAY CONCERT

CULINARY INSTRUCTION GAME NIGHT

ART IN THE PINES

PINEHURST PERFORMING ARTS & CAROLINA PHIL JAZZ CONCERT JAZZY FRIDAYS

Arts & Entertainment Calendar November 1

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Good Bites. 6:30 - 7:45 p.m. Creole Magic. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage/spirits. Cost: $30. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367.

Saturday TRAIL RIDE COMPETITION CULINARY INSTRUCTION COOKING DEMO MEET THE ARTIST WINE TASTING MET OPERA LIVE IN HD GOLF CAPITAL CHORUS ANNUAL SHOW CULTURAL THEATER PRODUCTION ASTRONOMY NIGHT FALL GOLF TOURNAMENT

5 12 19 26

WHISPERS ARTS & CRAFTS FEST CULINARY INSTRUCTION COOKING DEMO

MEET THE ARTIST WINE TASTING

TEST AND TUNE STREET DRAGS TURKEY TROT MET OPERA LIVE IN HD CHILDREN’S TEA & ETIQUETTE SANDHILLS CENTRAL RAILROAD MODEL TRAIN SHOW. SEAGROVE POTTERY FESTIVAL CELEBRATION OF SEAGROVE POTTERS CAMERON CHRISTMAS OPEN HOUSE SOUTHERN PINES HOLIDAY OPEN HOUSE & TREE LIGHTING COOKING DEMO WINE TASTING

THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT POLAR BEAR 150

MOORE ONSTAGE: The Nutcracker.

THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT SERIES. 6:46 p.m. Featuring Walter Strauss. Doors open at 6 p.m. Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight Street, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 9447502 or www.theroosterswife.org. FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS. 6 p.m. Yoga for retired veterans who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No previous yoga experience necessary. Yoga Massage in the Sandhills, 5374 Niagara Carthage Rd., Southern Pines. Info: Mary Ann at (910) 949-2162.

November 1 - 3

GOING NUTS @ GREEN GATE. Samples & Tasting. Pecans, cashews and peanuts, from nut pies to just good clean snacking. Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 986-2367.

November 2

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME. 1:30 p.m. Given Memorial Library, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022. PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 - 4 p.m. Bring infants and toddlers for stories, songs and fun. Playtime follows. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net. WINE TASTING FUNDRAISER. 5:30 - 8 p.m. Hors d’oeuvres and wines to benefit Central Carolinas Phi Beta Kappa Association in their efforts to provide college scholarships for Moore and Lee County students. Tickets: $25. Elliott’s on Linden, Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 215-4574.

November 3

GATHERING AT GIVEN. 3:30 p.m. Local floral designer Aldena Frye will share decorating ideas for the holidays. Free and open to the public. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022. NC SYMPHONY: ESPAÑA! 8 p.m. Associate conductor Sarah Hicks takes you straight into the intersection of neighboring cultures with a fresh look at how Spanish flavors inspired French music, and vice versa. Robert E. Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, Southern Pines. Tickets/Info: NC Symphony Box Office at (877) 627-6724 or www.ncsymphony.org.

November 3 - 20

CAPE FEAR REGIONAL THEATRE: Miss Saigon. Musical theatre. A love story set in war-torn Saigon 1975 amidst the turmoil of the Vietnam war. Cape Fear Regional Theatre, 1209 Hay St., Fayetteville. Tickets/Info: (910) 323-4233; www.cfrt.org.

November 4

FALL WREATH WORKSHOP. 9 a.m. Erin Weston will conduct workshop. Magnolia leaves, natural greens and other materials will be supplied to make a 25-inch wreath. Cost: $50/Sandhills Horticultural Society Members; $55/nonmembers. Ball Visitors Center, Sandhills Community College. Registration/Info: Tricia Mabe at (910) 695-3882. CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Holiday Bites. 12 - 12:30 p.m. Chef’s Choice. Cost: $20. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. ART EXHIBIT & OPENING RECEPTION. 6 - 8 p.m. Featuring the Artists of Hollyhocks Art Gallery. Exhibit, Jane Casnellie & Friends, on display through December 16; Campbell House Galleries, 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2787 or www.mooreart.org.

Key: Art

Music/Concerts

Dance/Theater

Film

FIRST TEE ANNUAL GALA. 6 p.m. Fundraising event features social hour with cash bar, holiday dinner, messages from guest speakers Jim Hyler and General William “Buck” Kernan and a “Bucket List” Drawing. Tickets: $75/seat; $750/table. Drawing ticket: $100. Pine Needles Reception Center. Info: Bill at (910) 783-8288 or www.thefirstteesandhills.org.

November 4-5

AMERICAN 200. UARA Late Models and USAR Pro Cup. Rockingham Raceway Park, 2152 North US Highway 1, Rockingham, NC. Info: (910) 205-8800 or www.rockinghamracewaypark.com. MEET THE ARTIST. 10 a.m. - 1 p.m. & 2 - 5 p.m. Meet North Carolina’s Artist William Mangum and receive a complimentary autographed miniature print. William Mangum Fine Art, 2166 Lawndale Dr. Info: (336) 379-9200 or williammangum.com.

November 4-6

ANTIQUES SALE & SHOW. 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. (Friday & Saturday); 11 a.m. - 4 p.m. (Sunday). Portions of proceeds benefit the Moore County Historical Assoc. Visit the web site for a $1 off coupon. The Fair Barn, Pinehurst Harness Track, Beulah Hill Road. Pinehurst. Info: (910) 692-2051 or www.moorehistory.com. MIROCK SUPER BIKE SERIES: Lee’s Performance Fall Bike Nationals. Rockingham Dragway, 2153 Hwy 1, Rockingham. Info: (910) 582-3400.

November 5

TRAIL RIDE COMPETITION. 8:30 a.m. Featuring obstacle course, control of gaits and marked trail ride for levels 1 and 2; upper levels will ride an unmarked trail. Rain date is Nov. 6. Chadbourne Farm, 131 Little Rd., Hoffman. Info: (910) 528-1093 or www.usneto.org. CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Saturday Sampler. 12 - 1 p.m. Turkey Curry in a Hurry. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $20. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. COOKING DEMO: Seasonal Greens. 12 & 2 p.m. Kale, Swiss chard, bokchoy and tatsoi. Free event. Elliott’s Provision Company, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. MEET THE ARTIST. 12 - 3 p.m. Mary Frey. Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 2550665 or www.hollyhocksartgallery.com. WINE TASTING. 12 - 4 p.m. An amazing blend of pinotage, cabernet, cabernet franc and shiraz from South Africa. Free event. Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. MET OPERA LIVE IN HD: Wagner’s Siegfried. 1 p.m. Running time: 6 hrs. Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Tickets/Info: (910) 692-8501 or www.sunrisetheater.com. GOLF CAPITAL CHORUS ANNUAL SHOW. 7 p.m. Harmony in Nature featuring International Championship quartet, Old School. Ticket: $15. R.E. Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 295-8860; (910) 246-6551; www. thegolfcapitalchorus.org.

CULTURAL THEATER PRODUCTION: Bleeding Pines of Turpentine. 7:30 p.m. Performance inspired by the turpentine trees in Southern Pines, NC. Free admission. Tickets are required Owens Auditorium, Sandhills Community College. Info: (910) 692-2787 or www.mooreart.org. ASTRONOMY NIGHT. View the stars at one of the last great dark sky site in the Piedmont. Binoculars and telescopes encouraged. Sites telescope available. Town Creek Indian Mound, 509 Town Creek Mound Rd., Mt. Gilead. Registration/Info: (910) 439-6802.

Literature/Speakers

Fun

History

Sports

ca l e n da r Cajun Cooking. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage/ spirits. Cost: $30. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367.

November 5-6

FALL GOLF TOURNAMENT: TYGA. Sponsored through the Carolinas Golf Association. Seven Lakes Country Club. Info: (910) 673-1000.

November 6

SUNDAY AFTERNOON MOVIE: Mars Needs Moms. 2:30 p.m. Kids and their parents are invited to watch PG-Rated animated feature based on the book by Berkeley Breathed. Refreshments included. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net. THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT SERIES. 6:46 p.m. Featuring Veronica Nunn. Doors open at 6 p.m. Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight Street, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www.theroosterswife.org.

November 7

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Munchies Monday. 12 - 1 p.m. Veggie Delights. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $20. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367.

November 7 - 9

AFTERNOON TEA SERIES. 2:30 p.m. Susan Ely will lead a discussion on hassle-free holidays. Cost: $25 (includes tea, party favors and door prizes). Lady Bedford’s Tea Parlour, 21 Chinquapin Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 255-0100. CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Good Bites. 6:30 - 7:45 p.m. Music/Concerts

Dance/Theater

Film

RETIREMENT CELEBRATION @ CORFU. 5 - 9 p.m. Honoring Corfu’s Ada & Tomi Arsi with a menu featuring restaurant favorites from the past 5 years. Corfu Restaurant, 147 E. New Hampshire Ave. Southern Pines. Info: (910) 693-1839.

November 8-13

November 10- December 29

FESTIVAL OF TREES. 10 a.m. Holiday festival featuring lavishly decorated, one-of-a-kind trees, wreaths, and tabletop decorations. Admission by donation. Proceeds benefit Sandhills Children’s Center. Visit website for schedule. Carolina Hotel, Pinehurst Resort, Village of Pinehurst. Info: Sandhills Childrens Center at (910) 692-3323 or festivaloftrees.org.

November 9

PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 - 4 p.m. Bring infants and toddlers for stories, songs and fun. Playtime follows. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

November 8

November 10 - 12

FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS. 6 p.m. Yoga for retired veterans who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No previous yoga experience necessary. Yoga Massage in the Sandhills, 5374 Niagara Carthage Rd., Southern Pines. Info: Mary Ann at (910) 949-2162.

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME. 1:30 p.m. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022.

DRESS UP THE SALAD @ GREEN GATE. Samples & Tasting. Signature dressings and marinades. Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 986-2367.

Key: Art

CAROLINA PHIL CONCERT: Beethoven’s Ghost. 7 p.m. Featuring Maestro David Michael Wolff on piano. Owens Auditorium, Sandhills Community College. Info: (910) 687-4746 or www.carolinaphil.org.

MARC CHAGALL LECTURE. 7 p.m. Vivian Jacobson, author, presents “The Christ Configuration of the Crucifixion and Resurrection in the Art Work of Marc Chagall.” Q and A to follow. Tickets: $5. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, 340 South Ridge St., Southern Pines. Info: Laurie at (910) 692-3171.

ENGLISH SPEAKING UNION. 6 p.m. Corinne Dettmeijer, former Dutch National Rapporteur, speaks on Trafficking in Human Beings. Country Club of North Carolina, Pinehurst. Membership/Reservations/Info: (910) 235-0635 or bmoc@embarqmail.com.

Literature/Speakers

Fun

History

Sports

ART EXHIBIT & SALE. Annual Exhibit & Sale presented by the Artists League of the Sandhills, Exchange Street Gallery, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-3979 or www. artistleague.org.

November 10

OLDIES & GOODIES FILM SERIES. 2:30 - 4:30 p.m. Presenting Orson Welles’ 1941 masterpiece about a publishing tycoon and the mysterious “Rosebud.” Complimentary cup of tea. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

November 11

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Holiday Bites. 12 12:30 p.m. Chef’s Choice. Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. JAZZY FRIDAYS. 7 - 10 p.m. Live jazz music and hors d’oeuvres, rain or shine. Admission: $10. Cypress Bend Vineyards & Winery, Riverton Road in Wagram. Info: (910) 369-0411.

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ca l e n da r SCC JAZZ BAND ANNUAL VETERANS DAY CONCERT. 7:30 p.m. Complimentary concert. Join the band in celebrating and honoring veterans on their day. Owens Auditorium, Sandhills Community College.

November 12

WHISPERS ARTS & CRAFTS FEST. 10 - 4 p.m. Featuring 36 local vendors and a bake sale. Free parking. Indoor event open to the public. 2 Club Blvd, Whispering Pines. Info: Barbara at (910) 949-2854 or Dos at (910) 949-2509. CULINARY INSTRUCTION: The Perfect Side Dish. 12 - 12:30 p.m. Featuring guest instructor Mamie Bennett, Cooking Enthusiast Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. COOKING DEMO: Breads. 12 & 2 p.m. Free event. Elliott’s Provision Company, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775.

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

ADDRESS

WINE TASTING. 12 - 4 p.m. Gewurtztraminer from Alsace. White wine laced with spice. Great with smoked salmon and turkey. Free event. Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775.

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A NIGHT OF BLUEGRASS. 7 p.m. Samantha Casey & The Bluegrass Jam headline. Also featuring Sourwood Mountain Band & Moore County’s own South Ridge Bluegrass Band. Tickets: $20. Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Tickets/Info: (910) 692-8501 or www.sunrisetheater.com.

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November 13

MOORE COUNTY CONCERT BAND. 2 p.m. Complimentary concert. Grand Ballroom, The Carolina Hotel, Pinehurst Resort. One Carolina Vista, Pinehurst. Info: www.moorecountyband.com. THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT SERIES. 6:46 p.m. Featuring Peter Mawanga and Finn Magill. Doors open 6 p.m. Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight Street, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www.theroosterswife.org. RETIREMENT CELEBRATION @ CORFU. 5- 9 p.m. Honoring Corfu’s Ada & Tomi Arsi and welcoming Oresti Arsi as he takes over management. Cost: $15 (includes appetizers, desert and champagne toast). All proceeds benefit the Sandhills Community College Culinary Arts Program. Corfu Restaurant. 157 E. New Hampshire Ave. Southern Pines. RSVP: (910) 603-0091.

In loving memory of “Fruma” 1997-2011

November 14

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Thanksgiving Boot Camp. 8 - 11 a.m. Mastering the Turkey from Gobbler to Gravy. Includes hands-on instruction, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $25. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. SANDHILLS PHOTO CLUB MEETING. 7 - 9 p.m. Featuring guest speaker Todd Pusser, award-winning photographer and biologist whose travels have taken him to over 30 countries and into every ocean basin on earth. Guests welcome. Christ Fellowship Church, Midland & Pee Dee Rds., Southern Pines. Info: www.sandhillsphotoclub.org.

“Fruma”

English Springer Spaniel Graphite on Canson Paper

Pamela Powers January

November 14 - 17

JAMMIN @ GREEN GATE. Samples & Tasting. Jellies are not just for toast. Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 986-2367. Key: Art Music/Concerts Dance/Theater Literature/Speakers Fun History Sports

Film

FINE

ART

PORTRAITS

PETS

w w w. p a m e l a p o w e r s j a n u a r y. c o m • 910 . 6 9 2 . 0 5 0 5

ca l e n da r

November 15

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Thanksgiving Boot Camp. 8 - 11 a.m. Stuffing and Dressing Stands Alone. Includes hands-on instruction, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $25. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. LEAGUE OF WOMEN VOTERS MEETING. 11:45 a.m. Claire Ruggles, Director of North Moore Family Resources will discuss the North Moore Resource Center. Table on the Green, Midland Country Club. Cost: $12. Reservations/Info: Charlotte at (910) 944-9611.

RUTH PAULY LECTURE SERIES. 7:30 p.m. H. A. “Humpy” Wheeler, Jr., past president of Charlotte Motor Speedway, will discuss “The History of NASCAR in North Carolina”. No ticket required. Owens Auditorium, Sandhills Community College, Airport Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 245-3132. FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS. 6 p.m. Yoga for retired veterans who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No previous yoga experience necessary. Yoga Massage in the Sandhills, 5374 Niagara Carthage Rd., Southern Pines. Info: Mary Ann at (910) 949-2162. CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Thanksgiving Boot Music/Concerts

Dance/Theater

Film

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME. 1:30 p.m. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022.

ARE YOU SMARTER THAN A FIFTH-GRADER? 6:30 p.m. Loosely based off of the television show, Moore County fifth-graders will compete with the help of local celebrities to raise money for the Public Education Foundation. Donations only. Owens Auditorium, Sandhills Community College. Info: Andrew Lyons at (910) 692-6222 or www.mcpef.org.

ONE-DAY FOUR-BALL TOURNAMENT. Sponsored through the Carolinas Golf Association. Tobacco Road Golf Club. Info: (910) 673-1000.

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Good Bites. 6:30 - 7:45 p.m. Inspiration from Asia. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage/spirits. Cost: $30. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367.

Key: Art

INFORMATIONAL FORUM. 7 - 9 p.m. Public invited to learn about gas fracturing, better known as “fracking.” Hosted by the League of Women Voters of Moore County. Elise Middle School Media Center, Robbins. Info: Kathy at (612) 719-5178.

PIZZA WITH PIZZAZZ. 5 - 6 p.m. Warrior Cats. Kids grades 6-8 are invited to discover their clan, play games, make crafts and eat pizza at this free event. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

November 16

Camp. 8 - 11 a.m. Salads, Chutneys and Sides. Includes hands-on instruction, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $25. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367.

November 17

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Thanksgiving Boot Camp. 8 - 11 a.m. Desserts Personalized. Includes hands-on instruction, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $25. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. FINE ARTS LECTURE. 10 a.m. Rembrandt: Paintings in America. Featuring guest lecturer Sandy Rusak, Dir. Of Education at the NC Museum of Art. Given in conjunction with the ARTour to see Rembrandt: Paintings in America art exhibit at the NC Museum of Art in Raleigh (Dec. 13). Cost: $10/Arts Council, Weymouth & NCMA members; $15/nonmembers. Limited space. Weymouth Center, Southern Pines. Registration/Info: (910) 692-2787 www.mooreart.org. FAMILY FUN NIGHT. 5:30 p.m. Celebrate the life of aviator Amelia Earhart and learn about her mysterious disappearance from a couple of real-life airplane pilots. For parents and kids in grades 3-5. Free event. Dinner courtesy of the Friends of the Library. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net.

Literature/Speakers

Fun

History

GALLERY OPENING RECEPTION. 5 - 7 p.m. Birds, Beaches & Blooms by Gwen Dumas and Vicki Jolliff. Exhibit runs through January 31. Hastings Gallery, Boyd Library, Sandhills Community College. Info: (910) 695-3879.

November 18

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Holiday Bites. 12 12:30 p.m. Chef’s Choice. Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. GAME NIGHT. 6:30 - 9 p.m. Play games at The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

November 18 - 19

ART IN THE PINES. Art and fine crafts show featuring North Carolina artisans and items including pottery, jewelry, stained glass, handbags, home accessories and wall art. Friday from 12 - 8 p.m.; Saturday from 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. Free admission. Southern Pines Civic Club, corner of E. Pennsylvania and Ashe Sts. Info: Amy at (910) 5282110 or www.facebook.com/artinthepines.

Sports

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ca l e n da r

November 19

TEST AND TUNE STREET DRAGS. Rockingham Dragway, 2153 Hwy 1, Rockingham. Info: (910) 582-3400. TURKEY TROT. Begins and ends at Cannon Park. Races range from 1-mile fun run to half marathon; race times are staggered. Cannon Park, 90 Woods Rd., Pinehurst. Registration/Info: www.sandhillsraceseries.com or Jodi Heimrich at (910) 715-1843.

Resale Retail

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Saturday Sampler. 12 - 1 p.m. Thanksgiving for Four or Less. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $20. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/ Info: (910) 986-2367. COOKING DEMO: Thanksgiving Turkey. 12 & 2 p.m. Simple steps to brining, stuffing, seasoning and cooking fresh local turkeys. Free event. Elliott’s Provision Company, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. MEET THE ARTIST. 12 - 3 p.m. Jane Casnellie. Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 255-0665 or www.hollyhocksartgallery.com. WINE TASTING. 12 - 4 p.m. White Burgundy. Dry, white chardonnay that compliments cranberries, oyster stuffing and Brussels sprouts. Free event. Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. MET OPERA LIVE IN HD. 1 p.m. Glass’ Satyagraha. Running time: 4 hrs. Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Tickets/Info: (910) 692-8501 or www.sunrisetheater.com. CHILDREN’S TEA & ETIQUETTE. 2:30 p.m. White Gloves & Party Manners for girls and boys 6 - 12 years of age. Etiquette Consultant Cav Peterson will share etiquette and dining skills for childrens. Cost: $25. Lady Bedford’s Tea Parlour, 21 Chinquapin Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 255-0100.

November 19-20

SANDHILLS CENTRAL RAILROAD MODEL TRAIN SHOW. 12 - 4 p.m. HO-scale freight and passenger trains on a layout featuring the town of Southern Pines and its surrounding areas. Tickets: $3/adults; children under 4 ft. 8.5 inches tall (distance between rails) free. South end of the Aberdeen Train Station, corner of Main and Sycamore Sts. Info: (910) 692-7439. SEAGROVE POTTERY FESTIVAL. 9 a.m. - 5 p.m. Featuring Seagrove area potters and traditional craftsmen. Auction begins Saturday at 5 p.m.; limited edition pottery is signed and dated. Admission: $5/day; Free for members and children under 12. Seagrove School gym and grounds, 528 Old Plank Rd., Seagrove. Info: (336) 873-7887 or www.SeagrovePotteryHeritage.com. CELEBRATION OF SEAGROVE POTTERS. 9 a.m. - 6 p.m. (Sat.); 10 a.m. - 4 p.m. (Sun.). Featuring food and beverage vendors, a special Kids Tent, demonstrations, educational opportunities and more. Proceeds benefit the Seagrove and Westmoore schools. Admission: $5. Seagrove Foods Plant (formerly the Lucks Beans Plant), Hwy 705, Seagrove. Info: www.CelebrationOfSeagrovePotters.com. CAMERON CHRISTMAS OPEN HOUSE. 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. (Sat.); 1-5 p.m. (Sun.) Browse the antique shops of Historic Cameron in a holiday setting. Featuring traditional decorations, hot cider, and homemade cookies. Info: (910)245-3055 or www.antiquesofcameron.com.

November 20

STARTER HORSE TRIALS. NCDCTA Recognized Only. Carolina Horse Park, just off Hwy 211, between Aberdeen and Raeford. Info: The Carolina Horse Park at (910) 875-2074. PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2011

ca l e n da r EXPLORATIONS: A Forum for Adults. 3 p.m. Library Lecture Series presents My Reading Life featuring a panel of local celebrities who will discuss the books that have most influenced them. Program based on the book My Reading Life by Pat Conroy. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 6928235 or www.sppl.net. THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT SERIES. 6:46 p.m. Featuring Robert Poe and the Lizzie Ross Band. Doors open at 6 p.m. Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight Street, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www.theroosterswife.org. CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Munchies Monday. 12 - 1 p.m. Veggie Thanksgiving. Includes demo, recipe, tasting and beverage. Cost: $20. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. FROG’S LEAP 6-COURSE WINE DINNER. 6:30 p.m. Rue Thirtytwo, 290 W. Pennsylvania Ave., Southern Pines. Cost: $70+. Info: (910) 725-1910.

November 21 - 23

SOUPS ON @ GREEN GATE. Samples & Tasting. Seasonal Soups. Free and open to the public. Green Gate Gourmet, 105 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 986-2367.

November 22

CHILDREN’S STORY TIME. 1:30 p.m. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022. PINEHURST PERFORMING ARTS & CAROLINA PHIL POPS CONCERT. 8 p.m. Presenting Fiddler on the Roof, Peter and the Wolf and Star Wars. Grand Ballroom, Carolina Hotel, Pinehurst. Tickets: $25/general; $10/student. Info: (910) 687-4746 or www.carolinaphil.org.

November 23-27

November 21

Key: Art

November 23

Dance/Theater

Film

PINE NEEDLES-MID PINES TURKEY TRADITION. A Thanksgiving weekend filled with food, fun and fellowship. Pine Needles and Mid Pines, Midland Road, Southern Pines. Info: (800) 747-7272 or (800) 323-2114.

November 24

MOORE COUNTY HOUNDS. 9:30 a.m. Hunting with the pack is by invitation only, but spectators may watch on opening day. Hobby Field off Youngs Road, Southern Pines.

November 25

PINEHURST PERFORMING ARTS & CAROLINA PHIL JAZZ CONCERT. 3 p.m. Presenting Joshua Wolff Trio with Whitney James. Cardinal Ballroom, Carolina Hotel, Pinehurst. Tickets: $20/general; $10/student. Info: (910) 6874746 or www.carolinaphil.org. JAZZY FRIDAYS. 7 - 10 p.m. Live jazz music and hors d’oeuvres, rain or shine. Admission: $10. Cypress Bend Vineyards & Winery, Riverton Road, Wagram. Info: (910) 369-0411. Literature/Speakers

Fun

History

November 25-27

MOORE ONSTAGE: The Nutcracker. 7:30 p.m. (Fri. & Sat.); 2 p.m. (Sat. & Sun.) The most celebrated ballet of all time. Directed by Rita and Gary Taylor. Perfect for all ages. Tickets: $23/adult; $15/students (18 and under). Robert E. Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, Southern Pines. Info: www.mooreonstage.com.

November 26

SOUTHERN PINES HOLIDAY OPEN HOUSE & TREE LIGHTING. 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. Open shops and entertainment on the streets of downtown Southern Pines, featuring Christmas Trees decorated by Southern Pines Businesses. Free pictures with Santa at the Train Station at 4 p.m.; bring camera and wish list. Tree Lighting ceremony begins in the late afternoon with entertainment by local choirs. Historic District, downtown Southern Pines. Info: (910) 315-6508. COOKING DEMO: Soups & Sandwiches. 12 & 2 p.m. Use Thanksgiving leftovers and seasonal flavors. Free event. Elliott’s Provision Company, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. WINE TASTING. 12 - 4 p.m. Beaujolais Nouveau 2011. Bright, juicy wine made from gamay. Compliments cold turkey and mild cheeses. Free event. Elliott’s on Linden, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 215-0775. THE ROOSTER’S WIFE CONCERT SERIES. 6:46 p.m. Featuring Rod Picott. Doors open at 6 p.m. Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight Street, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7502 or www.theroosterswife.org. POLAR BEAR 150. The Frank Kimmel Street Stock Series has given Street Stock drivers who normally only run their hometown short the opportunity to race on major

Sports

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cA l e N dA r speedways, including “The Rock”. Rockingham Speedway, 2152 North US Highway One, Rockingham, NC. Info: (910) 205-8800 or www.rockinghamracewaypark.com.

December 1

HOLIDAY OPEN HOUSE @ HOLLYHOCKS. 5 - 7 p.m. Refreshments and wine courtesy of Elliott’s on Linden. Hollyhocks Art Gallery, 905 Linden Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 255-0665 or www.hollyhocksartgallery.com.

MEET THE CHARACTERS: Moore OnStage The Nutcracker - Land of the Sweets. 10 a.m. Tickets: $20. Robert E. Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, Southern Pines. Tickets and info: (910) 692-7118.

December 1 - 3

November 27

THANKSGIVING CLASSIC. 10 a.m. - 3 p.m. Hunter/ Jumper. Carolina Horse Park, just off Hwy 211, between Aberdeen and Raeford. Info: (910) 875-2074.

November 29

CULINARY INSTRUCTION: Good Bites. 6:30 7:45 p.m. Refreshingly Un-Thanksgiving. Demo, recipe, tasting and beverage/spirits. Cost: $30. Green Gate Gourmet, Pinehurst. Reservations/Info: (910) 986-2367. FREE YOGA FOR PTSD VETS. 6 p.m. Yoga for retired veterans who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No previous yoga experience necessary. Yoga Massage in the Sandhills, 5374 Niagara Carthage Rd., Southern Pines. Info: Mary Ann at (910) 949-2162.

November 30 CHILDREN’S STORY TIME. 1:30 p.m. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Rd., Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-6022. PRESCHOOL STORYTIME. 3:30 - 4 p.m. Bring infants and toddlers for stories, songs and fun. Playtime follows. Southern Pines Public Library, 170 W. Connecticut Ave. Info: (910) 692-8235 or www.sppl.net. Key: Art

Music/Concerts

Dance/Theater

Film

CHRISTMAS AT WEYMOUTH. 10 a.m. - 4 p.m. A Historic Georgian Home featuring 23 rooms decorated for the holidays. Holiday demonstrations take place Friday and Saturday at 1 p.m. Refreshments and musical entertainment provided. Tickets: $10/advance; $15/at door. Tickets available at The Country Bookshop and Weymouth Center in Southern Pines, The Given Bookshop in Olmstead Village and Phoenix Fashions in Seven Lakes. Weymouth Center, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-6261.

Art Galleries

BROADHURST GALLERY, 2212 Midland Rd., Pinehurst, showcases works by nationally recognized artists such as Louis St. Lewis, Lula Smith, Shawn Morin, Rachel Clearfield, Judy Cox and Jason Craighead. Meetthe-artist opportunities are available. Tuesday-Friday, 11 a.m. - 5 p.m., and Saturday, 1-4 p.m. (910) 295-4817, www.broadhurstgallery.com. ART NUTZ AND RAVEN POTTERY, 125 SW Broad St., Southern Pines. Come see the potter at work. Features art, local pottery from many potters, handmade jewelry, glass and more. Monday-Saturday 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. (910) 6951555, www.ravenpottery.com. ARTIST ALLEY features juried art and fine crafts from local and regional artists, 167 E. New Hampshire Ave., Southern Pines. 11 a.m. - 5 p.m., Monday-Saturday. (910) 692-6077.

Literature/Speakers

Fun

History

ARTISTS LEAGUE OF THE SANDHILLS, located at 129 Exchange St. in historic Aberdeen. Exhibit hours are noon - 3 p.m., Monday-Saturday. (910) 944-3979. THE CAMPBELL HOUSE GALLERIES, 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines, is open 9 a.m. - 5 p.m., Monday-Friday, and every third weekend of the month from 2-4 p.m. (910) 692-4356, www.mooreart.org. THE GALLERY AT SEVEN LAKES, a gallery dedicated to local artists. The Gallery is open on Wednesday and Thursday each week from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. 1145 Seven Lakes Drive, The St. Mary Magdalen building. Just 9 miles from the Pinehurst Traffic Circle up 211. HASTINGS GALLERY is located in the Katharine L. Boyd Library at Sandhills Community College, Pinehurst. Gallery hours are 7:45 a.m. - 9 p.m., Monday-Thursday; 7:45 a.m. - 5 p.m. Friday; and 8:30 a.m. - 2 p.m. Saturday. HOLLYHOCKS ART GALLERY, 905 Linden Road, Pinehurst, features original artwork by local artists Diane Kraudelt, Carol Rotter, Mary Frey, Jean Frost, Morgen Kilbourn and artist/owner Jane Casnellie. Meet the Artists, Saturdays, Noon to 3 p.m. Open Monday-Saturday 10:30 a.m. - 9:30 p.m. (910) 255-0665, www.hollyhocksartgallery.com. THE OLD SILK ROUTE, 113 West Main St., Aberdeen specializes in Asian original art, including silk paintings, tapestries, Buddhist Thangkas and Indian paper miniatures. Open Monday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday 11 a.m. - 4 p.m. (910) 295-2055. SEAGROVE CANDLE COMPANY, 116 N.W. Broad St., Southern Pines, showcases the arts and crafts of the Sandhills and Seagrove area. Open 10 a.m. - 5 p.m., Monday, Wednesday-Saturday. (910) 695-0029.

Sports

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cA l e N dA r SKY ART GALLERY, 602 Magnolia Dr., Aberdeen, is open 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. Tuesday-Saturday. (910) 944-9440, www.skyartgallery.com. STUDIO 590, located in a historic log cabin, is the working studio and gallery of artists Betty DiBartolomeo and Harry Neely. Studio 590 offers fine oil paintings, commissions and instruction. Studio 590 is located by the pond in the Dowd Cabin, 590 Dowd Circle in Pinehurst South. (910) 639-9404. WHITE HILL GALLERY, 407 U.S. 15-501, Carthage, offers a variety of pottery. (910) 947-6100. THE DOWNTOWN GALLERY (inside Flynneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Coffee Bar) is located at 115 NE Broad St. in downtown Southern Pines. Ever-changing array of local and regional art, pottery and other handmade items. (910) 693-1999. LADY BEDFORDâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S TEA PARLOUR, located at 25 Chinquapin Road in Pinehurst, is featuring local artist Nancy Campbell. Original oil and watercolor paintings are on display inside the tea shop. Open Tuesday - Saturday 8 a.m. - 5 p.m. (910) 255-0100, www.ladybedfords.com.

Nature Centers

SANDHILLS HORTICULTURAL GARDENS (32 acres of gardens). The Sandhills Horticultural Gardens are handicapped-accessible. Daylight hours year-round. (910) 695-3882. WEYMOUTH WOODS SANDHILLS NATURE PRESERVE (898 acres). 1024 Ft. Bragg Road, Southern Pines. (910) 692-2167. 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.

PineNeedler Answers From page 111

BRYANT HOUSE AND MCLENDON CABIN. Tours by appointment. (910) 692-2051 or (910) 673-0908. CARTHAGE HISTORICAL MUSEUM. Sundays, 2-5 p.m. or by appointment. Located at Rockingham and Saunders streets, Carthage. (910) 947-2331. HOUSE IN THE HORSESHOE. Open year-round. 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. TUFTS ARCHIVES. 9:30 a.m. - 5 p.m., Monday-Friday, and 9:30 a.m. - 12:30 p.m. Saturday. (910) 295-3642. UNION STATION. Open 8 a.m. - 5 p.m. Located in downtown Aberdeen. (910) 944-5902. SANDHILLS WOMANâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S EXCHANGE LOG CABIN Open 10 a.m. - 3 p.m. (910) 295-4677 To add an event, send us an e-mail at pinestraw@thepilot. com by the ďŹ rst of the month prior to the event.

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6th Annual Penick Art Show and Sale Preview Party Friday, September 30, 2011 Photographs by Al & Annette Daniels

Veronica Sanchez, Tommy and Jenny Deese, Kelly Macary. Tim Mitchem, Heath and Larry Hilliker

Pat Klalo, Kelly Macary, Cheryl and Elizabeth Futrell. Helen and Eric Von Salzen

Jim and Mary Ann Halstead

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Appetite for Art Wine Gala - The Fresh Market Tuesday, September 20, 2011 Photographs by Al & Annette Daniels Brent and Susan Holmes

Anne and Andrew Steidinger

George and Marilyn Hoffman

Lynn Bourne, Laura Stutts, David Wall, Tina Darby

Emily Armstrong, Robert Stephens

Carol Alexander, Ellie Ray, Pat Lambie, Kathleen Long.

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Kerriann Hillgrove, Molly Parsons, Tim Sayer, Dawn Phillips. Ron Schuck, Connie Atwell

Billie Ertter, Ron Cole

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SandhillSeen Second Annual Carolina Philharmonic Gala Friday, September 23, 2011 Photographs by Al & Annette Daniels

Nancy Sadler, Charli Thyne

Felice and Helen Schillaci, Mary and Don Delauter. Tamsey Killian, Mary Neff

Mary Ellen McGuire, Dana Redfern, Elizabeth Koeckert

Terry and Sue Lambert, Judy and Kevin Connelly Lois Holt, Jim Menges

Alice Pardy, Monica Loferski, Paul Pardy

John and Marion Gaida

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Mary Fogarty, Walter Hess, Ralph Jacobson

Bob and Julie Neff, Jim and Gigi Secky.

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Bill and Bev Doerr, Vera and Bill Pelekoudas

Ruth Blanken, Peter and ReGina Yellin

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Sandi Carl, Gale Castaldi, Monica McCarthy, Barbara Hitchiner, Carmela Chase.

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SandhillSeen Think Pink! at Beacon Ridge Country Club Monday, September 12, 2011 Photographs by Al & Annette Daniels

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T h o u g h ts f r o m T h e Man S h e d

The Power of Reading In a world of flat screens and video games, a book is the true gateway to adventure

By Geoff Cutler

There was an interesting debate recently on

The Pilot’s website after Stephen Smith’s article “Not Our Best Summer.” The discussion had to do with falling SAT scores and Smith’s contention that parents need to shut off the flat screen and get their children to read. It got me thinking about children and reading, and what most parents who read to their children already know.

Over our summer vacation, and before bedtime every night, my brother scuttled off to my niece’s bedroom with a book, and he read to her. She is nine years old, just about ten. He has been reading to her at night like this since she was so little as to probably not even understand what the words were about. This night, he was deep into the middle of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, and he just happened to be reading the chapter where Bilbo Baggins is under the mountain and coming upon the ring for the first time. My brother acted out the voices of Bilbo and Gollum as best he could, and so the effect was like listening to a play. Every so often, my niece would stop him to ask a question, and he would answer and go back to reading. I loved listening outside the door, and neither of them knew I was there. It reminded me of my time reading to my own children. One night, back when my kids were really just babies, Will was probably three and Whitney, just an infant, was propped up against the pillows so she wouldn’t fall over. I was reading The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Will wanted it read to him over and over again. Anyway, I’m reading along and all of a sudden, Will starts reciting the narrative. He’d memorized it. The tradition continued, and every night before bed, I read to them. We loved Blackberry Ramble, Duncan, Stellaluna, Make Way For Ducklings and Blueberries for Sal. I’ll Love You Forever, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, The Little House, anything by Virginia Lee Burton, and plenty of series: The Boxcar Children, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, The Magic Tree House mysteries. And our reading didn’t stop, even as they got older. I also read The Hobbit to my kids, and when they became teenagers, we’d stuff ourselves into my bed, and I read all of the available Harry Potter novels to them. I tended to nod off before Will felt satisfied, so he’d swat me to wake up and keep reading. Both kids are in college now, but when they are home, they’ll still sometimes ask me to read. That kind of reminds me of days when there was no radio, television or screens of any

kind. It’s what families did together. So what’s the upshot of all this? Well, she doesn’t read too much Dickens, or Eliot, but Whitney is working slowly through War and Peace and otherwise, reads constantly. She’ll pick up a book, get so engrossed in it, she won’t come up for air until the thing is finished. And she’s fast, too. She got into the Robert Crais Elvis Cole series last summer and polished them all off in a week or so. She’s read the Twilight series at least three or four times, and the last time I saw her with a book, she was reading The Citadel by Pat Conroy. She’s already read most of his other novels and loves South of Broad the best. Will’s the same. He likes science fiction, fantasy, historical novels and mysteries. Even with a full course load he takes time to read before bed at night. I talked to him on the phone the other day and he was reading Conan Doyle’s Valley of Fear. He’s a huge Sherlock Holmes fan, and he’s gotten some of his fraternity buddies into the stories as well. They’ll talk about what they’re reading as if they belong to a book club. And what of my young niece? Alafair (she was named after the orphan daughter of James Lee Burke’s character, Dave Robicheaux) may turn out to be the biggest reader of the three. Her father caught her one afternoon reading something he deemed age inappropriate for a nine-year-old. She caught hell for it, too. I bet it doesn’t stop her from sneaking off into a closet, or her tree house with whatever book it was that she had discovered. She’s hooked. Her imagination has been fired by books. She knows that when she’s bored, there’s no one to play with, all she has to do is grab a book, and away she goes into excitement and adventure. I don’t know whether or not kids who read books will do better on the SATs. I read a ton and couldn’t score well on those blasted tests if my life depended on it. Some kids just don’t do well with the format of standardized testing. But reading couldn’t hurt. What hurts kids, and will hurt this nation when they grow up and become responsible for our future, is if there are no readers. If we become a people no more curious about the world in which we live than to stare at each other on Facebook or sit glued to idiotic video games, we’re in real trouble. Parents who read and read to their kids from an early age end up with kids who are readers. These kids are interesting, they have things to talk about, they are filled with ideas, rarely are they boring or bored. Stephen Smith is right. Shut off the flat screens and read to your kids! PS Geoff Cutler is owner of Cutler Tree LLC in Southern Pines. He is a regular contributor to both The Pilot and PineStraw. He can be reached at geoffcutler@embarqmail.com.

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November 2011 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills

Scorpio

(Oct. 24 - Nov. 22) Sweet Sassy molassy . You could bore the hump off a camel, Cupcake. No offense . when Mercury has you feeling itchier than a case of the swamps, resist the temptation to drop the hammer, especially on the 5th . You know what they say: Setting hens don’t hanker after fresh eggs . on the 16th, Jupiter will give you the gumption you need to take your stand. ’Course, the new moon will just as soon knock you flat. But try not to sweat it, Hon. Lordy be, I feel a hot flash coming on.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23 - Dec. 21)

Capricorn (Dec. 22 - Jan. 20)

Aquarius (Jan. 21 - Feb. 19)

Well I’ll be a greased monkey. I’d sooner eat raw garlic than be in your shoes this month. That said, you’d be wise to tie loose ends before you pick up and go, Pistachio. Otherwise, well, prepare for a transition that’s tougher than Chinese math. Darned if you won’t find yourself in a pretty pickle on the 18th, Honey Child. I say chug the vinegar and soldier on. And when Mercury goes retrograde on the 24th, hang on to your britches. Speaking of, remember this: Spandex is a privilege, not a right.

Holy guacamole. You’re greener than pickled pigs feet when it comes to the ways of the natural world, Sugar Buns. Take it from me. You don’t have to be a chicken to know a rotten egg. That said, it’s high time to do some cotton-picking housekeeping, you reckon? Pluto will have you hotter than blue blazes to initiate change in your professional realm too, particularly on the 11th. Get on with it, Cornstalk. Waiting around is about as useless as teats on a bullfrog. Sweet Milli Vanilli. Hate to break it to you, Cakeface, but you’re in for a month that’s lumpier than a batch of Mama’s maple cornmeal mush. Try not to get your skivvies in a twist on the 8th when Saturn has you feeling as ornery as a vegan at a schnitzel fest. Consider rounding up that pent-up frustration and using it to create something worthwhile. After all, when all’s said and done, your faith in the future is about as solid as a slice of sun-baked cow pie. Bless your heart.

Pisces (Feb. 20 - March 20)

I swan. Mama always said there were three types of people: those who make things happen, those who watch things happen, and those who don’t know what’s happening. It don’t take a cotton-picking physicist to figure out which one you are, Child. Don’t take it personally. And try not to lose your footing on the 7th neither, particularly when Neptune leads you into a situation as slippery as a canned yam. Looks like the 27th is your day to shine. Just remember: You can’t steal second base with your foot on first.

Aries (March 21 - April 20)

A fools says what he knows, a wise man says what he says. I say higgity biggity. I know if I were you I’d mince my words. When Venus has you feeling cheekier than Robin Goodfellow on the 2nd, you’d be wise to use that fleeting charm to your advantage, Toots. Lord knows it doesn’t come natural! And when you’re full of beans on the 23rd, for heaven’s sake, Honey, make haste! A mill can’t grind with water that is past.

Taurus (April 21 - May 21)

Texas Pete. I may not have a solution, but I sure do admire the problem. It’s your nature, Pickle Bottom. Mercury will have you itchier than a case of the clap to try something new. Thank the high heavens too, Hon. I declare. You could bore the webbed feet off a muskrat. Watch your tongue on the 16th when Mars has you feeling sweeter than that dishy Derek Jeter. If you can’t deliver what you promise, you’re as doomed as a lit wick. Listen, Pumpkin. The last thing I want to do is insult you. ’Course, it’s still on my list.

Gemini (May 22 - June 21)

Well I’ll be pruned. Although your judgment is as poor as an old church mouse, you’d be wise to follow your gut on the 3rd when Mercury has you feeling as bold as barrel-aged stout. The early bird may get the worm, but it’s the second mouse that gets the cheese. On the 23rd, be ready to talk the salt out of a seahorse, whether you’re at the beach or not. And you know what they say about troubleshooting, Sugar Britches. Trouble is, trouble always shoots back.

Cancer (June 22 - July 23)

Glory be. Is it just me or do strangers have the best candy? Listen, Sweetie. I digress. Sometimes your wants and needs are as different as chalk and cheese. You’ll know what I mean on the 5th. Keeping your nose to the grindstone in the middle of the month will be about as easy as putting lipstick on a pig (and loads less fun). Do yourself a favor and buck up, Bumpkin. And if at first you don’t succeed, well, just redefine success.

Leo (July 23 - Aug. 23)

Sticking feathers up your butt doesn’t make you a chicken, Dumpling. Fearing change does. When Mercury fills your noodle with clever ideas in the beginning of the month, let things marinate. Big trees from little acorns grow. ’Course, you’ve got to be willing to loosen your reins too. Hate to break it to you, Porkchop, but I’m afraid you’re wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. And if you don’t have anything nice to say on the 25th, well, then, you’ve been listening to me for too long.

Virgo (Aug. 24 - Sept. 23)

Well bless my Sunday bloomers. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory, Hon. Regardless, keep your spirits up this month when life seems to put a detour on your direct route. Life ain’t all beer and skittles, Cupcake. But good things come to those who wait. On the 15th, pucker up for a kiss that’ll right near have you seeing stars. Just try not to get too wrapped up in the romance, Child. Remember what you’re aiming for.

Libra (Sept. 24 - Oct. 23)

Well lick my leg. (No really, go ahead.) It pains me to say so, Pickle, but you’re in for a month that’s sweeter than a batch of Aunt Blanche’s jelly-filled sugar cookies. Wit and charm will be oozing from you like yellow goop from a sumac rash. Things are hotter than panseared sweet potatoes in the love department. Blah blah blah. I think I’m going to be sick, Honey. No offense. Still, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. PS

Astrid Stellanova, 58, owned and operated Curl Up and Dye Beauty Salon in Windblow, NC, for many years until arthritic ﬁngers and her popular astrological readings opened up a new career path. Feel free to contact Astrid for insights on your personal stars or hair advice for any occasion at astridstellanova@rocketmail.com.

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November PineNeedler THANKFUL! Thankful!

By Mart Dickerson

3 Color between red and yellow 4 Small amount 14 15 16 5 Ocean Spray’s ___berry drink 17 18 19 6 “___went the strings of my heart” 20 21 22 7 Love 8 Give a new title 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 9 Abstain from food 30 31 32 33 34 10 Any one of Christ’s 12 diciples 35 36 37 11 Lodge 12 Years in a decade 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 13 Cow food 45 46 47 48 21 Invigorate, heighten or intensify 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 22 THANKFUL 24 Poem of praise 56 57 58 59 27 Underdone, as steak 60 61 62 63 64 28 Car rental agency 65 66 67 68 69 29 Chick’s sound 70 71 72 31 Self-esteem 32 Bashful 73 74 75 34 Whoop it up www.CrosswordWeaver.com 36 Make lace 47 Bird claw ACROSS 38 Hook used for landing large fish 60 Pouched racquet sport 49 THANKFUL22 THANKFUL 1 THANKFUL 39 Fairy tale meany Poem of praise 64 Chart 52 Certain poker24player 5 Russian ruler 40 Famous ski resort Underdone, as steak 65 Unclothed 27 56 Tumbled 9 THANKFUL 68 Organization concerned with civil 28 Car rental agency 42 Chat 57 And so forth 14 Essence liberties (abbr.) 29 Chick's sound 43 Building addition 59 Work hard 31 Self-esteem 15 Travel, on69Youngs Rd. by horse Assistant 46 Air gun ammo. 60 Pouched racquet sport 16 Sleep disorder s Rd. by horse 70 Overwhelming military attack 32 Bashful 48 Panther’s assn. 64 Chart 17 Attack with knife 71 aTHANKFUL 34 Whoop it up 50 Winter mo. 65 Unclothed 36 Make lace 18 Soon 72 Pet's pest e 51 Shoot from a plane 68 Organization38 concerned with Hook used for landing large fish 19 Cher’s ex73 Humiliate 53 THANKFUL civil liberties39(abbr.) Dines Fairy tale meany 20 Summer 74 color 54 Sidesteps Saclike structures filled 69 withAssistant fluid 75 with 40 Famous ski resort 21 Repairs skin skin 55 Reiterate skin or diseased matter Chat attack 42 military 70 Overwhelming 23 Incite (2 wds.) 71 THANKFUL43 Building addition 58 Powdered chocolate 25 Flightless bird DOWN 72 Pet’s pest 46 Air gun ammo. 61 Wood cutting tool 26 Snare 73 Humiliate 48 Panther's assn. 62 Machine that takes coins in 30 Sewing needs Las Vegas 1 Snap together 50 Winter mo. 74 Dines 33 Territory within another territory nother territory of electrical power 2 Interruption 51 Shoot from a plane63 Washing machine residue 75 Saclike structure filled with fluid 35 “Pieces of ____” 3 Color between red and yellow 53 THANKFUL 65 Assn. for Michael Jordan or diseased matter 37 Eagle’s nest 4 Small amount 54 Sidesteps 66 Loose gown worn at Mass abrv) 38 Bev Perdue, (abbr) Ocean Spray's ___berry drink 5 e.g. 55 Reiterate 67 Korean car my heart" 58 Powdered chocolate 41 Journeyer 6 "___went the strings of DOWN 69 One of two in 48 down 1 Snap together 61 Wood cutting tool 44 Sixth sense7 Love 2 Interruption of62electrical Machinepower that takes coins in Las 8 Give a new title 45 Open mouthed

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Sudoku:

Fill in the grid so every row, every column and every 3x3 box contain the numbers 1-9. Puzzle answers on page 96

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

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southwords

Remembering the Sacrifice Whatever you think of our military conflicts, our soldiers — who are our neighbors — richly deserve our gratitude

By Chris L arsen

Having served in both World War I and World War II, my grandfather, Col. Hans. C. Larsen, always wanted to do something special on Veterans Day. Fittingly, we buried him on that day in 1985.

I am no fan of war, but have a deep respect and admiration for those who fight in them. My neighbor Michael serves in the Special Forces and is away quite often. I don’t ask him much about where he goes and what he does when he is away, and we carefully avoid certain topics on which we know there will be little common ground. We do, however, share an appreciation for pretty women, tasty wine, semi-behaved dogs and a love for life in Southern Pines. That is more than enough. Recently Michael and his friend Lana and I had dinner together at the Pine Needles pub. Following a good meal and a fine red wine, we took off our shoes and walked toward home up the 18th fairway, barefoot under a moonlit sky. A Black Hawk helicopter pilot, Lana would be deployed in the morning. For a Sandhills moment, life was very good, and we silently embraced the simple joys of a peaceful night. After World War II and my grandfather’s stint as provost marshall at Fort Bragg, my grandparents planted roots in Fayetteville, a town that very much looks and feels like the military town it is. We have our share of soldiers on this side of Fort Bragg, too. Southern Pines and Pinehurst do not have the look and feel of a military town, but the military and their families are very much a part of the fabric of our town. We see them in the shops and meet them on the golf courses. They worship with us and, just as often, leave a vacant space in the family pew while they are off to fight our wars. My friend Jenny is the wife of a Navy SEAL. Late night phone calls from him after a successful mission or sad disaster are not uncommon. The simple sound of his voice provides

powerful relief. As any military spouse can tell you, Jenny and her family are serving also. I worked on and around Capitol Hill for almost my entire time in our nation’s capital. House and Senate; Republican and Democrat; I worked and played with them all. Although the Marine barracks were only a few blocks away and I knew many who had served, it was rare to meet and really know those who would head into battle. Without discussing the relative merits of our current conflicts or even of war as a concept, I think it is sad that the decision-making culture of Washington, D.C., is so devoid of any personal sense of sending young men and women off into harm’s way. It is an honor to live among folks who have chosen the military as a career. The world looks different when you know someone who gets deployed. Reports of battles and missions and of lives lost suddenly take on a very personal form. The reality of war is not a white paper and is not a report on cable news. Reality is seeing an empty space in the family pew. Reality is getting a big hug from a child of a friend simply because she misses her father. Reality is when my friend Jenny’s phone rings late at night. All of this hit me as we strolled the final hole toward home. Do we really appreciate all the wonderful things in life: a fine red wine, a thick filet mignon, laughter among friends, barefoot strolls, a gentle breeze on a warm autumn night? Much can be made about the beauty of the pines, the quality of the golf courses and the ever burgeoning arts and culture of our area, but it is very much the people who make this town special. Do we really need to be heading off to a war zone to fully recognize and embrace life in our wonderful community? As we begin to enjoy the perfect fall weather, take note of the fresh breezes, of the cool nights and of time spent with good friends. We can learn much from those who face death for a living. Embrace the joys and beauty that abound. Take off your shoes and find your own manicured meadow. And don’t forget to bring a friend and say a prayer for those in far-off lands, and give thanks for those who have come home. PS Chris Larsen is a resident of Southern Pines and is a frequent contributor to PineStraw and The Pilot. He can be reached at cdlars42@ gmail.com. Illustration by Pamela Powers January

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