Sporting Life

A Parade of Summer Memories

Recognizing a near-perfect dove hunt and a trip down memory lane

By Tom Bryant

The storehouse of our memories is like an unused room in which we lay aside the odds and ends of many treasured things.  — Roland Clark, Gunner’s Dawn

Opening day of dove season was a week away and I was up in the “Roost,” our little garage apartment where I do my writing and keep out of the way of Linda, my bride. I was sorting through gear in preparation of the coming season and putting up a plethora of fishing paraphernalia from our last adventure. In late August it’s usually too hot to fish — witness a trip to Huntington Beach from which we’d just returned. It had been a smoker, in the high 90s most days with a heat index, as the Weather Channel people like to say, in the triple digits. Anyhow, it had been too hot to do much of anything except hang out in the air-conditioned little Airstream, read, and nap. We would venture out in the evening for a walk on the beach, and we did make a couple of trips down to Georgetown for lunch to eat grouper sandwiches at The Big Tuna, one of our favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants.  I had made a start on cleaning up the “Stream” but still had a way to go. The air conditioner had given us a small problem on this last day of this trip. It refused to cycle from cold to fan, but I had hopes that it was caused from constant use and was nothing too troubling or expensive to fix. I was thinking about all of this as I wiped down my favorite dove gun, a sweet little 28-gauge Remington 870. I love her in the field because she’s light and easy to handle. Oh well, I thought, I’ll finish my cleaning chore tomorrow. Right now, it’s all about dove hunting.

I’ve been in the woods every opening day for as far back as I can remember and have memories of hunts, good and bad, from those many years. In the far corner of the roost was another of my bird guns and the one with which I’ve had the most success. It’s a Browning 16-gauge over and under, a Christmas present from Linda. I put the 870 aside and broke the Browning down for cleaning. “Hey there, babe, you remember that first hunt when you showed me what you could do?” I’ve started talking to inanimate objects and myself as I’ve grown older. Linda often admonishes me about it and says she hopes I don’t do it in public. “Only when standing in line at Walmart,” I reply. I’ll not forget the first time I hunted with the 16-gauge. Edwin Clapp, the squire of Siler City (the moniker several of his friends and fellow hunters gave him), called me late one evening after Christmas. The conversation went something like this: “Hey Bryant, get your stuff ready and be at my house in the morning at 10 o’clock. I’ve got a dove field that’s eat up with winter birds. The regular crowd will be here. Oh, bring plenty o’ shells. I remember the last shoot you had up here.” As you can tell, I get little respect from my good hunting buddies.

The next afternoon found me, along with my little yellow Lab, Paddle, stationed beside a giant dead oak tree bordering a blown-down cornfield, the victim of a late storm that blew in off the Atlantic and laid waste to the farmer’s fall harvest effort. The corn was flattened on the ground so badly there was no way it could be gathered. Bad luck for the farmer but great luck for us as we locked and loaded and waited on the dove flocks that Edwin promised were sure to come. And come they did. I made a double with my first shots from the Browning. I looked down at the brand new gun and said to her, “Looks like we’re really going to get along.” Paddle came back with the first bird, and I sent her after the second that had fallen behind the dead oak. She loped back with it, and I could see her almost smiling as if to say, “Hey boss, this is gonna be a good day.”

And a good day it was. In short order, I had a limit of doves with only one miss. In all my recollections, it was the best day of dove shooting I’ve had. On the way out of the field, even Edwin said, “Good shooting, Bryant. Let me see that gun.” Good memories. I put the Browning aside and sorted random shells that I keep in an old military ammo box. I bought the box at an army surplus store on one of our many forays to the beach. The store was at an out of the way little town somewhere Down East, I honestly can’t remember where, but it reminded me of our last return trip from Huntington.

In the first place, I try to avoid traveling to or from the beach on a Saturday. This is the day the coastal resorts turn over; everybody who is at the beach vacationing for a week returns home, and those going to the beach for a week make the trip. Our air conditioning problem forced us to leave a day early, so we were caught in the Saturday transition. We resigned ourselves to grin and bear the traffic, and as my mom always says, take the bad with the good, which is what we did until we reached the picturesque little town of Fair Bluff.  Fair Bluff rests on the banks of the Lumber River, and the farming community is known in that part of North Carolina for its giant watermelons in the summer and sweet potatoes in the fall. As we approached the turn that would take us down Main Street and then our route home, a deputy sheriff had the main road blocked and directed us to a small, one-lane street that was parallel to, but not near, our regular route. In the process of following the officer’s direction, we met oncoming traffic that forced us to turn right. This turn put us at the end of the area’s Watermelon Festival parade which we joined much to Linda’s consternation. “We’re in the parade,” she said, slumping down in her seat. “Look, people are waving.”  There was a firetruck in front of us with red lights blazing and siren blaring. Towing the little Airstream, we fit right in with the festivities.

“There’s only one thing to do,” I replied. “Wave back,” which I did, not so much Linda. For some reason, she couldn’t get in the mood. I laughed all the way along the parade route until we soon reached the turn to the road we needed, and we bailed out of the parade and headed home. 

Finishing up with the shotguns, I put them in their cases, buttoned up the ammo box and temporarily stored everything in a corner.

I thought back to our recent beach trip, and the quote from Roland Clark. This summer I was successful in making a couple more memories for the storehouse.  “A nice way to end our last beach trip,” I said, talking to myself again. “They threw us a parade.”

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

Mom, Inc.

A Better Plan

Secrets to a saner morning

By Renee Phile

All siblings have that recurring argument, the one that will sometimes give a false sense of resolution because it may lie dormant for a few days. Then, it’s back again, as fierce as ever:

Act I, Scene 1

It’s Monday morning, 7 a.m. David (13) is still in the bathroom getting ready for school. Kevin (8) is slamming both hands on the bathroom door yelling, “Hurry up, David! I’ve got to brush my teeth! You’ve been in there foorreevvveerr!”

It dawns on me that Kevin is wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday, but we simply don’t have time for him to change. Wait, a stench passes through my nostrils. 

“Kevin, when was the last time you changed your socks?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Ugh! Change them! Now!”

Sigh. We have got to go. The dog acts crazy, racing around the house, knowing. We are around seven minutes behind schedule, and because I teach an 8 a.m. class, those seven minutes are (were) necessary.

I leave the boys in the house and start the car. After about two more minutes, David and Kevin tumble out of the house, slam the front door, race for the front seat . . . and it begins.

“I was here first!”

“No, it’s my turn!”

“You sat up front last time! MOVE!”

“Mommy said it was my turn!”

“I said MOVE!”

I am so done I contemplate leaving them both in the driveway. They can find another way to school.

“Both of you! In the back! NOW! This is ridiculous!”

They make a dramatic entrance, throwing their book bags on each other and falling into the backseat.

“Move!”

“You!”

“STOP IT!” I yell. “No one talks. No one!”

We are all in a bad mood now, and the silence can be sliced like deli meat.

I was talking to my best friend from grade/middle/high school the other day and told her about this constant battle. She reminded me of our “backseat middle” call. You see, “backseat middle” is what she and I used to “call” on road trips in order to “claim” the backseat middle, to make it appear as if it was, indeed, the treasured seat. Actually, we didn’t really want the backseat middle, especially not while riding in a car in the mountains of West Virginia where we grew up. But after calling “backseat middle,” others would decided that they, too, wanted backseat middle and then we would, of course, fight over the backseat middle, and finally give it up to get the front seat, which was the goal all along. Psychological warfare at its finest. It worked great, until others caught on.

“You need to tell one of them to claim the backseat middle, Renee. There’s no other way around this,” she said.

I thought about this for a few days. It couldn’t hurt to try.

Act II, Scene 1

Another Monday morning. 6:50 a.m. rolls around. The hustling begins. David’s in the bathroom, like always way longer than necessary. The dog is darting around. Kevin needs to brush his teeth, but he is wearing clean clothes. We have a few minutes before we need to be in the car.

“Hey Kevin?” I say.

“Yes?”

“I have a secret, kind of, to tell you . . . ” He leans in. “This morning I want you to do something a little different . . . ”

His eyes widen as he listens, and a grin spreads across his face.

Renee Phile loves being a mom, even if it doesn’t show at certain moments.

Bookshelf

September Books

Return of the spies

By Romey Petite

Marita: The Spy Who Loved Castro, by Marita Lorenz

Even as an infant, Marita Lorenz was a survivor — her twin sister was stillborn. By the age of 7 she had endured both confinement and liberation from the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp and sexual assault by an American soldier. In 1959, at 19 years old, Marita was aboard her father’s ship in the port of Havana, barely a month after the Cuban dictator and capitalist puppet Fulgencio Batista had been deposed and driven out. It was then that Marita had her first meeting with her eventual lover, Fidel Castro. On another visit she was hired to slip Castro a fatal poison — an act she found herself ultimately unable to undertake. Called unreliable, a failed assassin, and the patron saint of conspiracy theorists, Marita Lorenz has lived an undeniably riveting life of chance encounters, crossing paths with characters ranging from Frank Anthony Sturgis (of the Watergate Five) to Lee Harvey Oswald. Her forthcoming memoir is the basis for the upcoming major motion picture Marita, starring Jennifer Lawrence.

A Legacy of Spies, by John Le Carré

Fans of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy have waited 25 years for author John Le Carré’s return to the form he mastered — the literary spy novel. His latest, A Legacy of Spies, serves as both a kind of prequel and a bookend to his other tales of espionage, and features the aging Peter Guillam — a disciple of spymaster George Smiley and the linchpin of Le Carré’s stories. Recruited into the British Secret Service, aka the Circus, as a young man, Guillam is called to London to account for the Machiavellian actions of his colleagues and himself during the Cold War. Splitting the narrative between many years ago and today, Le Carré illuminates the reader on the discrepancies between what Guillam tells the committee and what really happened. Characteristic of Le Carré, there is a kind of deftness with which he summarizes the unspoken aspects of one’s duty in a way that is quintessentially British. A Legacy of Spies is a tale that longtime fans of Le Carré will appreciate.

Little Fires Everywhere, by Celeste Ng

The idyllic and privileged suburbia of Shaker Heights, Ohio, is home to Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, their two sons (Moody and Trip) and two daughters (Lexie and Izzy). Their predictable model home changes when Mrs. Richardson returns from work one day to discover her house ablaze — not from a candle or appliance fire, but deliberately splashed gasoline. Author Celeste Ng uses this incident as a jumping off point to begin weaving a story from the ashes of the Richardsons’ home, beginning when the couple decides to take two new tenants into one of the duplexes they routinely rent out — an artist, Mia Warren, and her daughter, Pearl. While the tenants seem, at first, an agreeable pair, a wedge is driven between the two families as the Richardsons’ friends, the McCulloughs, adopt a little girl found abandoned at a fire station. Things come to a boiling point when the little girl’s biological mother reappears demanding the return of her daughter. A former recipient of the Pushcart Prize, Celeste Ng has also won Amazon Book of the Year for her first novel, Everything I Never Told You. Possessing a large cast, Little Fires Everywhere takes a little while to settle into, but will reward readers that are patient with its slow burning pace.

Five-Carat Soul, by James McBride 

James McBride is the author of the National Book Award-winning The Good Lord Bird and several best-sellers including, The Color of Water, Song Yet Sung, Miracle at St. Anna, and Kill ’Em and Leave: Searching for James Brown and the American Soul. A unifying theme in his collection of stories, Five-Carat Soul, is the promise of rediscovering lost treasure and the uncovering of forgotten lore. This treasure might be something literal — someone in search of a legendary antique trainset commissioned by Robert E. Lee for his son, or perhaps something more abstract like the boy who persists in the belief that his father is none other than Abraham Lincoln. Freedom, too, plays its part as a kind of priceless treasure, both sought and bestowed by unconventional characters. In “Mr. P & the Wind” a lion hopes to escape from the confines of a zoo, and in “The Fish Man Angel,” a monster not unlike The Creature from the Black Lagoon comes bearing prophetic wisdom to a slave drawing water from a well. McBride himself is a skilled craftsman, one that relishes the experience of spinning a good yarn. His prose teems with the subtle flourishes of character quirks. An intermingling of history and fabulism also lends his stories a kind of suspension of disbelief, even as they veer into the territory of magical realism.

Empress of the East: How a European Slave Girl Became Queen of the Ottoman Empire, by Leslie Peirce

Author Leslie Peirce has possessed a penchant for Ottoman history ever since her involvement with the Peace Corps in Turkey. Her latest book tells the story of Hurrem Sultan, the abducted Christian girl who became known as Roxelana. Roxelana played a controversially active role in the Ottoman Empire — a vast territory spanning the east Mediterranean and the Black Sea. Historians know little of her save that she was a Christian captive, as was custom for harem girls. Peirce begins with her own speculation on the girl’s unknown origins, then charts Roxelana’s rise, from her initial arrival in the harem, to being declared chief consort and eventually, and most unlikely of all, her enthronement as the wife of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. Roxelana left a legacy that consists of charities, mosques, schools, fountains and women’s hospitals. Called a witch by those who feared her ambition and wise counsel to her husband, Empress of the East is the story of a woman who defied tradition, but remains mostly unknown in the West. 

Crash Override, by Zoe Quinn

Not everyone gets to choose his or her vocation. For Zoe Quinn, she thought it would just be a career in game design. Instead, she discovered another calling in founding an organization to end cyberbullying and online harassment. #gamergate was the hashtag heard around the world. It began as no more than a private quarrel and ended with a panel assembled before the United Nations. In 2014, over a matter of hours, Quinn watched as complete strangers commandeered a message board rant written by an ex-boyfriend and a coordinated campaign — fueled by rage and misogyny — was launched against her. For a time, her life was derailed, her personal history hijacked, and her privacy invaded by trolls. Crash Override tells the story of how Quinn, empowered through her own struggle as the target of mob hatred, founded a crisis helpline to assist other victims of online abuse, hate groups and impersonation. One thing Quinn makes abundantly clear in her book: This can happen to anyone who veers from the norm or dares to raise his or her voice.

The Trick, by Emanuel Bergmann

When Max Cohn’s parents divorce, they promise nothing will change for him, but it’s a promise they should never have made. Max blames himself for his parents’ irreconcilable differences. While his father is moving out, Max discovers a dusty scratched old LP with a cover featuring a magician called The Great Zabbatini. Listening to the album, Max hears Zabbatini speak of a powerful love spell and begins to believe that it alone can bring his parents together again. The Trick is told via two interwoven narratives bridging the past, Zabbatini’s humble origins as a dubious miracle child born to a rabbi and his wife; and the present as Max is prompted to seek out the old magician. Bawdy, tragic and whimsical, it is translator and teacher Emanuel Bergmann’s debut novel and certain to be a hit with readers of Heather O’Neill’s Lonely Hearts Hotel and Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

By Angie Talley

The Mermaid, by Jan Brett

Beloved author/illustrator of such classic children’s books as The Mitten and Gingerbread Baby, Brett has written a stunningly beautiful undersea version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It’s sure to be the book for the fall. Jan Brett will visit Southern Pines Thursday, Nov. 29, at 5 p.m. Tickets to the event are available with purchase of The Mermaid through The Country Bookshop and are limited, so call 910-692-3211 to reserve your copy. All ages.

The Glass Town Game, by Catherynne Valente

Glass Town is a marvelous, magical world invented by sisters Charlotte, Emily and Ann, and their brother, Branwell, whose toy soldiers fight real battles with the Duke of Wellington and Napoleon Bonaparte. But when the “Beastliest Day” comes and Charlotte and Emily must go off to school, the siblings find themselves aboard the Glass Town Royal Express gliding through fields resembling Aunt Elizabeth’s handkerchief, where Officer Crashy looks suspiciously like one of the toy soldiers. Mere words make things come to life, and the mysterious Grog can bring life to those once thought lost. Fun and adventure with bits of history tossed in, The Glass Town Game has already received starred reviews and is children’s literature at its best. Catherynne Valente, also the author of the magnificent The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland series, will be at The Country Bookshop Wednesday, Sep. 13, at 4 p.m. This event is free. Ages 8-14.

Tumble & Blue, by Cassie Beasley

From The New York Times best-selling author of Circus Mirandus comes this story of a golden gator, a mysterious swamp, two cursed children, and the way the children take their destiny into their own hands. At once a story of magic, belief in the impossible, friendship, family and adventure, Tumble & Blue is a wonderful tale for young readers or for families who love to read together. Ages 10-12.

PinePitch

Pinehurst Live After 5

On Friday, Sept. 8, the band Punch is returning to the village of Pinehurst, with its high-energy sound that features a horn section and multiple lead vocalists. Bring a picnic basket, lawn chairs and blankets, and get comfortable under the pines for an evening of ’70s funk, Motown and today’s hits. Food, beer, wine, water and sodas will be available for purchase, but no outside alcoholic beverages are permitted. This event is free and open to the public and takes place from 5:30 to 9 p.m. at Tufts Memorial Park, 1 Village Green Road West, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-1900 or 295-2817.

The Rooster’s Wife 

Warm, witty and inviting, this month’s lineup of jazz, bluegrass, folk and pop will bring you home — whatever that means for you.

Friday, Sept. 8: Randall Bramblett, one of the South’s most lyrical and literate songwriters, brings his full band for this CD release party. $20.

Sunday, Sept. 10: Chaise Lounge, equal parts dry wit and dry martini, brings its sparkling arrangements of standards and original tunes, featuring the soft, luminous vocals of Marilyn Older. $20.

Sunday, Sept. 17: Dry Branch Fire Squad, the house band of the renowned Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival, plays aggressively traditional bluegrass music. $15.

Sunday, Sept. 24: Stray Local (Hannah Lomas and Jamie Rowen). This band is a folk celebration, an invitation to dance, a reminder of why the South is known for music that makes you feel at home. Australian blues woman Anne McCue will open the show. $15.

Doors open at 6 p.m. and music begins at 6:46 at the Poplar Knight Spot, 114 Knight St., Aberdeen. Prices given above are advance sale. For more information, call (910) 944-7502 or visit www.theroosterswife.org for tickets.

The Carolina Philharmonic Opens Its Ninth Season

Maestro David Michael Wolff promises an exhilarating 2017/18 season, which opens on Saturday, Sept. 16, at 7:30 p.m. in Owens Auditorium with a program featuring a repertoire of nature-inspired symphonic masterworks. The selections include Debussy’s “La Mer”, Beethoven’s “Pastorale Symphony” and Grofé’s “Grand Canyon Suite.” In the second half of the program, 16-year-old piano virtuoso George Harliono performs Rachmaninoff’s lushly romantic “Piano Concerto No. 2.”

This British prodigy made his concert debut at age 12 and has delighted audiences around the world, receiving rave reviews and winning numerous awards, including a full scholarship to The Royal College of Music. Tickets range from $11 to $30 and can be purchased at www.carolinaphil.org or one of the locations found on their website. Owens Auditorium is located at 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst.

Downtown Party Time

Come to downtown Southern Pines on Sunday, Oct. 1, for the inaugural Heritage Block Party, featuring the Embers with Craig Woolard, to
celebrate the grand opening of the Heritage Flag Company’s retail location at 230 S. Bennett St. From 1 to 6 p.m., the whole block on Bennett Street between Massachusetts and New York avenues will be shut down for a fun-filled afternoon perfect for the whole family.

The party starts with a ribbon cutting ceremony at 1 p.m., followed by an open house in the Heritage Flag retail store from 1 to 3 p.m. A raffle to benefit the Military Missions
in Action will be held around 4:30 and will feature thousands of dollars worth of prizes. The Embers will play from 3 to 6 p.m. as you enjoy games for kids, food trucks and beer from Southern Pines Brewery. For more information, call (910) 725-1540.

Meet Author Jason Reynolds

On Wednesday, Sept. 6, Jason Reynolds will be at The Country Bookshop at 4 p.m. to introduce his new novel, Patina, the second in the Track series, about a middle-school track team with an eye on the Junior Olympics. The first in the series, Ghost, was a National Book Award Finalist for Young People’s Literature and introduced readers to a fast young runner who is slowed down by his past. Patina, an African-American girl and the newcomer to the team, is a good runner with a bad attitude — brought on by early tragedy and lingering fears. When the astute coach puts her on the relay team, she has to change her attitude to win. This young-adult novelist can tell stories that touch the heart of “any-agers.” The Country Bookshop is located at 140 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. Call (910) 692-3211 for more information.

Remembering Marshall

On Thursday, Sept. 21, the Given Memorial Library and Tufts Archives presents Part II of its 2017 Colloquium. The Carolina Hotel will host this special presentation, “Celebrating the Life of General George C. Marshall,” with a reception and dinner beginning at 6:30 p.m. in the Cardinal Ballroom. Two wonderful speakers will bring the former Pinehurst resident’s story to life. General Michael J. Meese (BG, U.S. Army, Retired) will focus on Marshall’s distinguished military career, and Rachel Yarnell Thompson will talk about the consummate public servant who answered his nation’s call to service, rebuilding Europe after World War II. Tickets are $70 per person and are available at www.giventufts.org or the Given Memorial Library. The Carolina Hotel is located at 80 Carolina Vista Drive, Pinehurst. Call (910) 295-6022 for more information.

American Impressionism in HD

The Sunrise Theater will present The Artist’s Garden: American Impressionism, on Thursday, Sept. 21. This film, directed by Phil Grabsky and narrated by Gillian Anderson, features the sell-out exhibition “The Artist’s Garden: American Impressionism and the Garden Movement, 1887–1920,” which began at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts and ended at the Florence Griswold Museum, Old Lyme, Connecticut.

The film takes you to studios, gardens and iconic locations throughout the United States, United Kingdom and France as it tells the story of the American Impressionist movement, which took its lead from French artists like Renoir and Monet, but followed its own path, revealing as much about America as a nation as it does about its art. The story reflects America’s love of gardens and a desire to preserve nature in a rapidly urbanizing nation. Doors open at 9:30 a.m., the film begins at 10:30 am. Tickets are $15. The Sunrise Theater is located at 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 692-8501 or 692-3611 or visit sunrisetheater.com.

One Night Only

On Tuesday, Sept. 12, the Sunrise Theater will screen May It Last, a Portrait of the Avett Brothers, a music documentary. Directors Judd Apatow and Michael Bonfiglio use the recording of the band’s ninth album, True Sadness, as a backdrop to provide an intimate look at the lifelong bond and creative partnership of band members Scott and Seth Avett, Bob Crawford and Joe Kwon. As well as chronicling the band’s rise to fame, the film follows the history of their personal lives and the challenges of navigating the music industry. It has been called “a meditation on family, love and the passage of time.” Show times are 5:15 and 7:30 p.m. Tickets are $16. The Sunrise Theater is located at 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 692-8501 or 692-3611 or visit sunrisetheater.com.

A Tribute to the Eagles

Take it easy and slip back into the ’70s as Vision 4 Moore presents the 7 Bridges Band: The Ultimate Eagles Experience. On Saturday, Sept.16, come hear all the Don Henley and Joe Walsh songs you love, performed with stunning accuracy in this tribute to one of the world’s best-selling bands of all time. Expect surprises. Tickets range from $15–$35, and profits will be shared equally with non-profit partners: Caring Hearts For Kids Of Moore, Meals on Wheels of the Sandhills and The MIRA Foundation, USA. The band performs from 7:30 to 9:30 p.m. at Lee Auditorium, Pinecrest High School, located at 250 Voit Gilmore Lane in Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 365-9890 or visit www.vision4moore.com.

Hometown Boy Makes Good as Operatic Baritone

After graduating from Union Pines High School, Lucas Meachem went on to study music at Appalachian State University and Yale University. He became an Adler fellow with the San Francisco Opera and subsequently an international performer, sought after for his commanding presence, charisma and lyric baritone. He has performed across the United States and Europe in such operas as The Barber of Seville, La Bohème and Don Pasquale.

On Monday, Sept. 11, The Arts Council of Moore County welcomes Lucas home to give a concert as part of its Classical Concert Series at the Sunrise Theater. His performance is at 8 p.m. For non-series subscribers, the cost of this performance is $30. The Sunrise Theater is located at 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 692-8501 or 692-2787 or visit sunrisetheater.com.

A Living Canvas

A Living Canvas

Exploring the artistry, history, aesthetics, and personal stories behind the tattoos

By Ray Owen   •   Photographs by Tim Sayer

Tattoos have been a part of American culture since the mid-1800s and in other parts of the world for centuries. Body art has been a symbol of rebellion and taboo, making it a misunderstood medium. More and more, tattoos are becoming mainstream, from fashion accessories — for both men and women — to poignant personal statements. Beyond the skin, tattoos are personal marks for remembrance, unique mementos on a human canvas. No matter the motivation, the talent required to render a quality tattoo is undeniable. From September 1st to the 29th, the Arts Council of Moore County is presenting a special exhibition showcasing the artistry, history, and stories of tattoos.

Emily Boles

Emily does not have a sentimental story about why her back is covered in ink. Truth is, she simply loves the style. Inspiration for the designs came from visiting Alaska several years ago, and she started picking up new “tats” without any master plan. Emily chooses only to tattoo her back, because she can easily cover it for work. It’s like a second identity, from the young, professional woman she is in her everyday life.

Franklin Oldham, Sgt. U.S. Army (Ret.)

From 2000-2007, Franklin served in the Army as a crewman on an M1A1 battle tank. He loaded tanks and drove, shot and commanded them. Deployed to Iraq in 2004-2005, it was a tank that protected him and his platoon from numerous small arms fire, several land mines, a few RPG attacks, snipers, and a car bomb. He would not be alive today without that tank.

Marcus & Sara Boswell, and Leo

Marcus and Sara Boswell have matching tattoos, a combination of their family crests — Boswell and Humphrey. The phrase underneath the tattoo is French. Loosely translated, it means “If you don’t risk, you don’t gain.” It’s the idea they took into marriage, that love is a risk taken for a lifetime of adventure.

Jenny Moree

Jenny has many tattoo stories, like her mother’s handwriting or a guitar, microphone, and Fender amplifier because she loves music. Her favorite tattoo is of an angel wing, a tribute to someone whose life she saved when she came upon an automobile accident. Jenny ran to the car and comforted a woman who survived the wreck, helping the rescue crew pull the car off of her. She’s now Jenny’s best friend, and the tattoo commemorates the miracle of their meeting.

Hannah Gibson

Scars come in many sizes. Hannah’s tattoo is a memorial to her son, Gideon. The most jarring part for her is knowing that he’s gone. No one sees him on her hip at the farmers’ market and asks how old he is, or what his name is, or tickles his toes and comments on how tall he is. The tree Gideon was buried under was struck by lightning the week after he was laid to rest. The tattoo tells the story, a family tree — alive. It allows Hannah to continue sharing Gideon in this life with so many strangers who are now friends.

Rick  & Adele Buytenhuys

In 2005, Rick Buytenhuys made a decision to go to Iraq as a private contractor, after serving six years in the Marine Corps. His mother, Adele, knew that his life would be in danger, but she always believed he’d be protected. Before he left for Iraq, Rick and Adele decided to get matching tattoos of a guardian angel. According to Rick, “many a night, I slept with my hand on my shoulder, that angel on my mother’s back and on mine, too.”

The “Art of the Tattoo: A Living Canvas” featuring intimate portraits of tattooed individuals by local photographer Tim Sayer of Sayer Photography, curated by Valhalla Tattoo & Gallery, is being presented by the Arts Council of Moore County. Opening Reception: Sept. 1, 2017, 6-8 p.m. Food Trucks on-site. Exhibition dates are September 1-29. The show is free and open to the public at Campbell House Galleries, 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines, NC 28387. For additional information visit www.MooreArt.org.

Ray Owen is a local historian, who works for the Arts Council of Moore County

Southwords

Death Valley Daze

Or welcome to the Dixie Stampede

By Jim Moriarty

One September on a travel assignment ferreting out backwoods golf courses in South Carolina, I spent a night in a hotel just off Interstate 95 festooned with enough University of South Carolina Gamecock regalia to dress every piece of poultry at Tyson Farms in garnet and black.

“You sure take your football serious around here,” I said to the desk clerk.

“Naw,” he replied as he checked to make sure the names on my driver’s license and credit card matched. “It’s only life or death.”

What I didn’t tell him was that I was also the football photographer for Clemson University. I decided to keep that bit of information to myself, having made the simple calculation that I would prefer my wake-up call not be accompanied by the discharge of a 12-gauge shotgun. Photographing Clemson’s home games was something I did for about 20 years, beginning in the Refrigerator Perry days. It was a dramatic change of pace from more staid assignments at haunts like Pebble Beach or Augusta National. Golf has its exciting moments but rarely is one player hell-bent on hitting another one so hard his liver exits his body through a nostril.

When my son was 11, give or take, I got him a pass so he could be down on the field with me. This practice was generally frowned upon since it is, in point of fact, dangerous. During pregame warm-ups, the last players to take the field are the hog mollies, the big nasties. The late Chester McGlockton was at Clemson that year, and I told my son to watch number 91 when he trotted out of the locker room and down the sideline. Big Chet stood 6-foot-5 and played most of his 12 NFL seasons at somewhere between 335 and 350 pounds. His left leg was larger than my boy. Hell, his right leg was larger than me. I’m not sure either one of us has seen a bigger human being since.

During the game, I made certain to keep my son stowed well out of harm’s way, behind the Clemson bench. The biggest thing I wanted him to get hit by was a 102-pound cheerleader. I was adamant about his staying back from the sidelines because I’d seen what could happen. I’d felt it, too.

You may be familiar with a photograph known as “The Catch.” It was taken in 1982 by the great Sports Illustrated photographer Walter Iooss Jr., showing Dwight Clark (a Clemson alum), catching a pass from the San Francisco 49ers’ Joe Montana in his fingertips to beat the Dallas Cowboys. The 35 mm picture is actually a horizontal, made with a 50mm lens Walter had hanging around his neck. There is nothing more aggravating than having the action happen right in front of you and all you’ve got in your hands is a 600mm telescopic lens and the only picture you get is a close-up of a tooth.

Anyway, one year at Clemson I was positioned in the back of the end zone, à la great Iooss. The Tigers’ tight end was running a pattern vaguely similar to the Dwight Clark’s. Recognizing the developing play, I pulled the camera with the short lens up to my eye to get the same shot Walter got. But this time the defensive coverage was too good, and Clemson didn’t have Joe Montana throwing the ball. The pass sailed high and incomplete. As the tight end and the defensive back exited the back of the end zone, I jumped to my feet. We became a threesome. I put my hand on the tight end and backpedaled as the two players began to slow down. No harm, no foul. Until the moment the tight end stepped on my foot. Planted firmly in the ground, that was as far as I was going. Since the remainder of my body was still attached to the foot, over backwards I went. The tight end, followed in short order by the defensive back, stutter-stepped across my chest leaving behind a pattern of cleat marks that, the next morning, resembled a violent outbreak of chicken pox.

The then-assistant Sports Information Director Tim Bourret, a friend of mine, was doing color commentary on the radio. When I bounced to my feet after being trampled by two large human beings, he could barely contain himself. “That’s our photographer!”

There have been a lot of great moments in Death Valley. Clemson is, after all, the reigning national champion. I’m reasonably confident, however, that I’m the only photographer who ever got a standing ‘O’ from the students sitting on the hill.

Enter, Stage Left

Enter, Stage Left

Morgan Sills brings a bit of Broadway to town

By Jim Moriarty

Morgan Sills and his father, Milton, back their 15-year-old blue Dodge Dakota truck up to the Judson Theatre Company storage unit and fill the bed with the driftwood of a stage production — the pine board flats, the weights, the stage braces — that transform a New England cottage in On Golden Pond into a jury room for Twelve Angry Men or a mysterious mansion off England’s Devonshire coast in And Then There Were None. Hauling sets around Manhattan is not part of the job description when Sills produces a play in New York, where he lives. You might say this is off, off, off Broadway and the curtain goes up twice a year. The next time will be Oct. 19-22 when the flats are reassembled in Owens Auditorium at Sandhills Community College as an aging actor’s apartment in The Sunshine Boys. One of the leads will be played by Robert Wuhl, known, among other things, for his HBO show Arliss and for delivering the Gettysburg Address of pitching mound speeches in Bull Durham when he ad-libbed some candlesticks. The other Sunshine Boy will be played by Don Most who was Ralph Malph on Happy Days and, more recently, Rusty Pillsbury (Emma’s dad) on Glee.

When Sills and his business partner, Daniel Haley, decided to start a theater company, they searched locations across the country before settling on Sills’ hometown for their excellent adventure. “He and I both toured all over, so we’d seen a lot of places,” says Haley. “We laid out a list of criteria that the place needed to meet and Pinehurst fit. It was a bonus that Morgan was from there, so we had some community ties to begin with.”

Coming up with a name was a bit trickier. You might say they got it out of a phone book. “It’s one of the most spirited discussions that Daniel and I have ever had,” says Sills. “We tossed around all kinds of things. We looked at paint samples for colorful words. We went down cardinal, dogwood, scuppernong, all the North Carolina things. Then I found a list of the old telephone exchanges in Manhattan. At the time Daniel was living on 52nd Street and I was living in my apartment on 48th Street and we were both in the Judson exchange.” Simple as dialing “M” for murder.

What isn’t quite so simple is bringing New York-level acting and producing to the Sandhills on a biannual basis. Sills studied at New York’s Commercial Theater Institute and his productions include Of Mice and Men starring James Franco and Chris O’Dowd on Broadway; the New York off-Broadway production of Shear Madness, a show that has surpassed 600 performances; and Tennessee Williams’ The Two-Character Play with Amanda Plummer and Brad Dourif. Haley has directed multiple off-Broadway plays at York Theatre Co. and recently spent a good portion of his summer at the Texas Shakespeare Festival, choreographing Much Ado About Nothing and directing and choreographing The Marvelous Wonderettes. He has directed all but one of Judson’s productions. Both Sills and Haley began their careers as performers. “Between the two of us there really wasn’t a job in the theater that we hadn’t done at a professional level,” says Sills.

Theater is art but it’s business, too. “We were very careful. We managed to get started and operate to this day for a very low cost, from very careful producing,” says Sills. “We try to put the dollars on the stage.” It’s the calling card of Judson Theatre Company. Getting established actors from New York or California to agree to spend 2 1/2 weeks in the comparative wilderness of North Carolina is neither cheap nor easy, but Sills has managed it for six seasons.

There’s a template. Alison Arngrim, best known for her character Nellie Oleson in Little House On The Prairie and her one-woman show Confessions of a Prairie Bitch, played her part in it during the March production of And Then There Were None. “They’ve got a formula. They know what plays well in their market. They’ve done surveys and focus groups,” she says. “Then they bring in a celebrity that they all know, not randomly selected celebrities, but someone you might have seen in another production so you know they have acting chops.” Then Sills and Haley surround them with other actors they’ve auditioned, mostly from New York. The result is a good experience for the actors on the stage and the people in the seats.

“I cannot say enough nice things about Morgan and the whole production. I really loved being there,” says Arngrim. “I started selling Morgan on my friends, that’s how much I liked it. I’ve been telling everyone like, if you’re considering doing it, get your ass down there. It was just amazing. It was a massive amount of rehearsal. They weren’t fooling around. They work you like a dog. They make sure it’s done right.”

Part of the work is a deep dive into the community. By the second season, Judson began using high school students for stage crew. That morphed into internships and integration with high school English classes, supported by modest fundraising initiatives. “We dipped a toe in the water previously, but we really took a big step with Twelve Angry Men,” says Sills. “We did a school show in the morning for between 600 and 650 10th-graders who were studying civics at all three public high schools from all ethnic and economic demographics. We raised enough funds to buy the book. There’s a beautiful Penguin edition with an introduction by David Mamet. So, they attended the show for free, they had the book that they read ahead of time and the script for classroom study. We had a professional study guide written. After the show there was a curated question and answer so they could talk with the actors. After that John Wesley Shipp, dear John, just sort of jumped off stage and walked into the audience, took pictures and all that because they watch The Flash. He’s a superhero. That’s something that hasn’t happened in Moore County.”

The outreach carried over to And Then There Were None. “We did an extra show for students,” says Arngrim. “They were given a copy of Agatha Christie’s book and they had a whole study plan. Then they came and saw the show and they had a Q&A and I thought, what a thing to do. During the course of the show Morgan and Daniel had people going out and speaking at the local schools. I’m thinking, why isn’t everyone doing this?”

The school involvement will be somewhat different with The Sunshine Boys. “I want to be really honest about the educational connection,” says Sills. “We don’t want to try to connect it spuriously. We are a professional theater in service to the community. So, John Davidson (On Golden Pond) might show up with his guitar at the Rotary meeting. But it’s more than just ‘come to the show.’ For The Sunshine Boys I think the educational performance is probably going to be just the theater kids. In the spring of 2018 it’s going to be The Miracle Worker, and that will be a big thing for the students. As the arts face all these challenges in the schools we’re part of the solution.”

It’s in Sills’ blood. His mother, Elaine, and father, Milton, each worked in the public school system for 37 years. She taught music for 36 of them; he taught for 10 years and spent 27 in administration. If the education gene is powerful, so is the showbiz one. Milton Sills saw The Teahouse of the August Moon at the Pinehurst Theater building when it was still a theater. “It was a great place. You had sort of a semicircle stage setting and a balcony upstairs. It was a very fine theater for the time,” Milton says. On one trip to New York he saw Louis Armstrong and Pearl Bailey in Hello, Dolly! “One of the things that happened in the show that was fascinating was Pearl was dancing and her corset came undone and she just backed up to the curtain and this hand reached out and pinned her up and she never missed a kick.” When Sills got old enough to join his parents on New York excursions, they saw shows like Cats, The Full Monty and A Streetcar Named Desire. On one trip he and his father took in nine Broadway shows in eight days. Sills graduated from Pinecrest High School in 1990, double-majored in English and Theater at Wake Forest University and then headed off to find the footlights.

“I moved in with somebody that I had done summer stock with. Three of us in a one-bedroom apartment. There were two twin beds in the actual bedroom and I stayed on the pullout sofa for a year and a half. My rent was $200 a month, but I was in New York,” says Sills. “You become an adult and you start to realize that your life is following a non-traditional path and you make your peace with that. When my father realized that I’m 6-foot-2 and he didn’t have a basketball player on his hands, he came down to what was then Sandhills Little Theater and would be in shows with me. We were in Inherit the Wind and The Skin of Our Teeth.”

Wuhl and The Sunshine Boys fit the Judson Theatre Company template perfectly. Wuhl’s acclaimed HBO documentary on the facts and myths of American history, Assume the Position with Mr. Wuhl, and Most’s recurring appearances on Glee will make them a hit with the high school crowd, while Neil Simon will work his magic on the older folks. “This is our second Neil Simon play. If you look at anything I’ve ever touched, it’s just valid on the page. The old saying ‘If it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage’ is really true,” says Sills. “It fits because we do beloved classic plays but it’s also important that the audience knows they’re going to have a good time. Laughter is so important. The Sunshine Boys is about the friendships that define our lives, about how we choose to age. It’s about changes in show business, about whatever business you’re in, how important it is to stay with the times. It’s like a buddy movie. As divided as the world may look, all kinds of people can come to The Sunshine Boys and enjoy it together. All kinds of people in terms of who they are and what they believe, they come to the show and they laugh and we’re all friends and that’s important.”

After each show, the cast has the unusual custom of coming to the lobby to mingle with the audience. It has become part of the gig. The only drama in the Judson Theatre Company is on the stage, never behind it. These are working pros. During rehearsal Sills times the show while he edits the program. Haley takes notes on blocking, or maybe the delivery of a line, on a folded 8-by 10-sheet of paper. Someone drops a line and curses at the stumble. The stage manager yells “blackout” and “lights up” as the scenes change. They’re a troupe going about their craft.

For Sills, forming Judson Theatre Company did more than just give back to the community where he grew up; it’s an investment in the one he’ll return to. “I’m going to retire here,” he says, “and I want to make sure there’s a theater when I do.”

Jim Moriarty is senior editor of PineStraw and can be reached at jjmpinestraw@gmail.com.

In The Spirit

Bar Staples

Don’t come home without ’em

By Tony Cross

I’d like to thank the editors for making this article an absolute breeze for me to write. When I learned the theme of September’s issue was Home & Garden, I couldn’t resist sharing what I keep in my personal liquor cabinet — my home bar staples. I may be biased, but I’d say it’s pretty gratifying when you get that quiet nod of approval from your guests when they inspect your liquor cabinet. Now, for those of you who are lacking in liquor, I assure you creating an impressive spread does not have to be a daunting process. Some couples or singles will throw “Stock the Bar” parties when they move into a new apartment or home, and that’s a great way to have a little liquor inventory on your hands. But what if you’re not moving anytime soon, or worse, your friends have lousy taste in spirits? This is an easily remedied problem. Here are some of my home essentials; if any of these are foreign to you, then give it a shot. Pun intended.

Orange Bitters

Let’s start with the smallest ingredient that will go into your cocktail. I’m talking about bitters: the salt and pepper of your drink. Admittedly, Angostura Aromatic bitters is the obvious choice to have on hand; there is none better. However, having the right blend of orange bitters can take your old-fashioned to the next level. I say “blend” because after taking notes from other bartending books years back, I’ve learned that I like my orange bitters as follows: equal parts Regan’s Orange and Angostura Orange Bitters. Gary Regan’s formula is more bitter and tastes more like an orange peel to me, while the Angostura has a sweet, almost candy-like aesthetic to it. Put them together, and you get, well, the best of both worlds. The next time you’re making an old-fashioned, add a few dashes (in combination with Angostura Aromatic bitters), and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

TOPO Organic Vodka

Disclaimer: Tito’s vodka isn’t bad. I’ve enjoyed it plenty. But it’s getting a bit cumbersome having to hear people maraud their two cents into conversations about how it’s “the best vodka out there.” Nonsense. If Tito’s was made in Turkey, and not Texas, no one would care about it. Don’t believe me? Try Chapel Hill’s own TOPO vodka side by side with the Lone Star State’s beloved spirit. What intrigued me on first taste was its touch of sweetness. (Is it from the “organic, soft red Carolina wheat” they use when distilling it? I don’t know. I asked TOPO spirit guide, Esteban, one night over a round of drinks, and in Tony fashion, forgot.) Anyhow, I firmly believe it trumps other vodkas on the market. Buy a bottle and try it for yourself. If anything, you’ll have supported a local distillery that graciously supports the community. I’ve always enjoyed TOPO vodka as follows:

The Wallsteen

Build in a rocks glass:

Large ice cube

2 ounces TOPO Vodka

2 ounces fresh-squeezed organic grapefruit juice

(That’s all. And boy, is it delicious.)

Campari

Ah, yes. I would have never imagined years ago that if Campari ran out in my quaint bachelor’s pad, I would mutter, or scream, depending on the day. As a matter of fact, one of my first bartending gigs was at a little restaurant, and they carried the Amaro. No one ever ordered it, and the bottle was always three-quarters full. That is, until one night when a lady stopped over to have a Campari and soda. She rambled about how she “only drinks Campari” and how “it’s so sophisticated,” and blah, blah, blah. I looked at her like she was hallucinating and stopped listening. But damn, she was right. My first time trying Campari was in a Negroni, and I thought, “This is awful!” Things change, and over time, so have my taste buds. Just as I’ve grown to love certain vegetables and herbs, I’ve changed my tune over certain types of beer, wine and spirits/liqueurs. Another reason that I probably stared at my first Negroni with disgust is because I made it and totally butchered the job. A few months later, it clicked. I had it before dinner, and it was the perfect complement. I was just discussing Amaro the other day with someone who said, “The older I get, the more bitter I like my flavors.” I couldn’t agree more. Lately, I’ve been making passionate love to the Boulevardier; think Negroni, but with whiskey instead of gin. It’s the bomb, and I’m not ashamed to say it.

Boulevardier

Build in a rocks glass:
Large ice cube

1 1/4 ounces rye whiskey (Wild Turkey for the win)

3/4 ounce Campari

3/4 ounce sweet vermouth (please try Dopo Teatro Cocchi Vermouth, it’s bitter too)

Stir for 15 seconds, and then express lemon peel lemon oils over the glass before dropping the peel in. From my liquor cabinet to yours, cheers!

Tony Cross is a bartender who runs cocktail catering company Reverie Cocktails in Southern Pines.

Papadaddy’s Mindfield

A Jarring Truth

Grandma knows best

By Clyde Edgerton

A dad is at home, talking on his smartphone with his 13-year-old son, Grayson, who is across the state at Grandma’s for a week. This is Grayson’s second day.

“How’s it going?” asks Dad.

“Fine. Grandma is, ah, putting zucchinis in jars. She’s been at it all day.”

“You mean cucumbers. She’s making pickles. She does that every year. She’s ‘canning.’”

“No, Dad. It’s jars. Not cans.”

“You use jars for canning,” says Dad.

“Then why don’t they call it ‘jarring’?”

“Don’t know. Hadn’t thought about that. Have y’all been in the garden?”

“She has.”

“How about you?”

“I’ve been inside. It’s hot out there.”

“OK. But — “

“I told her I could look up some YouTube videos on gardening. She talked about her garden all morning. Her tomatoes and stuff.”

“It’s very important to her.”

“I found some videos on how to grow tomatoes and stuff, but she — ”

“Son, she’s been growing tomatoes for over 50 years.”

“Yeah, but like she’s never seen any YouTube videos on growing them. She didn’t even know what YouTube was, Dad.”

“I don’t think — ”

“I found a bunch of videos but she didn’t —”

“You should have gone out and helped her pick those cucumbers, Son. You should be helping her. Have you done anything this morning except stare into that phone?”

“Dad, I can learn everything she knows about growing tomatoes in about 15 minutes — with like, say, three five-minute videos. I found one that shows — ”

“Put up your phone and go help your grandma.”

“Da-ad.”

“Do it. And call me back in one hour, or you lose your phone for a half-day when you get back home.”

“A half-day!? “

“That’s right.”

“OK.”

One hour, four minutes later:

“OK, Dad, I helped her. You won’t believe it. I’m so glad Mother buys pickles already made.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, you have to have all this equipment — these tongs and jars and funnels. And before you get going, the cucumbers have to sit in this water that has all this vinegar and stuff in it for like 12 hours before you even do anything, and then she has to boil all this water and do all this crazy stuff with steaming rags and a hot stove, and then she has to wait another 24 hours for the cucumbers to sit there in jars full of hot water that cools off and while it’s cooling the jars pop which means they sealed. So the jars like sit for one day and one night. All that for some pickles that she could buy at the grocery store.”

“Let me speak to her.”

“OK.”

Grandma speaks. “Hello, Son.”

“Mom? How’s it going? Making some pickles, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get much help from Grayson.”

“Hang on one second. I’m going to step out onto the back porch here . . . OK, he can’t hear me now. I’m going to be helping out Grayson after he goes to sleep tonight.”

“How’s that?”

“When he wakes up in the morning that tiny TV of his will be in the middle of a jar of cucumbers: all boiled, pickled, sealed and out of sight.”

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.

Birdwatch

Haunting Call of Summer’s End

The plaintive song of the mourning dove

By Susan Campbell

Doves are very much taken for granted, though they are almost everywhere we look. Their cryptic coloration and still habits make them easy to overlook, but they are nothing short of beautiful. Mourning doves are the most familiar members of the group statewide. Of course, we have plenty of rock doves (aka pigeons) and a rapidly increasing number of Eurasian collared doves as well.  However, it is the mourning dove that is my favorite — and garners the most attention.

The species has a sleek, medium-sized, light brown body with distinctive wings that are splotched with black. But it’s the bird’s small head and eye ring, accented with a pale bluish crown, that make the mourning dove one of America’s prettiest species. At close range, a rosy sheen can be seen on the breast feathers of the males. The mourning dove’s name originates from its plaintive song. Its mournful hooting is almost haunting and has been known to fool people into thinking they are hearing an owl.

By late summer as crops ripen doves are flocking in large numbers in and around big fields.  They feed busily on the ground, swallowing a variety of seeds as they fatten up prior to migration. All doves will consume large amounts of whole seeds in their crop. This means they need to perch in a safe spot to digest their gorging. Where and how far they fly depends on weather and food availability.  Most do not move long distances but rather seek out areas that will hold a diversity of grains for weeks at a time.  Flocks of hundreds of birds can be found perched on wires or in snags adjacent to good foraging habitat.

Young birds blend in well with the adults very soon after fledging. Their tails may not be quite as long, nor will their heads be as distinctly patterned, but these are field marks that are only visible at very close range. Three to five clutches of two are not unusual in a season. With a moderate climate here in North Carolina, especially along our coast, mourning doves have been found breeding in every month of the year.

There is no better time for individual mourning doves to seek safety in numbers than early September. Labor Day weekend marks the beginning of hunting season and doves are the first game on the calendar. Their robust population seems to handle the harvest throughout the state and nationwide.  This is at least due in part to their fast and erratic flight behavior, which makes the birds challenging targets.

Dove hunting has a rich cultural history here in the South. It is a time to bond with family and friends, enjoy the waning days of summer afield and perhaps even bring home enough plump breasts for a hearty meal.  Scouting out the right spot is the key. Hunters will survey known locations looking for the best variety of seed-bearing cover crops, strategic perching sites and hopefully at least a few doves hanging around.  For those who do not have access to suitable private land for hunting doves, the State Game Lands (Sandhills, Caswell, Jordan and others) offer opportunities. Both private and public lands manage habitat specifically for mourning doves year round.

And if you don’t hunt, take some time and seek out these attractive birds: no ammo or binoculars are required!

Susan would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. She can be contacted by email at susan@ncaves.com.