Harbinger of Spring

The blue-gray gnatcatcher heralds the seasonal migration in Central N.C.

By Susan Campbell

It won’t be much longer . . . the wheezy calls from blue-gray gnatcatchers will soon be echoing from the treetops, signaling the beginning of spring migration here in central North Carolina. But these tiny gray-and-white birds are not going to find you. You are going to have to find them. As they flit around searching for small insects, they tend not to stay in one spot long enough for a good look. But with patience and a sharp eye, a determined birder will spot the bird’s characteristic dainty bill, white eye ring and long black tail with white edges.

Some of these passing gnatcatchers will stay put and raise a family, or two, here in the coming months. The species is known to breed across most of the Eastern United States at lower elevations. Within the gnatcatcher family this is the only species that is truly migratory, although individuals that we encounter have not likely traveled northward very far. Wintering grounds may be as close as Florida though some gnatcatchers may wing their way back from as far away as Cuba or the Bahamas.

Despite their name, gnats do not form a more significant part of the bird’s diet. Foraging for any invertebrates they can find, a gnatcatcher will sometime capture insects and spiders that are too large to swallow. But this ingenious bird divvies its prey into smaller portions by banging the insects on a branch to dispatch them and then pulling their appendages off until they are small enough to swallow. Its secret weapon to uncover insects? A long tail that it will flick from side to side to disturb the vegetation and cause potential prey to fly into visual range.

The species is sometimes referred to as “Little Mockingbirds,” not so much for their plumage but for their tendency to incorporate elements and snippets of other birds’ songs into their own.  Short songs involve wheezy “spee” notes. But longer songs, meant to better advertise territory in the spring, involve a variety of sounds: chips, whistles and mewing notes that are typically very high-pitched. When they cannot get their point across, males will chase one another, sometime ranging abroad as far as 70 feet or more. If things get particularly fierce, the competitors may even rise up, chest to chest, high in the air, with snapping bills in what looks like an odd game of “chicken.”

Here in the Piedmont and Sandhills, blue-gray gnatcatchers can be found in any forested area where there is a significant understory. This is a species that thrives on woody vegetation and an insect-rich environment. Nests tend to be high up in hardwoods and are constructed with fine grasses and a variety of soft materials. Furthermore, they always include an exterior layer of mosses or lichens that camouflage the small cup-like nests from predators. As with the only slightly smaller ruby-throated hummingbird, nests need to be almost invisible. Adult blue-gray gnatcatchers have no other effective means of defending the next generation than the ingenious use of camouflage. As it is, eggs and young are often located by small mammals, as well as climbing snakes and other birds. But the parents will readily build a new nest, even incorporating old nesting material to speed up the process, several times in a season, if need be.

So if you keep an eye as well as an ear out towards the end of the month, you may spot one of these spirited and industrious little birds. Tiny blue-gray gnatcatchers are certainly one of the most overlooked members of our summer bird fauna. However, I guarantee they will be out and about if you take the time to notice in the weeks ahead.  PS

Susan would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos at susan@ncaves.com.

Martins Redux

Catching up with a brother act

By Lee Pace

The sports world is chock-full of successful sibling stories. From coaching you have Jim and John Harbaugh, and Rob and Rex Ryan. From quarterbacking, exhibit A is certainly Peyton and Eli Manning. The tennis world features sisters Venus and Serena Williams, and brothers Bob and Mike Bryan. The Busch boys (Kyle and Kurt) have won often on NASCAR tracks, and you cannot get close to center ice without stumbling on a Stahl (Eric, Marc, Jordan, Jared).

Golf from way back had Lloyd and Ray Mangrum combining for 41 PGA Tour wins, from a generation ago Lanny and Bobby Wadkins emerging out of Richmond, and today Francesco and Edoardo Molinari are forces on the European Tour.

So what to make of Zachary and Joshua Martin, the dynamic brotherly golf duo from Pinehurst now plying their trade at the University of North Carolina?

“It’s an interesting sibling dynamic,” says Pinehurst teaching pro Kelly Mitchum, who gave both brothers lessons during their high school days. “They’ve competed against each other, but I’ve never sensed anything but them truly rooting for each other. They always wanted each other to do well.”

“It’s like they’re each other’s biggest cheerleader,” adds UNC coach Andrew Sapp, who brought Zach into the Tar Heel program in 2013 and Josh in 2015. “I really haven’t seen a sibling rivalry between the two. I was out of town with Josh once at a tournament and we heard that Zach had lit it up in a qualifying round back home. Josh was genuinely excited to hear his brother shot a good score.”

The Martin brothers have acquired over their dozen years in Pinehurst quite the golfing pedigree. The family was profiled in the Wall Street Journal in 2008 for its adventuresome move from Wilson in Eastern North Carolina to Pinehurst so that the boys could have access to the village’s largesse — courses, instructors and a 24-7 golf ambience. Bowie and Julie Martin gave their boys opportunities in all manner of sports as youngsters, but in time they gravitated toward golf. Bowie’s job as owner and president of a family business involved in manufacturing and distributing premium table tennis equipment worldwide gave him the freedom to relocate. At the time, Zach was 10 and Josh 8.

“I was too young to know how crazy it was with our parents having a business in Wilson,” Josh says. “But it worked out well for everyone.”

“I can better appreciate the history of Pinehurst as I’ve gotten older,” Zach says. “When we first moved, all I saw was a bunch of golf courses. Then you understand more about the North and South Open, the PGA Championship back in the 1930s, you definitely get a better appreciation. I think being in Pinehurst has definitely helped both of us develop as golfers.”

Zach first caught the attention of Sapp while shooting a 66 at Mid Pines in a junior tournament in 2012. “He made everything he looked at,” Sapp remembers. “He’d bang it, go find it and drain another birdie.” Zach’s birdie putt in a playoff on the 17th hole at Pinehurst No. 8 secured the state championship for Pinecrest High in 2013.

Josh won a pair of Donald Ross Memorial titles and four U.S. Kids World Championships, held each August in the Sandhills, and in 2014 at the age of 17 became the youngest winner ever of the North Carolina Amateur Championship.

And they evolved with a single-minded focus that’s an oddity today with so many social media and youth league sports distractions.

“They never canceled a lesson, never were late for a lesson,” Mitchum remembers. “No matter the weather, they were on time and ready to work.”

Josh’s ability in particular earned him somewhat legendary status around the resort and community — originally the family rented a house on Pinehurst No. 3 and several years later moved to Pinewild Country Club. Enter a Google search for Josh Martin and you’ll find one subjective yet interesting blog listing him among the top 10 child golf prodigies of all time (along with Tiger Woods and Michelle Wie), and included is one unsourced account of a golfer at Pinehurst allowing this 7-year-old kid with ketchup on his shirt to join him on No. 4 and Josh shooting a 78. The grown-up asked the kid for an autograph after the round was over.

“We joined up with older people all the time,” Zach says. “At first, they were a little hesitant because we were so young. No one wants to be held up by little kids who are just learning. But once they saw we could play, they enjoyed it. We had a good time playing with other people and made some friends over the years.”

Sapp says he often runs into golfers and families from around the country and as far removed as China who knew of Josh’s dominance in the U.S. Kids World Championship and Rich Wainwright, an executive at Pinehurst and assistant golf coach at Pinecrest High, whistles looking at Josh’s prep era that included him, Eric Bae (now on the golf team at Wake Forest), Doc Redman (Clemson) and Henry Shimp (Stanford) and says, “That’s U.S. Open material there.”

Zach has caddied for Josh twice in the U.S. Amateur, and this spring both are competing for regular playing spots on a Tar Heel lineup that is likely the deepest and most experienced it’s been in many years. Zach is 22 and a senior, Josh 20 and a sophomore.

Bowie Martin says one of the elements of golf that he and Julie as parents favored in their children’s evolution was the emotional control and manners one had to learn to succeed in the sport. More than a decade into it, that’s proven prophetic.

“Etiquette, patience, self-policing are parts of golf,” Bowie says. “You don’t have officials on top of you. In golf, you monitor yourself. That’s the neat thing about it. If you hit a bad shot, you might have five minutes before you can get it back. Patience is huge, staying even-keeled over a longer period of time.”

To put the Martins’ games in nutshells, Zach plays a power game, Josh a precision game. Zach hits the ball “forever,” as Sapp says, and can overpower a course. He shot the course record at UNC Finley, a 1999 Tom Fazio design that can stretch to 7,220 yards, with a 63 last fall, then broke it two weeks later with a 62.

“Off the tee, he’s probably the longest guy on the team,” Josh says. “When he gets it going, he can go really low. He makes a bunch of birdies and can beat anybody.”

Zach might bomb his drive over bunkers on a par-5, while Josh, by no means short, is playing a more tactical game with carefully aimed hybrids off certain tees. Josh has a legendary short game.

“He knows how to get the ball in the hole,” Zach says, slowing down and enunciating in the hole with extra bite. “I can’t emphasize that enough. He knows damage control.”

“Josh doesn’t miss fairways, doesn’t miss greens, and makes a few birdies along the way,” Sapp adds. “When both are on, they have tremendous potential in college golf.”

I first met the Martins in the spring of 2009 when I wrote their story for the May 2009 PineStraw. Their swings were being videotaped by Eric Alpenfels, also a Pinehurst instructor and colleague of Mitchum’s, at the base of the Maniac Hill practice facility. The building blocks were apparent then — skill level, love of the game, focus, parental support.

“The boys would like to play college golf,” their dad said at the time. “After that, who knows? Golf offers a lot of opportunities to play as part of your business. You can be a teaching pro. You can try the pro tour, but that’s a tough life. That’s not the goal. The goal is the challenge of trying to accomplish something, to master a skill and get better.”

Nearly a decade later, so far, so good. Both are good students at Carolina, Zach studying economics and Josh sports administration, but both want to play pro golf. If that doesn’t work, something in the golf industry would be fine — teaching, perhaps. And the boys have grown as siblings and friends and with no apparent rivalry gumming up the works. The elder Zach even says his younger sibling’s glitzy record flips the traditional big brother/little brother dynamic.

“His accomplishments so far outweigh mine, so I look up to him and feel like he’s mentoring me every time I play with him,” Zach says.

“We’re competitive, but at the end of the day, we put down the clubs and are great friends,” Josh says.

Stay tuned for the spring of 2017 in Chapel Hill and then beyond for Zach and Josh Martin. There’s plenty of room in the winner’s circle that houses the Mannings and Mangrums — basically everybody and their brother.  PS

Chapel Hill-based writer Lee Pace has written “Golftown Journal” since the summer of 2008.

Bar Wash

The art of infusing a cocktail lineup

By Tony Cross

Working in the restaurant business can be brutal, demanding and taxing on the body. However, it’s also fun, crazy and rewarding. One aspect that I always embraced is when someone new joined the kitchen staff. It was interesting to learn new methods that he or she would bring to the table. Sharing was a big part of my job, and it never got old being on the receiving end of the exchange. Five years ago, I began a working relationship, which immediately turned into a friendship, with a new chef who had moved down from Chapel Hill named Randy. This is around the time that I started to get my hands dirty with bartending. One afternoon, Randy asked me if I heard about infusing bacon into bourbon. “Um, what?” I replied. I had no clue what he was talking about.

Randy quickly broke it down for me: Just take the fat from cooked bacon, add it to a bottle of bourbon, seal up the container, and put it in the freezer. When the fat separates, strain the bourbon out, and voilà! He recommended me putting a spin on an old-fashioned cocktail with maple syrup. So, I did. I had the drink ready as a special by the weekend, and it was a hit. For my Bourbon Kush, I used Maker’s Mark bourbon, Grade B maple syrup for the sugar (that’s the first one I could get my hands on at Nature’s Own), Angostura Bitters, and an orange peel for the oils and garnish. It was delicious!

What I didn’t realize until a few months later was that I had totally ripped off the bartender who created the “Benton’s Old-Fashioned,” Don Lee, from prized New York City bar PDT (Please Don’t Tell). Looking back, I think Randy had the drink at a local restaurant in Chapel Hill and thought it was something I could run with. Another thing I didn’t grasp was the science that goes behind what is now known as washing. It’s another way to infuse flavors into your booze. You can fat-wash (bacon fat, olive oil, sesame oil and butter), milk-wash and egg-wash, to name a few styles.

I didn’t mess around with any kind of “washing” until a few years later when I received the book Liquid Intelligence from famed bartender/wizard extraordinaire Dave Arnold. In Intelligence (which reads like a science textbook, by the way) Arnold covers these different washing methods. The first style that caught my eye was milk-washing. Milk-washing is an ideal infusion when you’re trying to cut out the astringency from an infusion used in a shaken cocktail. For me, this chapter couldn’t have come at a better time — I was looking to combine an Earl Grey tea infusion with a homemade marmalade that I was working on. Arnold’s directions for milk-washing were simple enough. I took eight of the best organic Earl Grey teabags that I had available, steeping them into a bottle of vodka for an hour, letting the infusion get very dark. Next, I took 250 ml of whole milk and poured it into a large mixing container, then adding the infused vodka to the milk (very slowly) while stirring. It curdled right away, just like the directions stated. After letting the milk and tea-infused vodka sit for a couple of hours, I slowly stirred a half-ounce of fresh lemon juice into the mix. The acidity of the juice allowed the milk to break away from the vodka. The remaining steps told me to gently scoop out the large curds and let the vodka sit another few hours before fine-straining the cloudy infusion. Simple enough. The result was a silky and tasty infusion. The vodka had all the flavor of the tea, without the bitterness from the bergamot. The Jean Grey soon found its way to my spring cocktail lineup.

An easier way to wash is with olive oil. I was recently invited to a pop-up dinner where the theme would be early 1900s France. I decided I wanted to do a spin on a martini, and since I’m not full-time behind a bar these days, I love trying out new things whenever I get a chance. I took a bottle of Plymouth gin and added that to a container with 4 ounces of organic, cold extracted olive oil. Just a quick, hard shake (10 seconds will do), leaving it to sit for a couple of hours. Place upside down in the freezer, allowing the oil to harden (it won’t completely freeze) before filtering out the infused gin. You want to place the container upside down, so the oil will be almost frozen on the bottom of the container when you strain the gin out. Doing this gave my gin an oily texture without the briny flavor that is associated with olive juice. It also added depth to my cocktail. Check out the recipe below.

Though I am no pro when it comes to washing spirits, like most everything else involving bartending, use quality ingredients. Don’t wash your spirit with anything that you wouldn’t eat or cook with. If it doesn’t taste good to you, it probably won’t taste good in your final product.

Lave et Humide

1 1/2 ounces olive oil-washed Plymouth Gin

1 1/2 ounces Dolin de Chambéry Vermouth

4 dashes Crude “Sycophant” Bitters

Combine ingredients in a mixing vessel, add plenty of ice and stir until liquid is ice cold. Strain into a chilled coupe glass. Add a lemon peel to the drink after expressing its oils over the martini.  PS

Tony Cross is a bartender who runs cocktail catering company Reverie Cocktails in Southern pines. He can also recommend a vitamin supplement for the morning after at Nature’s Own.

Mimi’s Dress

A wedding to remember, a grandmother no one will ever forget

By Anna Kraus

Through it all there was Mimi.

I got married a year ago this month. It was a destination wedding of sorts, held in Seaside, a quaint beach town located along the panhandle of Florida. Our small home there has been the site of family gatherings and vacations for as long as I can remember. As an Army brat it is the closest thing to a hometown that my family and I have. It is a special place.

Friends and family gathered for the weekend to celebrate my husband-to-be and me, and the weekend was kicked off with a rehearsal dinner that everyone was invited to. Everyone was invited because everyone, including friends, was family. A local restaurant paid homage to my husband’s family with paella cooked on an open flame, wine glasses filled with Spanish wine and Champagne bottles popping. Love was shared, toasts were made, and new acquaintances became old friends.

I got ready for the ceremony at my parents’ beach house, a bubble gum pink house that barely holds five people that was overrun with bridesmaids’ dresses, makeup, our two golden retrievers, Max and Molly, and camera equipment. It was frantic and cramped and hectic and it was perfect, made more so by being able to wear my Mimi’s wedding gown. My mother helped me dress, buttoning a thousand buttons and then (not so gently) throwing her veil on my head. Photographers whirled around us and puppies stepped on hemlines.

The dress itself is not really my style; I would not have picked it. It is a ball gown with yards of tulle and lace and stitching. I would have chosen something more modern with fewer frills. But wearing a gown that multiple generations of my family — my Mimi, my aunt and my mom — had worn made the moment I walked down the aisle that much more special.   

The wedding was held in a beautiful, small chapel in town. It holds 100 people, the exterior is white wash, and the interior is stained cedar with enormous windows that take up all the wall space, filling the one-room chapel with sun. Almost every pew was full. After the ceremony pictures were taken and I was whisked back to the house to change into something easier to wear. At the reception I showed off a dress more my style, a short white dress better suited for dancing until all hours of the night.

And there was dancing and singing, eating and drinking and festivity. Lights were strung across an outdoor square. Farm tables were decorated with blush garden roses and greenery. Candles twinkled and provided light as the sun set and everyone at the wedding celebrated my husband and me.

Through it all there was Mimi. At the rehearsal dinner she charmed and captivated. She adopted an old friend as “an honorary Barnes girl” and embraced new family as if they had been part of every family gathering for as long as she could remember. She conversed and cajoled as only Mimi could. She posed for pictures, encircled by her family, new and old. Mimi loved it.

At the wedding Mimi sat in the front row, delighting over being with all her family and honored by the fact that her eldest granddaughter was wearing her wedding dress. As I danced with family and friends at the reception, Mimi was right where she loved being, surrounded by family, in the center of things, holding court under a gas lamp for warmth. Mimi loved it.

Mimi passed away in October. It was a blow to our family, driving home the point that the extended family had lost the heart that kept us all truly connected. But it was also a chance to gather, and to gather is good. To gather together is a means to support and love and embrace each other. She brought us all together as only Mimi could. But Mimi’s absence was felt. She should have been holding court, staying up just as late as the rest of us as we all swirled around her. Sipping a glass of wine and staying right in the thick of things as we told stories and made memories. And Mimi would have loved it.  PS

Anna Kraus is Cos Barnes’ granddaughter. She lives in Alexandria, Virginia, with her husband, Andrew. 

On Point

The beauty of champion bird dogs

By Tom Bryant

My cellphone rang just as I was crossing the bridge over the Pungo River, leaving Hyde County. I had spent the last four days at Lake Mattamuskeet in pursuit of waterfowl, and I could feel every one of my
advanced years. As my good friend and hunting buddy John Vernon says, “Tom, how many more times do you think we’ll be able to do this?”

I saw that the caller was Rich Warters, another friend and outdoor enthusiast.

“Tom, you ready to shoot some birds?” Rich trains bird dogs, and a time or two I’ve shot pen-raised quail over his trainees.

“Rich, old buddy, that’s what I’ve been doing for the last week. I’m on the way home from Mattamuskeet.”

“That’s right, I remember now. How was the hunt?”

“We had a grand time. The ducks were kind of sporadic, but we did get enough for a meal or two. I’ll get you and Penny over for a duck dinner after a while.”

“Great,” Rich said. “But right now, I need you to shoot some birds for me. Robert Ecker is here training dogs before a trial coming up in February and we need a shooter.” Ecker is a professional bird dog trainer and is well-known in the sport as one of the best. He has two of Rich’s pointers in his training regimen, and he and Rich work closely honing the dogs’ natural ability. Rich had asked me a few weeks before if I could help out, and I enthusiastically agreed. Hunting pen-raised quail is not like hunting wild birds; but with the serious shortage of the wild variety, bird hunters shoot on preserves where quail are raised for this purpose. It’s not the same, but it’s the next best thing.

“Rich, I’d love to help you, but I injured a back muscle hunting this week, and I’m probably going to have to see the doc when I get home. This thing’s giving me a fit. I have to stop the vehicle every hour or so to stretch.” Many years ago, I had torn a muscle in my back while white-water canoeing. Every now and then, the injury will reappear just to let me know who’s boss.

“OK, Tom. Drive safely and call me after you see the doctor. If nothing else, we want you out here just to see the dogs. Bo and Bud are here, and I want you to watch ’em work.” Bo and Bud are Rich’s pointer bird dogs. I’d heard a lot about them but had not watched them in action. We rang off and I continued driving west toward Southern Pines.

A few days after I got home from the Mattamuskeet hunt, my back was making a slow recovery. Rich called again. “Bryant, how’s the back?”

“A little better, but I’m not going to be able to shoot for you. I don’t believe I’d be able to swing a shotgun.”

“That’s all right. We’re just going to make some photos, and I’ll bring a 20- gauge Remington for you to just shoot one bird. That way we’ll be able to get some pictures. How about Friday around one o’clock out at the kennel?” The kennel is located in west central Moore County on about 800 acres. Mills Hodge, another bird dog aficionado, actually owns the kennel, and he and Rich work closely training the dogs. The big difference in the two is that Rich owns and works English pointers, and his good friend Mills owns and works English setters. There is a lot of friendly competition going on all the time.

When I arrived that Friday, Rich and Robert were already there getting things ready for the afternoon training session. I hadn’t seen Robert since Rich and I ventured up to Michigan to hunt grouse. At that time, we again used Robert’s expertise and his dogs to locate wild birds.

Robert hadn’t changed a bit. A young ball of fire, he still has the enthusiasm and skill required to turn young dogs into champions. There are 42 dogs in his training camp; but on this outing, he would only take four: Rich’s two pointers, an Irish setter, and an English setter. Robert is from Quakake, a small town in Pennsylvania where he has his kennel. He has been a professional bird dog trainer since 1994; and in that time, he has won about 80 field trials. When I expressed my amazement, he modestly replied, “Tom, those are in the past; it’s the trials and the dogs in the future that count.”

When I drove up, Rich walked over to the car. I hadn’t seen him in a while, but Rich never changes. An amazing individual at 82, he seems half his age and can outdo many people much younger. Rich and his lovely bride, Penny, retired to Pinehurst in 1995 after he served as assistant school superintendent in Horseheads, New York. An avid golfer, Rich plays three or four times a week and is a member of the renowned Tin Whistles, founded in1904 and the oldest golfing fraternity in the country. He has won several tournaments with that esteemed organization. When he’s not playing golf, he’s out working his dogs. I met Rich shortly after he retired, and I consider myself a better man for it.

“Bryant, limp on over here. In a minute we’re gonna put you in this four-wheeler and show you some pretty dog work.” Robert loaded the dogs in their crates in the back of the vehicle and left to put out birds for the dogs to find during the work session.

“Here’s the shotgun.” Rich handed me a 20-gauge Remington 1100 and a handful of shells. “Now don’t get upset,” he said as I started to protest. “You only have to shoot one time. We just want to take some pictures. You don’t even have to hit the bird.”

It didn’t take Robert long to finish his chores, and we crammed into the vehicle and headed out through the pines. A little way into the longleaf pine forest, Robert pulled over and got Bud, Rich’s champion pointer, out of the carrier. Bud was runner-up national champion last year, and this year has a real opportunity to take first place. We drove a bit farther down the sand path with Bud hunting in front. All of a sudden, he locked up on point like a statue. If there is anything prettier than a bird dog on point, I don’t know what it is. We piled out of the vehicle and Rich said, “Tom, here’s your chance. Don’t miss.” Chuckling all the time.

Robert eased up to me and quietly said, “I’ll jump the bird. Be ready.”

I loaded the 20-gauge and watched as Robert slowly edged into the undergrowth. Then it happened; a bird the size of a chicken burst from the cover, cackling like a demented pterodactyl. It was a great big cock pheasant. I almost dropped the gun. I was expecting a little quail, and this monster flew out of the brush right over my head. I did have the wherewithal to swing the shotgun and get the bird as he was going away.

Rich and Robert almost doubled over, they were laughing so hard. I was set up. Rich said, “Tom, I remembered that you had never shot a pheasant, and I had the good luck to acquire this one for you. He’s going to be great on the dinner table with your ducks.”

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly, and I got to watch some superior dogs at work. On the drive home, I thought back to John’s question of how much longer we’d be able to do this. If Rich Warters is an example, it’s gonna be a long time.  PS

Tom Bryant, a Southern Pines resident, is a lifelong outdoorsman and PineStraw’s Sporting Life columnist.

Can Biochar Boost the Sandhills?

Secrets of pre-Columbian soils might hold a key to better harvests

By Jan Leitschuh

Spring beckons. Garden digging commences. Some will work organic matter and cover crops into their soil; a few innovative others will also use powdered biochar, an intriguing “new” substance with history dating back thousands of years — and a whole lot of worldwide interest and research.

To some, that soulful, springtime urge to root about in rich dirt is an exquisite, primal thing. We in the Sandhills can do it too. Lucky us. In March, others with sticky, clay-based soils have to wait. Our native sandy soil has many blessings — easy to work, drains well with a structure that’s hard to destroy, and our dirt doesn’t stain everything orange like clay.

But, and it’s a big but, our sandy soils have significant drawbacks. They don’t hang on to nutrients or water very well. They . . . drain. Fertilize your vegetable garden and — whoosh! — one of our typical growing-season deluges will rinse those expensive nutrients right out of the root zone and down into the water table. Farmers find they have to re-fertilize frequently, and irrigate often during dry spells, driving up costs. Our soils are also acidic, in part due to this “rinsing” action of frequent and hard rains. The Sandhills were among the last areas of the state to be settled, due to poor soils.

Organic matter will help all these issues.

And so will biochar, say local growers Mark Epstein and Billy Bullen of Flow Farms of Aberdeen. They make their own biochar and amend their very sandy soils with this special charcoal-like substance. Extremely porous, biochar shares many beneficial properties with organic matter — and best of all, it’s very stable and lasts far longer than compost. In fact, thousands of years longer. Studies have reported positive effects from biochar on crop production in “degraded and nutrient-poor soils,” that is, sand.

Could biochar become an essential tool in our Sandhills gardening — and even agricultural — tool kit?

“It’s an exciting approach,” says Taylor Williams of Moore County Cooperative Extension. “There is some new research on it about to commence right here in Jackson Springs, at the Sandhills Research Station.” Mike Parker, a NCSU tree fruit specialist, was recently was awarded a $63,000 Specialty Crop grant to study the effect of soil biochar incorporation on peach production at the Sandhills Research Station.

Take organic matter (OM) first. Work in some old compost, rotted manure or leaves, being exquisitely careful of the source. We don’t want any residual herbicides, heavy metals, weed seeds or pesticides. Voilà, you just increased your soil’s water — and nutrient — holding capacity. This is worth restating. In droughty, sandy soils, this ability to capture water and fertility is critical to making a crop. OM also feeds the soil life and microorganisms, which help make nutrients available to plants. Fabulous stuff all around, except for one sent. little problem. Assuming you can find a clean and affordable source, OM burns up fast during our hot, humid Southern summers, often before a crop is finished fruiting.

This is where biochar seems to offer benefits. Biochar is not just charcoal like your BBQ grill briquettes. Biochar refers to a specific sub-type of charcoal made under particular temperature and low oxygen conditions, called pyrolysis. It becomes “thermally modified biomass.” Biochar is what is left after the volatile material in wood is cooked off without much oxygen. The end result is impervious to microbial breakdown, even as it provides soil microbes with open-armed living conditions, a kind of “Hotel California” for soil life. It is more effective than OM at improving soil fertility over the longterm. Some reports have biochar increasing crop yields by significant percentages, especially as a field mellows.

Epstein and Bullen make their own biochar, torching waste from their woods in a specially built burner called an Adam retort. “Everything for us is so far experimental,” explains Epstein. “Last year, we did 15 to 20 burns. Every time we do it, we learn more.” Epstein is a veritable connoisseur of soil. As a longtime vegan, as well as a produce grower, he eats what he grows. That led him naturally to research the most nutritious soils to cultivate in the Sandhills.

The biochar story is a marvelous one, stretching back thousands of years, deep into the South American Amazon rain forest. Early Spanish conquistadors exploring the Amazon reported large, shining cities, with vast and productive fields, El Dorado. But later explorers found only jungles and poor yellow soil, and only small villages with subsistence plots. Rain forests share some of our local issues — frequent hard rains wash nutrients from the soils, and create poor fertility and acidity. It didn’t look as if there was enough fertile soil to support a large “shining city,” much less a culture of them.

We now know that wasn’t so.

Archeologists discovered and mapped certain black, fertile patches of soil they labeled “terra preta,” a Portuguese term meaning black earth. These surprisingly fecund areas were created by the pre-Columbian Amazon Indian culture through certain slash-and-char, low-oxygen techniques — charring (as opposed to combusting), then mixing the black, pounded result with the poor local soils. This prehistoric, man-made soil was found to be higher in nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium and calcium than adjacent soils. It held water and reduced leaching of nutrients. Scientists have referred to it a “microbial reef” that promotes mycorrhizae growth and other beneficial microbes. The Amazonian terra preta, all together about the size of Great Britain, could support large-scale agriculture. They had turned some of the world’s worst soils into some of the best.

And, most intriguingly, it has retained its fertility for thousands of years. These terra preta soils are understandably popular with the local farmers producing cash crops such as papaya and mango, which are said to grow about three times as rapidly as on surrounding infertile soils. (For archeology buffs who wish to look deeper into this fascinating story, Google a program on YouTube called “The Secrets of El Dorado”).

Modern writers have called it “the magic soil.” Could it help the Sandhills too?

“I think it’s an important piece of the puzzle,” says Epstein.

Scientists speculate that two of the greatest problems facing the world — climate change and the hunger crisis — might be alleviated, in part, by biochar.

Biochar increases crop yield several ways. The production process leaves a stable product with a massive amount of micropores, like an organic sponge that won’t biodegrade. While not fertile in itself, biochar’s tiny openings help grab nutrients that might otherwise rinse away to downstream pollution, and bank them for future use, keeping the goodies in the root zone where plants can pull from them as needed. Biochar increases water-holding capacity, maintaining soil moisture over a wide variety of climate conditions, and doesn’t burn off like organic matter. Remember those fertile Amazonian patches, over 1,000 years old? The Pre-Columbian material is still there, acting as a water and nutrient bank, still fertile.

Epstein agrees on both counts. “We’ve noticed our soil holds water better now,” he says. “We have ‘sugar sand’ here on our property, with very little natural organic matter. It’s classic Sandhills sand.” Since adding ground biochar to his soil, he’s noticed that, “we don’t have to irrigate as much. Go into the middle of our fields — it’s very high in organic matter. We still use cover crops of legumes and grasses that are an important factor in tilth. Yet, at the end of the season, we still have good soil.”

Biochar also adds carbon to the soil. Normally, cropping the same piece of ground year after year leads to a reduction in soil carbon. Carbon makes up about 50 percent of a plant’s material, so when a crop is harvested, the carbon leaves with it. This can be mitigated with “green manures” and cover crops that are tilled in spring, but again, OM burns off. Loss of soil carbon decreases productivity.

Not the soil on Flow Farms. Anecdotally, crops are good. Scientifically, soil tests show increasing CEC, or cation exchange capacity — a measure of a soil’s ability to grab nutrients. Soil tests also indicate ample fertility remaining in the soil. “With an immense surface area, biochar holds on to enormous amounts of ions,” says Epstein. “It’s a magnet to nutrients, grabs them up like a sponge. We’re not losing our soluble materials year after year.”

Biochar as stable, fixed carbon can store large amounts of greenhouse gases in the ground for centuries, potentially reducing or stalling the growth in atmospheric greenhouse gas levels, say some scientists. From 2005 to 2012, there were 1,038 articles referencing the word “biochar” or “bio-char” in the topic indexed in the ISI Web of Science. Institutions as diverse as Cornell University, the Agricultural Research Center of Israel and the University of Edinburgh have dedicated research units.

Flow Farms has finally produced enough of its product for its own fields, and will offer biochar to the public for the first time this year, price still unknown. “We’re trying to make it affordable to people and still make an honest return,” says Epstein. Because of the soluble nutrient capture, “It’s an upfront cost that lessens over the years,” he says.

The economics have yet to be determined. According to one source, application rates of one to eight tons per acre may be required for significant improvements in plant yields. Biochar costs in developed countries vary widely. With few producers, prices are often too high for the farmer/horticulturalist. An alternative is to use small amounts of biochar in lower cost biochar-fertilizer complexes.

Biochar is not fertile in itself, but collects nutrients from its environment, leading some users to pre-soak their biochar in fertilizers or compost. Epstein prefers to mix his into the top few inches of soil, “and let it age in its natural environment.”

As an organic, or as Epstein puts it, “veganic” grower, he also adds many beneficial natural elements, such as chopped leaves, gypsum, azomite, kelp meal, green sand, Tennessee Brown phosphate and lime. “We’ve done everything but come in and kiss the soil,” he jokes. But then, turning sand into black gold is his hobby and passion.

In springtime, any gardener understands this at gut level. Stay tuned to biochar. The char of the past may become a tool of the future here.  PS

Jan Leitschuh is a local gardener, avid eater of fresh produce and co-founder of the Sandhills Farm to Table Cooperative.

The Rise of Roussillon

Where red wine is roi

By Robyn James

Roussillon has been the redheaded stepchild of the French wine country for many years, a fact that is slowly changing due to the efforts of several ambitious and talented importers and winemakers.

This region connects Spain and France with the Mediterranean to the east and the Pyrenees Mountains to north, west and south.

The most important red grape grown in this region is carignan, accompanied by grenache noir, cinsault, syrah, mourvedre and some obscure local grapes. Red wine is king here, although they do produce about 25 percent rosé wines but only 2 percent white wines. Grenache blanc, roussanne and marsanne are the most popular white grapes grown.

The wines of Roussillon have been considered unremarkable for centuries, but 10 years ago, rock star importer Eric Solomon of European Cellars began to focus on the area. He previously imported wines mostly from Spain and other pricier areas of France such as the Loire Valley and the Rhône region. Ten years ago, Solomon met Jean-Marc and Eliane Lafage in Spain, where Jean-Marc consults with some Spanish wineries. Lafage suggested Solomon visit his vineyards in Roussillon, and a beautiful partnership was formed.

The Lafage family owns almost 400 acres of vineyards in various sections of Roussillon benefiting from the diversity of soil compositions. The knowledge and dedication of Lafage combined with the incredible palate and direction of Solomon have created wines that, in my opinion, raised the bar on quality/price ratio. An added bonus is that everything is farmed organically. Robert Parker, famous critic and owner of The Wine Advocate, says of Solomon, “I first tasted with Eric in 1991 and I have watched him grow as an importer to the point where he may be the finest in the United States.”

One of their projects in Roussillon is Saint Roch, a property in Agly Valley. The white they produce is Saint Roch Vieilles Vignes Blanc, a blend of grenache blanc and marsanne. It’s very rich and full-bodied with pronounced notes of tangerine and pineapple. As big as it is, it still pairs beautifully with food and usually sells for under $15. One of the reds from Saint Roch that I tasted is the 2014 Saint-Roch Chimères Côtes du Roussillon Villages. This wine is under $17 yet was awarded 92 points from Parker, who described it as mostly grenache, but including 30 percent syrah and 10 percent mourvedre. “Aged in a combination of concrete tank demi-muid (large oak barrels), it makes the most of this difficult vintage and has terrific purity in its raspberry, violet, licorice and olive-laced aromas and flavors. Ripe, nicely textured and with bright acidity,” wrote Parker.

The Lafage estate produces a Miraflors Dry Rosé that is an organic blend of mourvedre and grenache gris. It is a must-have for summertime quaffing. It has gorgeous notes of strawberries, framboise and rose petals. At under $18 it rivals the great rosés of Bandol that sell for $40-$60.

Two more reds they produce are the 2014 Tessellae Grenache-Syrah-Mourvedre Old Vines, under $15 and 2014 Domaine Lafage Bastide Miraflors, a blend of syrah and grenache that is under $17. These two wines are the same blends that you would find in Châteauneuf-du-Pape selling for three to five times the price. Parker gave Tessellae 90 points and described it as a remarkable bargain from Lafage. Aged in concrete, this blend of 50 percent grenache, 40 percent syrah and 10 percent mourvedre “. . . comes from 70-year-old vines planted in limestone and clay soils. A delicious, dense ruby wine with notes of red and black cherries, earth, spice, pepper and a touch of Provençal garrigue. Fresh vibrant acidity is also present, and the wine is uncomplicated, but rich, fleshy and very well balanced,” writes Parker.

On Bastide Miraflors, Parker identifies the 2014 Bastide Miraflors, which is a Côtes du Roussillon that blends 70 percent syrah and 30 percent grenache — with the grenache aged in concrete tanks and the syrah in 500-liter demi-muids — as a particularly notable bargain. “Lafage makes more expensive wines than this, but certainly excels with his value lineup. He has really hit a home run with this 10,000-case cuvée,” writes Parker. “It is deep, ruby/plum/purple, with fresh notes of blackcurrants, plums, Provençal herbs as well as licorice. Deep, medium to full-bodied, with amazing fruit, the purity, authenticity and Mediterranean upbringing of this wine are obvious. Quite deep, round and succulent, this wine should drink well for another several years. This is one to buy by the case.”

Clearly, there is a bromance going on among Lafage, Solomon and Parker, but the proof is in the bottles. They are amazing blends. PS

Robyn James is a certified sommelier and proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at robynajames@gmail.com.

Yelp!

Something to sink your teeth into

By Clyde Edgerton

I went to a new dentist last week. The old one recently retired. I sat in the waiting room reading a magazine until called into the room with the chair and drills. That room had new equipment and I noticed that the seat-chair-bed-thing that you sit on and that they lean you back in, felt very comfortable.

I needed a crown. The new dentist came in. The reason I was using a new dentist is that he took over the patients of my old one. 

Isn’t it funny what all we don’t check up on. You may be different but I ask friends about where to eat. I go online and check prices and comments about shoes I might buy. And in the store, I try on several pairs before buying. I go into Dick’s for a basketball and look at a whole rack with prices under each basketball and I pick up several and dribble them there in the store. Then I decide.

But I go to somebody who is going to operate on my head, inside my mouth with drills and needles and cement, and I don’t do research. Maybe you do. But somehow I’ve never shopped for a dentist. My mama took me to the first one and then that dentist retired and turned over his office to a distant cousin of mine — and I went to him because he was kin — and then he turned his office over to another dentist. I continued going to that one for years . . . 

Then I moved to Wilmington and I have no idea how I ended up with my first Wilmington dentist (15 years ago), since I didn’t inherit him. (I had no complaints.) And now, when that one retired, the office people didn’t change and I kind of knew them, and all of the sudden I was in the long, reclining seat when the new guy came in. I had no idea of whether or not he could tell a bicuspid from a bicycle. He looked to be about 12, 13 years old.

Things went fine. I liked him. He wore gloves with a grape smell. On purpose. Honest.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that people in our culture tend to be silent about the price of a dentist’s or doctor’s bill — when you pay, that is. If it’s your car and your oil has been changed and you’ve gotten a new battery, you say to the cashier, “How much?” and the cashier tells you and you pay. If it’s a doctor, the cashier says, “That’s a $30 or $70, or (now) $90 co-pay, please.” And you pay it. The end.

What I don’t say is, “How much was the total charge for today’s visit?” Maybe you do.

Actually, for a short while about three years ago, I did ask the receptionist/cashier about total bill numbers, and something like the following is what usually happened:

“That’s a $40 co-pay,” says the receptionist/cashier.

I reach for my billfold and say, “Can you tell me how much the bill is?”

“Forty dollars.”

“No, I mean for the entire visit. You know — the whole bill. I’m just curious.”

“For the entire visit?” she asks, looking up at me for the first time. She’s looking me in the eye.

“Yes, Please. Thank you.”

“Well, let’s see,” she says, and she looks down at the piece of white paper she’s about to file, having given me the yellow copy. I look at my copy. It has 200 tiny squares with something medical written in beside each, something like “Quadra florientine xerox procedure.”  Or “Hymiscus of the vertebrae test.” Of the 200, nine are checked off.

She goes to a closet and gets an adding machine, one like my father used to have in his grocery store in the ’50s. She brings it back out, places it on her desk, and puts the white piece of paper down beside it. “Hang on,” she says. “This might take a minute or two.” She turns to the computer while holding her finger on that first check in the top little block on the white piece of paper. With a mouse under the other hand, she finds what she’s looking for on the computer from a website and puts a number into the adding machine, and pulls the handle. She sound is sort of: Cha-chank.

“OK,” she says. “Let me see here.” She places a finger on the second check, finds a different website, and finds what she’s looking for. She puts a number into the adding machine. Cha-chank.

She makes a phone call and says, “Yes, I can wait.” In about two minutes she says, “Yes, can you give me the price of a crankshem rebotolin frisk? . . . . OK, thanks.” Cha-chank.

She’s back on the computer. This goes on for a while. Shadows, from sunlight coming through windows, lengthen across the room.

“Okey-doke,” she says. She tears off the strip of paper from the adding machine, pulls a curtain around her that hangs from a curved rod, looks over my shoulder, leans forward, looks left and right, circles the bottom number and places it up on the counter in front of me. $489.23.

I say, “Thank you very much.”

Now, I’m waiting for the day there is a co-pay on the co-pay. And that time is not far off, probably about the time my dentist turns 16 or 18.  PS

Clyde Edgerton is the author of 10 novels, a memoir and most recently, Papadaddy’s Book for New Fathers. He is the Thomas S. Kenan III Distinguished Professor of Creative Writing at UNCW.

Tools of the Trade

Some gone but none forgotten

By Deborah Salomon

In my eight years at PineStraw I’ve observed how writers like to reminisce over objects representing a time or place. To be kinda corny, these are mileposts on life’s highway, more Route 66 than I-95. Most of mine belong in the kitchen — relics exhibiting a patina, a glow, when viewed beside microwaves, food processors, Keurigs, blenders and non-stick Bundt pans.

Some have gone to pots-and-pans heaven; others I cling to for dear life since they outperform successors. Let’s look beyond the here and now to way back when:

The eldest is my Greensboro granny’s “stew pot,” a wobbly aluminum WearEver vessel with a clip-on lid and two small grab handles rather than one long. Nanny was born in 1875, married in 1899. In this pot, easily a centenarian with another 100 years possible, she boiled beef with a cut-up onion and a jar of home-canned tomatoes. This simmered on the back gas burner or the woodstove all afternoon until the chuck roast fell apart and the liquid almost evaporated. If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I can smell it now. I also have her biscuit cutter and wood bread tray, its bottom worn to splinters, worth hundreds to Southern antique collectors.

The jewels in a Jewish cook’s crown are matzo ball soup and chopped liver. My mother-in-law made divine chopped chicken liver (with hard-boiled eggs and caramelized onions) in a Hamilton Beach electric meat grinder that weighed a ton. It must have been 20 years old when she relinquished the chore to me in the 1960s. Chopped liver perfected, I discovered superb hamburgers made from home-ground meat. The upper part is made of a metal which, on assembly, sounds a strange clunk. When our basset hound heard this he came running, anticipating scraps. Presently, my countertop behemoth stands, statuesque, rather like a headstone, on a storeroom shelf.

The only item from my mother’s kitchen is an odd-sized brownie pan made from dark embossed metal. She talked a good game, but made her “famous brownies” about once a year, for bridge club.

My wedding gifts included an enamel-on-cast-iron oval Dutch oven from Royal Dru in, where else, Holland. Oh, the briskets this friend has simmered, the coq au vin. Its green exterior is chipped, the white interior stained. Yet 57 years later the stalwart outperforms any replacement.

You wouldn’t want to see my two warped aluminum cookie sheets. With blackened bottoms and curled edges, they are beyond disreputable. No matter; after more than 50,000 cookies, I cannot remember one burned batch. Humbug to the dark non-stick kind. I keep the top side bright with Brillo and will use them as long as I can find cookie lovers. Which is never a problem.

Two percolators have followed me from apartment to duplex, four houses, a condo and back to an apartment. One is stovetop — a tall, stainless steel number memorable because my toddlers used to take it apart and put it together like a puzzle, causing a happy clatter. The other (both Farberware) is electric. Drip coffee cannot compare in flavor, aroma or temperature. I see that both are again available in retro catalogs.

As for ordinary pots, I’ve always preferred copper-bottomed. They never wear out but do become aesthetically challenged. Time to replace. I bought just one, same brand, except it weighed so much less that I returned it. After all, only the contents matter.

One cherished icon that got away was Nanny’s iron skillet with an iron lid that doubled as a shallow frying pan. She fried chicken (raised “free-range” in the yard, terminated and cleaned on the back porch, soaked in salt water overnight) and cooked it the pre-deep fryer way: dredged in seasoned flour, browned in Crisco, covered with the lid and into the oven for 45 minutes. When tender she removed the lid and crisped the skin over a burner. Other times, the lid-skillet turned out perfect free-range sunny-side ups.

Another gone-but-not-forgotten relic: an aluminum cauldron with tall lid and basket for sterilizing baby bottles. I tried it on soup but the metal was too thin, resulting in burned split peas.

No, I don’t have a kitchen clock with a cord; the electric skillet and wok (always red, never hot enough) have gone with the wind, as have the wood-handled knives with blades worn down by sharpening against a stone, something my father insisted on doing.

What will become of this trove? My grandsons are more interested in eating than cooking. I have no granddaughter.

Sounds rather maudlin, but not really. My kitchen tools were friends — dependable, capable and, unlike their newer counterparts, long-lasting. I salute them, with thanks.  PS

Deborah Salomon is a staff writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.

PinePitch

Saint Patrick’s Day Parade

On Saturday, March 18, The Village of Pinehurst will show off its Irish spirit during the 16th Annual Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. Colorful parade entries, great music, dancing and good Irish cheer are in store for all who attend. The parade begins at 11 a.m. sharp at Tufts Memorial Park, 1 Village Green Road, West, Pinehurst. Following the parade, families can stick around for entertainment, children’s activities, and food and beverages. (Rain date: March 25.)

Parade entries from non-profits, businesses, civic groups, churches and families are welcome, so don your Irish green and join us for the celebration. Here’s to the Emerald Isle. For more information, contact Dugan’s Pub at (910) 295-3400.

Meet the Author

On Thursday, March 9, at 5 p.m., Michael Knight will present his new work, Eveningland, a collection of interlinked stories and a novella that are set in or near Mobile, Alabama. These stories, which range in focus from the historical catastrophe of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill to the personal intricacies of a marriage, will take you through the whole gamut of human emotion. Knight, who is from Mobile, has received numerous awards, including the New Writing Award from the Fellowship of Southern Writers and the Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award Special Citation. He is the director of the creative writing program of the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. This event will take place at The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211.

The Rooster’s Wife

The Rooster’s Wife March lineup bursts into spring:

Sunday, March 5: Kerrville Song Circle. Winners of the 2015 Kerrville New Folk songwriting competition, Wes Collins, Amy Kucharik, Tom Meny and Becky Warren tour together as a four-person in-the-round show. $15.

Friday, March 10: Major and the Monbacks. This high energy, Virginia-based band is an ensemble of bass guitar, keyboard, organ, vocals, percussion and a couple of horns that blends ’60s and ’70s rock with psychedelic and a little soul. $15.

Sunday, March 12: Al Strong Quartet. As a trumpeter, arranger and composer, Al Strong incorporates progressive jazz, soul, gospel and Afro-beat grooves. $20.

Sunday, March 19: Lindsey Lou and the Flatbellys. Based in bluegrass, this stringband features mandolin, guitar, resonator guitar and sultry vocals. It’s Americana and beyond. $20.

Sunday, March 26: The Kennedys, a folk/rock/pop duo, and Jack Broadbent, a modern bluesman on a slide guitar, share the stage. $20.

Doors open at 6 p.m. and music begins at 6:46 at the Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight St., Aberdeen. Call (910) 944-7502 or visit www.theroosterswife.org for info and tickets.

Young People’s Fine Arts Festival

The Arts Council of Moore County presents the 21st Annual Young People’s Fine Arts Festival showcasing the artistic talents of students in grades K–12 from Moore County public, private, charter and home schools. You are invited to attend the Opening Reception and Awards Ceremony on Friday, March 3, from 5 to 7 p.m. at the Campbell House Galleries, where all entries will be on display from March 3 to 31. The reception and exhibit, sponsored by George Little & Associates Inc., Whistle Stop Press Inc. and the Town of Southern Pines, are free and open to the public. The Gallery is located at 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Gallery hours are 9 a.m.–5 p.m. weekdays and 1–4 p.m. on Saturday, March 18. Call (910) 692-2787 or visit mooreart.org for more information.

Horses, Hearts and Heroes

On March 30, enjoy an evening of dinner, dancing and the music of DJ King Curtiss in celebration and support of horses and heroes at the Prancing Horse Annual Spring Barn Dance, from 6 to 10 p.m. Tickets for the dance are $50 per person and can be purchased at Cabin Branch Tack Shop, Southern Pines; A Bit Used, Vass; Sandhills Winery, West End; Lady Bedford’s Tea Parlour, Pinehurst; or online at www. prancing-horse.org. The $100 raffle tickets can be purchased at www.prancing-horse.org or at the event. The festivities take place at The Fair Barn, 200 Beulah Road S, Pinehurst. For more information, call (910) 281-3223.

Photography Stroll

On Saturday, March 11, at 9:30 a.m., take a one-mile hike through the Weymouth Woods-Sandhills Nature Preserve with wildlife and nature photographer Brady Beck. The towering long-leaf pines of Weymouth Woods provide a home for many rare and intriguing creatures, such as the red-cockaded woodpecker, pine barrens tree frog and fox squirrel, as well as a habitat for the highly photogenic wiregrass and wildflowers. While strolling one of the easy trails through the forest, Beck will share tips for capturing the natural beauty of the longleaf pine ecosystem.

Brady Beck is a biologist studying the red-cockaded woodpecker in the Sandhills. His interests in photography include capturing natural history details, observing wildlife behaviors and creating wildlife portraits in both still and HD video formats. 

This program celebrates the conservation legacy of Ansel Adams and the exhibition of his photographs at the NC Museum of Art through May 7, 2017. Weymouth Woods is located at 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. (910) 692-2167.

Sandhills Farm to Table Now Open for 2017! 

Become a member of the Farm to Table Co-op and get boxes of the freshest local fruits and vegetables delivered to your Gathering Site from mid-April to November. Being a member of the Co-op has many additional benefits — You will receive newsletters with recipes and tips and have access to the online artisanal market, which delivers grass-fed beef, local honey, homemade ice cream, goat cheese, salsas and jams, baked goods, sustainably-raised pork and poultry and more, fresh to the Gathering Site nearest you. You will be able to order extra and bulk seasonal produce each week, like peaches for canning or strawberries for jam. And members are eligible to take part in classes, demonstrations and community events such as You Pick Days! Sign up today and help create a healthier, resilient community that ensures a long-term, secure market for Sandhills farmers. Info and signup: www.sandhillsfarm2table.com or call (910) 722-1623.

And Then There Were None

Beginning Thursday, March 23, and running through the 26th, The Judson Theatre Company (Moore County’s only professional theatre) presents Agatha Christie’s bestselling mystery of all time. Ten guilty strangers are trapped in a mansion on Soldier Island, stranded by a torrential storm and haunted by an ancient nursery rhyme. One by one, they begin to die. Alison Arngrim, who played Nellie Oleson on TV’s Little House on the Prairie, stars as the ruthless, remorseless Emily Brent. Tickets: $38. (Save $8 per ticket when you buy 10 or more.) The performance is at 7 p.m. Thursday, 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, with a matinee at 2 p.m. Saturday and 3 p.m. Sunday, at Owens Auditorium at Sandhills Community College, 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst. For more information, call (910) 585-6989 or visit www.judsontheatre.com.

Saturday in the Gardens

The 69th annual Southern Pines Garden Club Home and Garden Tour is being held on a Saturday for first time, April 8 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. The tour features six elegant homes and gardens from horse country to historic Pinehurst and includes stops at Weymouth and Sandhills Gardens for springtime plant sales. Proceeds are used for community beautification and horticultural education projects that benefit all Moore County residents. Tickets ($20 in advance) are available at the Campbell House, the Women’s Exchange, the Country Bookshop, and online at www.southernpinesgardenclub.com.

Cliff Aikens Sings Our Songs

Gather at Given for an evening of “American History and Americana Told in Song,” as folk singer Cliff Aikens recalls the decades from 1920 to 1970 in dialogue and songs  by Woody Guthrie; Bob Dylan; The Weavers; Peter, Paul and Mary; Pete Seeger; The Grand Ole Opry; Simon and Garfunkel; and the Kingston Trio. Come, listen, sing along, remember and reconnect to the special times in your own lives.

Performances are free and open to the public on Tuesday, March 7, 3:30 p.m. at Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Road, Pinehurst; and on Wednesday, March 8, 7 p.m. at Given Outpost, 95 Cherokee Road, Pinehurst.