Month: May 2023

Tea Leaf Astrologer

Gemini

(May 21 – June 20)

A random fact (because it’s clear you collect them): Butterflies taste with their feet. As the social butterfly of the zodiac — and one plagued by an ever-wagging tongue — suffice it to say that Geminis know the taste of their feet. But for every foot-in-mouth moment you suffer, your wit and charm never fail to bail you out. When Mercury (your ruling planet) enters Gemini on June 11, your blundering will subside. In other words: They’ll be eating from the palm of your hand.

Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you:

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

Delete the app.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)

Please remain seated while the ride is in motion.

Virgo (August 23 – September 22)

Let it be a surprise.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

Just add water.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

Scrolling isn’t a hobby.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

Take a long, deep breath.

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

It was already broken.

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

Don’t spoil your supper.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

Exit the hamster wheel.

Aries (March 21 – April 19)

Butter your own biscuit.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20)

Two words: car karaoke. PS

Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla.

Pretty as a Picture

Hospitality in gracious surroundings

By Deborah Salomon

Photographs by John Gessner

The Country Club of North Carolina residential enclave reads like an architectural history of North Carolina, from elongated ranches to mid-century modern, a 1950s genre developed at N.C. State. Showplace homes speak A-frame chalet to antebellum frilly, New England saltbox to French chateaux, log cabins to painted brick with interiors ranging from formal to fun.

Not surprisingly, some homes display multiple styles, defying or at least resisting classification. Jane and Paul Whit Howard boast just such a home, built in 1991 on 1.7 acres. It’s refreshing, spacious, light, practical, retro, inventive, livable and, most of all, beautiful. Its kitchen may be modest in size and its bathrooms not quite spa but colors and fabric designs vibrate with the intensity of the jungle paintings of Henri Rousseau. The living room is sunken and hardwood floors have a whitewash. Deep tray ceilings speak to quality and detail.

The grey exterior offers few clues but a portrait of well-worn golf bags between foyer and living room does. The Howards are both from eastern North Carolina, now retired. For decades their primary residence was Raleigh, with regular treks from beach to mountains. They brought their penchant for Southern hospitality with them to Pinehurst.

“I love to entertain,” Jane says. “I’m more of a Southern cook than a Julia Child. This kitchen is very adequate. It has everything I need.” Everything included shifting space to create a butler’s pantry for storage and another for food.

Instead of glamorizing the kitchen, the Howards poured resources into a defining feature, a covered veranda comprising living room, dining/cooking area, wood-burning fireplace and an uncovered conversation pit with fountain. Its square footage approaches a two-bedroom apartment. This addition earned its keep during the pandemic, when friends gathered once a week en plein air for casual dinners and COVID-talk.

A third outdoor space resembling an English tea garden, in place before the Howards’ acquisition, is ideal for morning coffee.

With retirement looming and a son, Witt, who was an avid junior golfer at the time, the Howards were ready to leave their red brick ranch in Raleigh behind. They ruled out the beach. “Too much sun, heat, crowds,” Jane says. They knew Pinehurst from renting a weekend retreat. After visiting friends at Eastlake — “It felt so good to be here,” Jane recalls — she began looking at properties “on the QT.”

In 2017 they found the one at CCNC with a modified, elongated ranch layout. “I knew this was a party house from the beginning,” Jane says. It had been on the market for three years. She recognized its “good bones” required only bathroom upgrades and cosmetic work.

No problem. “We love to do that, the designing and creating,” Jane says. “My husband is a mechanical engineer — and a frustrated architect.” Her flair for interior design, fueled by a career as a worldwide travel consultant/tour leader, is evident, beginning at the front door where a wide pane of beveled glass with no covering allows maximum light to flood the entranceway.

Since they are only the second owners, the house hadn’t been put through interim, perhaps unwise, remodels.

The “designing and creating” part involved a trade-off: Jane craves green and pink, long a favorite in gracious Southern homes of the mid-to-late 1900s. Paul Whit was ready for change. Jane retained her favorite color combination in the dining room, as background for a magnificent breakfront and other family antiques in dark woods, with a table set in silver napkin holders and gleaming crystal. In contrast, instead of sedate florals, for the dining room and elsewhere Jane chose bold fabrics featuring a green that trended more avocado-olive than lettuce. A pair of small, upholstered chairs brings her trademark green into the kitchen-family room, brightened by blue and white pottery.

In return for color concessions, “I got my rose garden,” Jane beams — 16 bushes in a raised bed on its own patio, with space to sit and admire.

Paul Whit had another request: A comfortable/casual atmosphere where men could put their feet up. That relaxed, hospitable vibe explains the informal living room with simple navy blue sofas, built-ins filled with books and family photos, a games table for bridge and Jane’s baby grand piano. On the veranda maintenance is simplified by chairs and sofas with cushions enclosed in wicker lattice.

No amount of outdoor dining or green accents are preparation for the guest bedroom used most often by the Howards’ son and his wife, Hadley. “Mom, I want dark walls and blackout shades,” he said. Mom’s response — breathtaking: navy blue walls and white carpet complemented by a geometric modern painting. Walls in the master suite glow a Caribbean aquamarine, also surprising. In a few months Jane and Paul Whit will repurpose an office adjoining the master suite as a nursery for their first grandchild and trade sleep space with the new parents.

Now, if only Jane knew for sure why one bathroom had a door opening onto the yard. Probably in preparation for a pool, which never materialized. Nor do the Howards plan to add one. “We’re over that,” Jane says.

At a time in life when most couples think condo or cottage the Howards — active and outgoing — still require more than elbow room. Jane plays pickleball, Paul Whit loves golf. They both enjoy yard work. The entire property is fenced for two lucky Lab-retrievers. Their house welcomes a crowd. And as the day winds down, fans whir on the veranda, ice tinkles in the glass, the dogs stretch out on the cool floor . . . and life looks good. PS

2023 Feature

PinePitch

Book It

The Country Bookshop will be hosting several authors during the month of June. You can listen to Ed and Ryan Mitchell talk about their new cookbook Ed Mitchell’s Barbeque on Sunday, June 11 from 3 p.m. to 4 p.m.; David Wright Falade discussing his book Black Cloud Rising on Wednesday June 14 from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m.; Elin Hilderbrand signing copies of her book The Five-Star Weekend from 6 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. on Monday, June 19; and Annabel Monaghan talking about her book Same Time Next Summer on Wednesday, June 21 from 6 p.m. to 7 p.m. The Country Bookshop is at 140 N.W. Broad Street, Southern Pines.

Hail Fellow Well Met

Don’t despair if you didn’t get one of the tickets to hear David Sedaris discuss his book Happy-Go-Lucky at 2 p.m. at The Country Bookshop, 140 N.W. Broad Street, Southern Pines, on Saturday, June 3. Sedaris will have a signing line and promises to stay until the last fan has come and gone or his hand cramps into something resembling a gardening claw. For further information visit www.ticketmesandhills.com.

Tripping the Light Fantastic

It’s the end of the academic year and what better way to celebrate than swaying cheek-to-cheek? Gary Taylor Dance’s students will perform Romancing the Dance, Junior at BPAC’s Owens Auditorium, 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst on Saturday, June 3 from 10:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. But that’s just the beginning. Enjoy the blend of blues, funk and jazz in Gary Taylor’s Romancing the Dance performed by his company Saturday evening from 7:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. and again on Sunday, June 4 from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. All seats are reserved. For more information go to www.ticketmesandhills.com.

The Art of Perseverance

On Thursday, June 15 at 5:30 p.m. at the Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines, artist in residence John Lee will discuss how he taught himself to paint with his non-dominant hand following a stroke. He’ll be joined by Dr. Miller Johnstone III, Dr. Karen Sullivan and Dr. Henry Tellez for a panel discussion about how the central nervous system may recover and adapt. Attendance is free and open to the public though registration is required. For additional information go to www.weymouthcenter.org.

What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks

The Uprising Theatre Company puts Romeo and Juliet by you-know-who in a fresh perspective when Shakespeare in the Pines returns to the stage on Friday, June 9 from 7:30 p.m. to 10 p.m. at Tufts Memorial Park, 1 Village Green Road, Pinehurst. There will be additional performances on June 10-11 and again on June 16-18. So, wherefore art thou? For more information go to www.vopnc.org or www.ticketmesandhills.com.

Who’s Afraid of Carnies?

Austin Powers. But kids 12 and under can gather to enjoy games, food and fun with a carnival vibe at the Downtown Park, Southern Pines, beginning at 6:30 p.m. on Friday, June 9. After the carnival there will be an outdoor showing of Luca. It’s free, people. For more information call (910) 692-7376.

Festival in Vass

The town of Vass will host its annual summer festival on Saturday, June 10 from noon to 6 p.m. at Sandy Keith Park, 3600 U.S. Highway 1. There will be a car show, vendors, food trucks and a kid’s zone. For additional information visit www.townofvassnc.gov.

Hitting the High Notes

The recital and finalist round of The Young Musician’s Festival Concert will feature between 30 and 40 area musicians performing for credentialed adjudicators at 2 p.m. on Sunday, June 4 at the Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. There will be cash prizes awarded in four divisions from the third through the 12th grades. Admission is free but registration is required. For info go to www.weymouthcenter.org.

Juneteenth Celebration

The 3rd Annual Juneteenth Celebration begins at 2 p.m. Monday, June 19 (of course) at The Cardinal Park, 657 S. Walnut St., Pinebluff. Free for the whole family, there will be music, food vendors and storytelling. Festivities last until all the dancing is done. For more information go to www.thecardinalpark.com.

2023 Department PinePitch

Birdwatch

Playing a Cheerful Tune

The Carolina wren sings from dawn to dusk

By Susan Campbell

“Chirpity, chirpity, chirpity, chirp.” Or is it “teakettle, teakettle, teakettle, tea?” Or maybe “cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheese?” Regardless of exactly how it sounds, this bright, cheery song belies a small and drab bird — the Carolina wren. This diminutive critter is rufousy-brown with banded wings and tail. The thin, decurved bill is well-equipped to probe nooks and crannies for its favorite food: insects. Not only do they flit around in trees and vines looking for caterpillars, but they will clamber around on windows, doors and porch furniture for spiders and flies.

Common throughout the Piedmont year-round, Carolina wrens, the state bird of South Carolina, are frequently overlooked — until spring, when their songs can be heard echoing from forests and fields to neighborhoods here in central North Carolina. And a rarity among songbirds, both males and females sing, providing double pleasure. In fact, sometimes they can be heard in duets, advertising their territory, vocalizing repeatedly, any time from dawn to dusk.

At this time of the year, Carolina wrens are a common sight as they seek a protected spot to construct their nests. They frequently prefer houses, sheds or something else manmade over vegetated habitat. Though it may seem foolhardy to us, barbeque grills, bags of potting soil, an old coat or hat may actually provide a perfectly suitable nesting spot. The female will carry in small leaves, pine needles, grasses, moss or even feathers of other birds to create a large, bulky cup nest. She’ll finish it off with a partial roof to hide the eggs and young more effectively. Wrens don’t seem to mind people coming and going, a seemingly welcome trade-off for the protection humans provide from predators. Peek into one of their nests and more likely than not the female or brooding young will just stare back at you.

Sometimes nesting adults demonstrate great resiliency, or even cunning, in adapting to manmade structures. More than once, a Carolina wren female has chosen a nook on one of the trams that circle the North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro as a nesting site. The nesting adults sit tight as the vehicle bumps around the property during incubation. Once the young hatch, adults who leave the nest to find food simply wait for the tram (and nest) to return to the parking area to feed their young.

It should not be surprising, then, that these resourceful birds will find their way indoors during spring. If they can, they will squeeze under a door or through a cracked window in order to use the corner of a shelf in a shed or mudroom of a house. When fledging day arrives, the parents simply call the young from the nest and show them how to slip outside. Be prepared for the whole brood to find its way back in and crowd into the nest to roost for days, or even weeks, thereafter.

Each winter I get calls about mysterious critters sleeping on high ledges or porches and carports. Described as small brown balls, these unidentified sleeping objects almost inevitably turn out to be roosting Carolina wrens. After a yawn or two, wrens tuck their heads under their wings to roost, puffing themselves up and looking decidedly unbirdlike. They may also spend the night hunkered down in a potted plant or basket, frightening the daylights out of anyone who, next morning, comes upon them unaware.

Every year around the holidays, I’ll get a call or two about an unexpected Christmas guest. Seeking the warmest spot they can find, Carolina wrens often decide to huddle up in someone’s Christmas wreath. When subsequent visitors open the front door, the wren instinctively flies toward the brightest light — inside the house, occasioning merry and sometimes frantic holiday antics as everyone shares their favorite scheme for getting the bird back outside where it belongs.

So, if you have ever noticed these birds before, you should not have to go too far to find one — unless it finds you first. PS

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

2023 Birdwatch Department

June Bookshelf

June Books

FICTION

Lady Tan’s Circle of Women, by Lisa See

From a young age, Yunxian learns about women’s illnesses alongside a young midwife-in-training, Meiling. The two girls find fast friendship and a mutual purpose and they vow to be forever friends. No mud, no lotus, they tell themselves: from adversity beauty can bloom. But when Yunxian is sent into an arranged marriage, her mother-in-law forbids her from seeing Meiling and from helping the women and girls in the household. Yunxian is to act like a proper wife — embroider bound-foot slippers, pluck instruments, recite poetry, give birth to sons, and stay forever within the walls of the family compound, the Garden of Fragrant Delights. How might a woman break free of these traditions and lead a life of such importance that many of her remedies are still used five centuries later? Lady Tan’s Circle of Women is a captivating story of women helping other women.

Love, Theoretically, by Ali Hazelwood

The many lives of theoretical physicist Elsie Hannaway have finally caught up with her. By day, she’s an adjunct professor, toiling away teaching thermodynamics in the hopes of landing tenure. In another life, Elsie offers her services as a fake girlfriend, tapping into her expertly honed people-pleasing skills to embody whichever version of herself the client needs. It’s a pretty sweet gig — until her carefully constructed Elsie-verse comes crashing down. Jack Smith, the annoyingly attractive and arrogant older brother of her favorite client, turns out to be the cold-hearted experimental physicist who rules over the physics department at MIT, standing right between Elsie and her dream job. She’s prepared for an all-out war of scholarly sabotage but . . . those long, penetrating looks? Will falling into an experimentalist’s orbit finally tempt her to put her most guarded theories on love into practice?

The Quiet Tenant, by Clémence Michallon

Aidan Thomas is a hard-working family man in the small upstate New York town where he lives. He’s the kind of man who always lends a hand and has a good word for everyone. But Aidan has a dark secret. He’s a kidnapper and serial killer. Aidan has murdered eight women and there’s a ninth he has earmarked for death: Rachel, imprisoned in a backyard shed, fearing for her life. When Aidan’s wife dies, he and his 13-year-old daughter Cecilia are forced to move. Aidan has no choice but to bring Rachel along, introducing her to Cecilia as a “family friend” who needs a place to stay. Rachel recognizes Cecilia might just be the lifeline she has waited for all these years. As Rachel tests the boundaries of her new living situation, she begins to form a tenuous connection with Cecilia. And when Emily, a local restaurant owner, develops a crush on the handsome widower, she finds herself drawn into Rachel and Cecilia’s orbit, coming dangerously close to discovering Aidan’s secret.

Liberty Biscuit, by Melanie Sue Bowles

Katherine Pearl Baker — Kip for short — is the only child on her family’s rural peach farm. She longs for a pet to ease the loneliness. Hiding in the woods on the Fourth of July, Kip encounters a bedraggled donkey with one eye and a floppy ear. Immediately smitten and compelled to protect him, she feeds him biscuits and takes him home. When it is discovered that the donkey fled an abusive owner, Kip’s father reluctantly allows him to stay. Kip is elated when her grandfather agrees to help her foster the donkey, who she names “Liberty Biscuit,” along with two emaciated horses removed by the local sheriff from the same home, as the cruelty case goes to court. A court order to return the horses, and even worse, Kip’s beloved Liberty Biscuit, to the owner who had starved and beaten them throws Kip’s world into turmoil. Proceeds from his book support Bowles’ charity, Proud Spirit Horse Sanctuary.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

What Were You Expecting? First Words for New Parents, by Cameron Spires

This little gem will have sleep-deprived new parents laughing until they cry (or crying until they laugh). The absolute perfect first read-aloud bedtime book, the striking art is for baby while the simple text is all grown up. (Ages infant-adult.)

Daddy & Me, Side by Side, by Pierce Freelon

Camping, fishing, trekking over rocks and through the woods is fun, but even more fun when Daddy is there. Daddy & Me celebrates family traditions and shared experiences and is perfect for Father’s Day or any day. (Ages 2-6.)

Pluto! Not a Planet? Not a Problem!, by Stacy McAnulty

Outer space comes alive in McAnulty’s “Our Universe” series. Fun facts and out of this world trivia will make any reader an expert on Pluto, a unique celestial orb. (Ages 4-8.)

Monster Camp, by Sarah Henning

Ghost stories around the fire are requisite activities at most summer camps, but what if you realize the monsters at your camp are actually your fellow campers? That’s what happens in this hilarious, slightly spooky summer sleepaway tale that is the perfect read for a long summer night. (Ages 9-12.)

The Storyteller, by Brandon Hobson

Ziggy is just a regular kid, well, a regular kid who encounters talking coyotes, singing frogs, prophesying snakes, truth-telling horses, a very interesting grandma, and Cherokee spirit people, the Nunnehi. Funny, sad, wise, and jam-packed with adventure, The Storyteller may be the very best book you’ll read in 2023. (Ages 10-14.) PS

Compiled by Kimberly Daniels Taws and Angie Tally.

2023 Bookshelf Department

Simple Life

Return of Jimmy the Lawn King

Fresh-cut grass stirs up memories

By Jim Dodson

It started with a simple phone call from our neighbor across the street. Mildred Horseman had seen me mowing my family’s yard and wondered if I might be willing to mow her lawn. Her husband, Gene, was just home from the hospital and under strict doctor’s orders to rest for a month. She even offered to pay.

It was early summer, 1968, and I was 15. We were new to the old neighborhood where everybody had lush green lawns. I’d been mowing lawns since age 12, trusted not to destroy anything or chop off my own toes.

“I’ll send Jimmy right over,” said my mom. “No need to pay him. He loves mowing the grass.”

That was partly true. I liked mowing grass. I also liked money, which I needed to buy the beautiful classical guitar I had my eye on at Moore Music Company. It was $95, a whopping $800 in today’s dollars.

So off I went with our crotchety old Sears & Roebuck power mower, which normally took forever and required a number of impolite muttered oaths to start. Mr. Horseman sat on his screened porch watching me unsuccessfully crank until I had to rest my arm. He finally got up and stepped outside.

“Jimmy,” he said. “Come with me. I’ve got just what you need.”

In his garage sat a bright green Lawn-Boy power mower, one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

“She’s got a few years of age on her, but will almost always start on the first pull. I keep her tuned up.”

He was right. One pull and she started. Gene Horseman went back to his club chair on the porch and I got busy on his lawn, marveling at the way his Lawn-Boy cut grass. When I finished and put his mower back in the garage, he waved me onto the porch. Mrs. Horseman had brought out lemonade.

“So what do you think?”

“Great,” I said. “Wish my dad would get one of those.”

“They’re pretty reliable,” he said. “One of the oldest brands in America, invented by a guy who built the first outboard motors for boats.”

As I drank my lemonade, I learned Gene Horseman was a retired business professor from Michigan. The Lawn-Boy mower, he explained, was created before WWII by a Wisconsin man who built Evinrude outboard engines. “I knew him when I was young. He became quite the successful businessman.”

Gene Horseman handed me a ten dollar bill. Sadly, I was compelled to explain that I was unable to take his money due to a mother who didn’t care a fig if I became a successful businessman.

“In that case,” he said, “how about we do a deal. You mow my lawn this summer and you can use the Lawn-Boy to mow lawns along the street. Sound good? I’ll even buy the gas.”

It did sound good, a potential gold mine at ten bucks a clip. But I didn’t know any of the neighbors yet.

“Print up some fliers,” he said. “Or, better yet, I’ll have Mildred get on the phone. You’ll have a job or two in no time.”

Within a week, I had two paying jobs, half a dozen regulars by the middle of summer. At ten bucks a pop, I was the richest kid on the block. By July, the Yamaha classical was mine. My mom took to calling me “Jimmy the Yard King.”

It was my first real job.

I also had my first real crush that summer on a cute girl from Luther League named Ginny Silkworth. Ginny had a great laugh and a solid right hook. When I asked her to go to the movies, she laughed and punched me sharply on the arm. We went to see Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet at the Cinema on Tate Street near UNCG, an evening somewhat diminished by the fact that my father had to drive us to the theater and never stopped chatting with my date.

That summer was long and hot for America, one of the most tumultuous in the nation’s history. Rev. Martin Luther King and Sen. Bobby Kennedy were both gunned down by assassins that spring, and an unpopular war in Vietnam took an even ghastlier turn. Race riots erupted in Cleveland, Miami and Chicago.

But it was also the summer that Ginny Silkworth and I went to see The Graduate, the Beatles released “Hey Jude,” and I snagged a second job teaching guitar to kids and senior citizens at Mr. Weinstein’s music store. Between mowing and teaching, my pockets overflowed. I started saving money to buy my first car.

Something about the orderliness and smell of fresh-cut grass and the satisfaction of a job well done permeated my teenage brain and grounded me in a way that made my narrow world seem oddly immune from all the bad news on TV.

It was the first and last great year of Jimmy the Yard King, though its impact was lasting.

Perhaps this explains why, when my wife and I built a post-and-beam house on a high forested hill near the coast of Maine — my first home ever — I created a large garden that featured more than half an acre of beautiful Kentucky bluegrass and fescues.

By then I’d graduated to a serious deluxe John Deere lawn tractor that gave me more than a decade of mowing bliss. A sad parting came, however, when we packed up to move home to North Carolina and discovered there was no room in the moving van for my dear old John Deere.

I seriously considered driving my Deere all the way to Carolina, but finally gave up and sold it to our snowplowing guy for a song. I still have dreams about it.

Today, back in the old neighborhood where I started, I own a modest suburban patch of grass I can mow with my Honda self-propelled mower in less than 18 minutes.

It’s a fine mower, but nothing compared to Gene Horseman’s marvelous Lawn-Boy. Professional lawn crews now roam our streets like packs of Mad Max mowers, offering to relieve me of my turf obligations for 75 bucks a pop, roughly what it once took me a full week to earn cutting grass. They seem offended by an old guy who loves to mow his own yard.

Sometimes, when I’m cutting grass, I think about that faraway summer and Ginny Silkworth, my laughing first date. We stayed in touch for four decades. Ginny became a beloved teacher in Philadelphia and passed away a few years ago. I miss her laugh, if not her punch.

Maybe the smell of fresh-cut summer grass does that. Whatever it is, if only for 18 minutes once a week, Jimmy The Yard King is back in business.

Jim Dodson can be reached at jwdauthor@gmail.com.

2023 Department Simple Life

Golftown Journal

On the Clock

Going to the head of the line

By Lee Pace

A putt will drop at Los Angeles Country Club late on the afternoon of June 18 and another U.S. Open champion will be crowned. Some 2,500 miles to the east, knowing eyes will watch the proceedings and acknowledge the gesture: Next.

“That’s when it will really sink in,” says John Jeffreys, course superintendent of Pinehurst No. 2, site of the 2024 Open. “It’s exciting and energizing when you think that it’s actually here.”

Golf course architects Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw, who orchestrated a significant restoration of No. 2 in 2010-11, have each had occasion to come through Pinehurst in the winter and spring of 2023 and walk the grounds. To reflect on the work they did over a dozen years ago and how it was received for the back-to-back U.S. Open and U.S. Women’s Open in 2014 and how it’s been maintained since brings a smile to their faces.

“It just looked to me like, ‘Go play,’” Coore says. “The presentation is just perfect. It hasn’t changed in nine years. If anything, it’s better.”

Adds Crenshaw: “It looked fabulous. There’s not much to do. The bunkers look great. The wire grass is terrific. The greens are beautiful. The outskirts are just striking. Every time I get around it, I get inspired.”

Jeffreys takes comfort knowing there’s not a massive to-do list during the year leading up to a major championship. There are no rough lines to draw in, no lush grass to promulgate, no tiger tees to bring out of storage.

“The main difference from ’14 is the greens,” he says. “This is the first time the U.S. Open has been played on ultra-dwarf Bermuda. Generally they’re a little firmer, a little faster than what we had before. We’ll concentrate leading up to the competition on improving the quality of the ball roll-out, working on the texture of the leaf.”

John Bodenhamer, chief championships officer for the USGA, remembers that the lead-up to the 2014 Open was warm and dry. The unknowable is what Mother Nature will deliver next spring.

“We were blessed with weather that allowed us to control the firmness and playability of course No. 2,” he says. “If the weather is different, we will adjust accordingly. The one aspect of No. 2 that we will be studying very closely once again are the sandy natural areas. We will want to make sure that they are prepared in a manner that presents an appropriate penalty for missing the fairway. Otherwise, we plan to just let Pinehurst be Pinehurst, as Donald Ross’ masterpiece will surely produce another memorable U.S. Open.”

A decade after the last Open, the golf world will find a village and club much the same as it ever was — like in 1962, when the USGA first came to Pinehurst for the U.S. Amateur and in 1999, when it staged its first U.S. Open on Donald Ross’ tour de force. There are still no golden arches in the village. There are still no right angles at street intersections. The carillon in the Village Chapel still rings on the hour.

“How many times today do you hear some hot young star in any sport hear the name of a Hall of Fame player in his sport and say, ‘Who was he?’” muses former USGA Executive Director David Fay. “When you get to Pinehurst, that changes. It’s impossible not to get caught up in the great history. It’s everywhere. It’s where you look, it’s in the air, it’s in the turf, it’s in the images on the walls, it’s in the church bells. You can almost feel the ghosts coming out.”

But there is so much that’s different, too, since the golf world saw Martin Kaymer cruise to victory the third week of June 2014 and Michelle Wie capture her first major championship seven days later.

For one, by the time the first tee shot is struck on June 13, 2024, the USGA itself will have opened a new Golf House Pinehurst on ground just a 5-iron from the resort clubhouse. Ground was broken in June 2022 on a building designed to harken to Pinehurst’s earliest structures, with wide verandas punctuated by columns, hipped-roofs, dormers, textured clapboard and shake siding.

There’s a new traffic circle between the Carolina Hotel and the golf hub to the south, and the big one at a major thoroughfare intersection just over a mile to the east toward Southern Pines has been widened and has some 50,000 vehicles moving through it daily. (And shouldn’t we call them “roundabouts” in tribute to their British heritage and Moore County’s considerable Scottish roots?)

Out the south door of the clubhouse is the innovative nine-hole Cradle Course that opened in 2017 and has since been a Disneyland of golfers of all ages sipping beverages and clipping wedge shots, and beyond that is the No. 4 course rebuilt by Gil Hanse to blend seamlessly with its No. 2 neighbor — wiregrass here, craggy bunkers there and nary a straight line on the horizon. The Carolina Hotel will have completed a multi-year renovation with all the guest rooms rebuilt and new public areas with a coffee house, porch seating and fire pit.

One building on Magnolia Road in the village sat vacant in 2014, its former existence as a steam plant long buried, and just down the street, the Manor Inn remained boarded up, this 1923 inn a victim of the 2007-09 global financial crisis. Visitors now can eat smoked pork with a terrific blackberry-infused barbecue sauce at the Pinehurst Brewing Company, which opened in 2018 in a building that in 1895 provided steam for the town. The Manor was refurbished and reopened in 2020 with finely appointed guest rooms and the North & South Bar proffering a menu of nearly a hundred whiskies from around the world.

My, the dominoes that have fallen since that 2009 decision by Pinehurst owner Bob Dedman Jr. and resort President and COO Don Padgett II to tear up the elegantly groomed No. 2 with all its grass, water and fertilizer and crack open a time machine that would take the course back to its mid-1900s heyday.

“I thought, what a bold stroke to attempt to take Pinehurst No. 2 back to the way it looked for all its glory days — after sand greens, that is, we don’t want to go quite that far,” Fay says. “It would be much the same as how Oakmont showed its boldness by pulling out all those Christmas trees planted in the 1950s.”

Padgett began to wonder after the 2005 U.S Open at Pinehurst if the excessive use of long grass to fight immense ball flight distances had gone too far on a course known for having width and a visual palette that perfectly reflected its Sandhills heritage. Fortunately, Fay and fellow USGA officials Mike Davis and Jim Hyler agreed with the idea and were on board in February 2010 when Coore & Crenshaw began rebuilding the course. The look, playability and the course’s ability to stand up to modern talent and equipment were applauded by competitors, spectators and the national media.

Padgett uses the word radical to describe what’s happened in Pinehurst in the last decade-plus.

“Bob Dedman feels like it all started with No. 2, we were doing something radical to the place,” says Padgett, now retired and playing a lot of golf in Pinehurst. “There’s nothing more radical than what we did. It changed the way he thought about things. ‘Let’s go all-in’ was the mindset. Pinehurst is way more current than it’s been probably since the 1940s. In recent times, we’ve always had a hint of a museum. It’s not that way anymore. Pinehurst still draws on its history, but the actual experience is pretty current. There’s a lot of life in the place.”

There’s a new No. 10 course being built by Tom Doak on a site in Aberdeen; it will be open in time for the golfing deluge in June 2024. Coore was seen in April rattling around the woods himself, poking for ideas and a routing for Pinehurst No. 11.

Of course, there are lots of details to iron out over the next 12 months. Like, how will the practice range, situated on the south side of the clubhouse for the 2014 Open, fit onto The Cradle? How will the USGA tip its cap to the 25-year anniversary of Payne Stewart’s victory in 1999? How will it look and feel when the World Golf Hall of Fame, launched in Pinehurst in the early 1970s, comes full circle and reopens in the new USGA facility? And how many of the par 4s will Jon Rahm reach with his driver?

Look toward Los Angeles on Father’s Day and try not to get run over by the falling dominoes. PS

Lee Pace has written over four decades about all of the golf architects at Pinehurst, from Donald Ross to Gil Hanse. Contact him at leepace7@gmail.com and follow him on Instagram at @leepaceunc.

2023 Department Golftown Journal

Naturalist

The Gateway Bug

A spectacular insect can lead to a lifetime of wonder

Story and Photographs by Todd Pusser

The memory has stayed with me for decades. It was a humid summer night in the early 1980s, and we had just finished a dinner of grilled hot dogs in the backyard of our Eagle Springs home. Cacophonous calls of whip-poor-wills echoed through the pines while billions of stars lit up the night sky. Wanting to cool off from the oppressive heat, which was still prevalent late into the evening, I decided to take a dip in the backyard pool. As I flipped on a mercury vapor bulb mounted to a tall pole, the entire backyard was instantly flooded in brilliant light.

As I climbed up onto the diving board, it came streaking in from the corner of the yard like a shooting star. Swooping low over the pool, it suddenly arched high, crashed into the light with an audible thud, and tumbled down to the concrete, where it came to rest on its back, legs waving feebly back and forth in the air. “What is that thing?” I wondered aloud.

Jumping off the diving board, I walked over and carefully flipped the hefty 2-inch-long insect over onto its belly. It had a yellowish-green body covered in black spots. A pair of long horns extended out from its head, giving it the appearance of a miniature rhinoceros. At the time, it was among the largest insects that I had ever seen. I would hate to be driving down a rural road at night in a convertible and get walloped upside the head by one.

I picked the insect up and placed it into a mason jar. The next day I proudly showed it to my parents, who, for some strange reason, were not nearly as thrilled as I was with the monster invertebrate. Soon afterward, it was released into the woods behind our house. While thumbing through the pages of a field guide at the school library, I later learned that it was an Eastern Hercules beetle that had interrupted my nocturnal swim.

Most people fear bugs. Many loathe them. Insects found in homes are immediately squashed under foot or dispatched with a well-aimed can of Raid.

All this fear and loathing is learned behavior, taught to us as children. Granted, some insects should be treated with caution, like yellowjackets, capable of delivering a painful sting, or mosquitoes that can harbor disease. But even these maligned critters play critical ecological roles. As hard as it may be to imagine, their extinction would have profound effects on the overall health of the planet and our own well-being.

A respect for all forms of life, including insects, is something my partner, Jessica, and I have tried to instill in our daughter, Ella. The summer before last, while filling up with gas late one night out on the outskirts of the Dismal Swamp, I found another male Hercules beetle. Attracted to the bright lights of the gas station, the behemoth was slowly crawling across the parking lot when I noticed it. Scooping it up, I brought it home to show Ella the next day. I still smile at the thought of her eyes widening in surprise at seeing the goliath insect, her little mind instantly filling with joy and wonder.

Kids have an innate curiosity of the natural world. But in this digital age, children are becoming more and more disconnected with nature. Less time is spent outdoors and more time is spent staring at a computer screen. To remedy this, Jessica and I take every opportunity to introduce our daughter to the wonders of nature, wherever that might be. A trip to the beach is not just for swimming and building sandcastles, but also for watching pelicans fly low over the waves and for picking up colorful shells washed ashore by the tide. A family walk through the neighborhood is a chance to spot squirrels foraging among a canopy of oaks and pines. Sunsets in July are opportunities to catch fireflies in the backyard.

All these seemingly little things, those brief moments of taking the time to simply observe the world around us, can really add up and profoundly shape impressionable young minds. My fondest childhood memories involve those innocuous moments in nature — everything from catching bluegills with my dad in an Eagle Springs farm pond on Saturday morning to watching my first dolphins frolic in the Myrtle Beach surf. And, of course, the giant beetle crashing my pool party. That childlike wonder has stayed with me for nearly five decades now and only grows stronger with each passing year.

How kids respond to nature and how they teach and raise their own children will shape how our societies function and will ultimately affect the overall well-being of this planet. It is my sincerest hope that our daughter continues to grow and maintain a sense of awe, respect, and love for the remarkable world around her. In time, I hope she passes that love for all living things down to her own children — even a love for big bugs. PS

Naturalist and photographer Todd Pusser grew up in Eagle Springs. He works to document the extraordinary diversity of life both near and far. His images can be found at www.ToddPusser.com.

2023 Department Naturalist

Southwords

Home, Sweet Millennial Home

A baby boomer navigates Trader Joe’s

By Tom Allen

Retirement affords me the opportunity to sleep late, cross a few items off my bucket list, and the most joyful gift, “Tuesdays with Ellis,” babysitting my 11-month old grandson while his parents work. My wife isn’t so lucky. While she’s working, I make the morning drive to Raleigh, pick up my little buddy from a mother’s-morning-out program, then listen to Cool Jazz Radio, courtesy of Pandora, on the trip back to his house. After some play time, Ellis settles in with a bottle, a nap, then a book and more play time before Mom gets home.

As a baby boomer hanging out in the home of millennials, I’ve had my trifocalized eyes opened, and my digitally challenged brain stretched. Sound machines, monitors controlled from smartphones, swaddles and sleep sacks weren’t part of our parenting routine 25 years ago. Squeeze-package baby food may have been around, but jars of Gerber sweet potatoes or peas filled our pantry. Funky organic combos like carrots and kale or apples and mango weren’t on our kids’ menus. I was in my 50s before I ever ate hummus or an avocado, some of Ellis’ first foods.

While my grandson naps, I’m welcome to grab a quick bite from his parents’ pantry or fridge. My first Tuesday found me searching for something a little more appealing than Monday evening’s quinoa and roasted veggies. I discovered a box of Honey Nut Cheerio-like cereal. Alas, oat milk was my only option. Can’t a guy get a bowl of Cap’n Crunch and some 2 percent? And I wonder, can you douse a bowl of Lucky Charms with coconut water? I did find some slices of organic oven-roasted turkey breast. Ah, a turkey sandwich on sprouted wheat 7-grain bread. With mayo? Yes. An opened jar of Duke’s. What a good daughter we raised. Later, my son-in-law offered me a Hu Almond Butter + Puffed Quinoa Dark Chocolate bar. Not bad for an energy bar stamped Vegan/Primal. Primal? Isn’t that a scream?

Like lots of millennials, our daughter is a fan of Trader Joe’s, or TJ’s for the hip and enlightened among us. Ellis’ parents introduced me to TJ’s edamame (pretty tasty) olive tapenade with Kalamata and Chalikidiki olives (no thanks), mango nonfat Greek yogurt (I’m hooked), and magical chocolate croissants — magical because you take them out of the freezer and place on a baking sheet before bedtime, and the next morning they’ve tripled in size, ready to bake. Move over, Lay’s Potato Chips. You can’t eat just one.

Millennials do everything on their phones — banking, shopping, even telling their Pura Automated Home Fragrance Device when to let the lavender scent loose. And, as I learned last summer, adjusting the thermostat is as close as your smartphone.

But generations learn from each other. My kids may not be interested in examining my 50 United States quarter collection or hearing stories about what it’s like to “prime” tobacco, but they do ask questions, to which we sometimes have answers. “Ah, no, the plant we gave you at Christmas is an amaryllis, not a camellia. The camellia is that shrub you have in your backyard, with the blooms you thought were roses.” And sometimes, we respond to questions with a question — “What, you haven’t changed your air filters in a year?”

A plethora of newspaper and magazine articles will tell you millennials don’t want your stuff. It’s true. Granny’s cobalt blue fruit dish and matching candlesticks or Mom’s silver-plated serving tray? Donate to a thrift shop that sells stuff to help others. Minimalists though they be, you might hear them ask for Grandma’s tiny blue ginger jar or her potato masher that looks like it might be (and is) handy for mashing an avocado to spread on toasted, sprouted wheat 7-grain bread. Questions like, “Can I have one of Papa’s old shirts? They still smell like his aftershave,” or, “What are those yellow flowers that bloom around my neighbor’s mailbox? Can you tell me how I can grow some?” are welcome inquiries both sentimental and sweet.

For now, I’ll continue my weekly hangouts with Ellis. Quinoa and roasted veggies are starting to taste pretty good. Oat milk matched with my homemade granola ain’t bad. But grandparenting, ah, that’s still my cup of organic, de-caffeinated, rooibos herbal tea. PS

Tom Allen is a retired minister. He lives in Whispering Pines.

2023 Department Southwords

Poem June 2023

this I know for sure

We are the breath the skin the muscles the heart the hands the unmeasurable bones whispering across the Atlantic Ocean. We are the bellies of Middle Passage ships. We are the blue door of no return on Goree Island. We are the mornings that broke with our living and our dead fastened together. We are the eyes bearing witness to sharks following our human cargo waiting for the feast of dead or sick bodies tossed overboard. We are the shadows in the back of the eyes of daughters throwing themselves and their babies overboard. Our blood is the red that stole the blue of the ocean. We are scattered bones rising up from the bottom of the Atlantic revealing a pathway marking the route. We are the fruit of those bone trees planted deep in the fertile Atlantic. We carry a DNA of survival, strength, extraordinary will. From forced migration to slave market we are all the links of all the chains of the past and future. Binding spiritual links from the bones in the Atlantic to the bones of slaves in a place like Galveston Texas where ancestral whispers became the wind… Caressing tired bones with a timeless spirit of rebirth and love. The wind heard first. Whispering from the trees, from the ground beneath their feet, whispering…

Freedom

The wind knew and rattled tiny bones beneath the feathers of birds. The wind knew. Giving voice to the rain falling creating fertile freedom ground. The wind whispered to every butterfly, every insect pollinating from flower to flower. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Eagles stopped in midair to listen to the wind’s song… Freedom came today. Freedom came today… And because our people are a chosen people we could understand the dance of the trees, the tremble of the water. Hoes stopped striking. Hands stopped picking. Feet stood still. A mighty storm named freedom rained over them. Soaked them clean. Mothers kissed hope into the air above babies’ heads. Grandmothers and grandfathers stretched prayers into a sky that would not bend. Men asked where will this freedom live. Children asked what does this freedom taste like. What does this freedom smell like. What does this freedom sound like. What does this freedom look like. Mama, tell me what this freedom gonna feel like. We screamed a jubilee into the clouds. We shed the skin of a slave. We shed the rags of a slave into the river. Our freedom skin was a shining brand-new nakedness that outshined the sun. We be clothed in freedom’s gold. On Juneteenth dead bones came alive and flew on the wings of Sankofa birds all the way back to the river where blood is born… All the way back to the womb that never forgets. We are the Juneteenth resurrection… We are the ancient prayers answered. We are the cup overflowing inviting generations to this feast of freedom.

— Jaki Shelton Green

2023 Feature Poem