Sacred Spaces

Across life — and death — the places where we connect

By Tom Allen

What makes a place sacred is often a matter of experience and memory.

Our daughter married this summer, in a historic Raleigh church, repurposed earlier as a bluegrass venue, then restored, once again, as a church. The founding congregation moved to a suburban location in 2001. Religious-themed, Tiffany-styled stained glass windows traveled with them. Simpler patterns remained. When a developer purchased the building, he filled the empty spaces with stained glass fitting a more secular venue — a colonial-era vineyard, a maestro conducting a symphony.

When a new congregation purchased the building, they set out to restore the space to its original intent as a house of worship. Some rooms were left open for artists’ displays. The church also agreed the sanctuary could be used occasionally for concerts. They’ve done an amazing amount of work in a short time — updating antiquated HVAC systems, refinishing hardwood floors, and preserving decades-old pews. Finding a new home for the current windows and replacing them with stained glass depictions of the faith is planned but costly.

So when I walked Hannah down the aisle on August 19, instead of depictions of the Good Shepherd or the Christmas story, a couple, straight out of Colonial Williamsburg, was strolling through a vineyard. Above a wooden cross a conductor raised his baton, ready to give the downbeat. Although some of the visuals seemed to contradict the setting, the day, we all agreed, was a high and holy occasion, a pull-out-all-the-stops celebration with lots of grand memories.

For many, a church, a synagogue, a temple, is sacred space. The words and rituals echoing there connect people to something beyond themselves, something transcendent, mysterious, yet something very real. Babies are baptized, vows are spoken, the sick are anointed, the dead are remembered. Some spaces house relics and saintly figures. Holy books, altars, and tables become enshrined. Whether an upright piano donated in memory of a dear granny or the tomb of a beloved saint buried for centuries in an undercroft, crypts and crevices enhance the sacredness of these spaces. Westminster Abbey, a simple rural sanctuary or an outdoor chapel canopied by oaks — all places where sacred spaces abound.

But people need not enter a temple or church to feel the holiness. The delivery rooms where my children were born, occasions that took my breath away, became sacred places. The room in a nursing center, where I held my parents’ hands as they breathed their last, was just as sacred as the churches where I embraced a belief that something was beyond those final breaths.

I know a couple in their 80s who have walked the same path, weather permitting, every afternoon since they retired. She is stooped. He holds her hand. The path has grown shorter and the walk takes longer, but that trail is, for them, a sacred and holy space.

Places of horror can be sacred as well. Sites of the unfathomable — Ground Zero in Manhattan, Dachau, Auschwitz, the Killing Fields of Cambodia — these places, where innocents were slaughtered, become shrines to the sanctity of life and the hope that “never again” will prevail.

You probably have personal sacred places, beyond walls and steeples. The space might be the chair where loved ones used to sit, a car they drove, a garden they once tended, a kitchen table where life was shared, or a grave that confirms that they lived and loved and mattered.

Sometimes I fear we’ve lost our capacity to see wonder where true wonder lies, to see the sacred in the everyday, the holy in the mundane. Perhaps the story of the first Christmas — the birth of a baby in a cow stall — reminds us all, whether we embrace the story as our own or not, that beauty and wonder often come to us simply, quietly and in the most unexpected times and places.

For one and all, may these days be merry and bright, blessed with peace and graced with wonder. And may you find a place, a time, or just a moment, that simply takes your breath away.  PS

Tom Allen is minister of education at First Baptist Church, Southern Pines.

 

December Books

Our Town 

Southern Sunrises, by Tom Bryant

An endearing collection of Bryant’s “Sporting Life” columns, originally appearing in PineStraw magazine, captures what it is to be Southern and true in these stories of fishing, bird hunting, friends and family. 

The Hamlet Fire: A Tragic Story of Cheap Food, Cheap Government and Cheap Lives, by Bryant Simon

A look at the 1991 fire at the Imperial Foods processing plant in Hamlet reveals much about the state of the food industry in America. The investigative reporting by Simon suggests local lore surrounding the tragic fire is incorrect. Worth a read. 

Spiderella: The Girl who Spoke with Spiders, by Romey Petite and Laurel Holden 

This is a surefire gift for little ones of all ages. A collaboration of two Southern Pines artists and storytellers, it’s a modern version of the Cinderella theme with illustrations and costumes that stay with you long after the book is closed.

Coffee Table

The Authentics: A Lush Dive Into the Substance of Style, by Melanie Acevedo and Dara Caponigro

The best coffee table book of the year by the founding editor of Domino magazine. The photographs of the graceful spaces and the people who inhabit them are beautiful, but this book is made readable by the interviews with each “Authentic.” A wonderful addition in your living room. 

Vogue Living: Country, City, Coast edited, by Hamish Bowles and Chloe Malle

This collection of Vogue homes from 2008 to 2016 showcases the magazine’s brilliant and varied photography. Similar to the Vogue Weddings: Brides, Dresses, Designers from 2012, this is sure to be a staple for appreciators of elegance. 

Stocking Stuffers

You Look Better Online: Your Life in 150 Unfiltered Cartoons, by Emmet Truxes 

This stocking-sized book is full of truths about modern life that will have adults, young and old, giggling through Christmas morning and beyond.

365 Days of Firsts: A Daily Record of Baby’s First Year 

A little book to help new parents record each memorable milestone. Attractive, with quick dates and a few lines to fill in as the newborn grows up, this is a fantastic (and easy) way to chronicle the treasures of life. 

Biography 

Bunny Mellon: The Life of an American Style Legend, by Meryl Gordon

The story of the trendsetting Bunny Mellon, the designer of the White House Rose Garden, is full of family secrets, politics, art and fashion among America’s 20th century elite.

Churchill and Orwell: The Fight For Freedom, by Thomas E. Ricks

A dual biography of Winston Churchill and George Orwell, two of the most important people in British history who shared the vision and courage to campaign tirelessly, in words and in deeds, against the totalitarian threat from both the left and the right.

Leonardo Da Vinci, by Walter Isaacson 

The author of Steve Jobs and Einstein takes a spellbinding look at history’s most creative genius, weaving a narrative that connects Da Vinci’s art to his science. He shows how Leonardo’s genius was based on skills we can improve in ourselves, such as passionate curiosity, careful observation, and an imagination so playful that it flirted with fantasy.

Sisters First: Stories from our Wild and Wonderful Life, by Jenna Bush Hager and Barbara Pierce Bush 

Much more than a tale of politics, the girls who saw both their grandfather and father serve as President of the United States co-author a thoughtful memoir about their lives and American history over the last 30 years. 

Grant, by Ron Chernow

The Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Washington and Alexander Hamilton delivers a brilliant account of Ulysses S. Grant’s life. Chernow provides a deeper understanding of the often misunderstood and frequently caricatured Civil War general and post-war president.

Nonfiction

Overload: Finding the Truth in Today’s Deluge of News by Bob Schieffer

The legendary television broadcaster examines today’s journalism and those who practice it. Based on interviews with over 40 media leaders from television, print media, and the internet, Schieffer surveys the perils and promises of journalism’s rapidly changing landscape.

The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia, by Masha Gessen

A brilliant book by the biographer of Vladimir Putin, Gessen follows the lives of four people to chart the path of a Russia from the doorstep of democracy to a virulent autocracy.


The Last Castle: The Epic Story of Love, Loss and American Royalty in the Nation’s Largest Home, by Denise Kieran

The fascinating true story behind the magnificent Gilded Age mansion Biltmore — the largest, grandest residence ever built in the United States. The story of Biltmore spans world wars, the Jazz Age, the Depression, and generations of the famous Vanderbilt family, and features a captivating cast of real-life characters including F. Scott Fitzgerald, Thomas Wolfe, Teddy Roosevelt, John Singer Sargent, James Whistler, Henry James, and Edith Wharton.

Fiction

The Last Ballad

by Wiley Cash

The chronicle of an ordinary woman’s struggle for dignity and her rights in a textile mill, The Last Ballad is a moving tale of courage in the face of oppression and injustice. Cash tells the story of Ella May Wiggins and brings to life the heartbreak and bravery of the labor movement in 20th century North Carolina, paying tribute to the thousands of heroic women and men who risked their lives to win basic rights for all workers. 

Cookbooks

The Farmhouse Chef: Recipes and Stories from My Carolina Farm, by Jamie DeMent

From the owner of Piedmont Restaurant in Durham.

Cúrate: Authentic Spanish Food From an American Kitchen, by Kate Button

From the owner of Cúrate in Asheville.

Poole’s: Recipes and Stories from a Modern Diner, by Ashley Christensen

From the owner of Poole’s Downtown Diner in Raleigh.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

Brinkley Boyd of Weymouth, by Annie Hallinan

From the author of the Sandhills best-selling title The Sweetest Christmas Eve comes this new tale of Brinkley Boyd. A small, quiet mouse, Brinkley enjoys living at the Boyd House at Weymouth. There are rooms to explore, animal friends to make, stories to hear, and adventures to be had. This special edition of Brinkley Boyd also includes a Weymouth Center guided scavenger hunt and special photographs from James and Katharine Boyd’s wedding. Ages 4-9.

The Very Very Very Long Dog, by Julia Patton

Bartelby is a very long and lovable dachshund who lives in a bookstore. He has a lovely set of friends who take him for walks through the city, but he has no idea that his bumbling backside leaves a trail of destruction and accidents behind him. Embarrassed that he has no control over his back end, Bartelby vows to never leave the cozy bookstore again. Can his friends help him find a way to help himself? Ages 3-7.

Top Elf, by Caleb Huett

Ollie and Celia think they know what the life of an elf is supposed to be like: make toys; help Santa; make more toys; help Santa; try out a new icecream flavor; help Santa. However, after 20 years, the current St. Nick is ready to pass the torch to the next Santa who will be chosen in a rather unusual way — a contest! Let the Santa trials and the fun begin. Ages 7-12.

Nyxia, by Scott Reintgen

Nyxia — an amazing substance that can be transformed into a ring, a sword, a life-saving vest, a wall. Nyxia — sought out by the Babel Corporation. Nyxia — the thing that just might transform Emmett Atwater from an underprivileged teen into a millionaire if only he can earn a spot on the team traveling to the planet Eden to extract more Nyxia. Hunger Games meets Enders Game, this first installment of the Nyxia trilogy leaves the reader begging debut author Scott Reintgen to hurry please with book two. Ages 14 and up. PS

Compiled by Kimberly Daniels Taws and Angie Talley.

Northern Bobwhite

Diminished in number, the bird with the distinctive call is making a comeback

By Susan Campbell

For those fortunate enough to live in open piney woods or adjacent to large farm fields, the whistled call of the bobwhite quail may be a familiar sound. But, as with so many of our bird species, this once prolific songster has diminished in the Piedmont. And anyone in search of winter partridge for the table is increasingly likely to be disappointed.

Bobwhite quail measure between 8 to 11 inches beak-to-tail and have very cryptic brown, black and white markings that make them all but impossible to see in the grassy habitats they call home. The male has a bright, white eye-stripe and throat marking, and is the one who announces his territory through a repeated “bob-white” call. The female is not only smaller but drabber, with an eye-stripe and throat that are a buffy color. This stout bird’s short sharp bill, strong legs and feet with sharp claws, make it well adapted to foraging at ground level for insects, berries and soft vegetation.

Northern bobwhite males attract a mate using their loud repetitive calls in the spring. The female will reply with a four-syllable whistle of her own. Following breeding, the pair creates a domed nest concealed in tall grasses, and the hen lays up to 20 pure white eggs. It takes about 25 days of incubation for the young to hatch. Hens will renest if the eggs are eaten or destroyed. Upon hatching, the chicks will immediately follow their parents, learning how to hunt bugs and which shoots are the most nutritious.  As a group they are referred to as a covey.  They will stay together through the winter and may join other families to form coveys of thirty or more birds. When alarmed at an early age, the young will scatter and freeze to avoid predators. Once they can fly, they will take to the air in a loud blur of wings if they are startled by a potential predator.

Quail were a very popular game bird throughout North Carolina until not that long ago. Since the 1980s, when their numbers began to decline, they’ve been much harder to find. A combination of factors is believed to be responsible. Not only have open woodlands and agricultural fields with hedgerows become more scarce but ground predators such as foxes, coyotes, raccoons and free roaming cats have increased. Also, the timing of rainfall can significantly affect breeding productivity. Too much rain too early may inundate nests and dry conditions when chicks hatch may result in insufficient food.

These days, hunters search for coveys in the forests and fields that comprise the patchwork of Game Lands in our portion of the state or they go to private game reserves. Their pursuit requires a well-trained bird dog and a good deal of patience. However, active quail management is occurring locally. Two strategies are at work: opening up forested habitat using prescribed burning and replanting undesirable vegetation with quality cover.  Recent efforts by biologists with the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission and at Fort Bragg (along with assistance from local Quail Unlimited chapters) are resulting in gradual increases in northern bobwhite. We certainly hope this trend continues so that in the not too distant future, sightings of winter coveys will be once again commonplace throughout central North Carolina and the song of the bobwhite will return to the South.  PS

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

A Carolina Classic

Revisiting Cold Mountain

By D.G. Martin

Charles Frazier’s classic novel, Cold Mountain, was published 20 years ago and more than three million copies have been sold. The book inspired a popular epic film and an opera staged in Chapel Hill in September. As North Carolina’s most admired work of literary fiction since, perhaps, Look Homeward Angel, it should be on the bookshelf of every home in our state.

The book’s great success has made its story and its characters familiar and memorable. When the name of Inman is mentioned, we think of a tired, war-worn, wounded Civil War soldier walking across the Piedmont and foothills determined to make his way back home to Cold Mountain and to Ada, the lovely Charleston-reared Ada, whom he hardly knows, but deeply loves. She is out of place, struggling, and starving on a mountain farm. Ruby, an uneducated mountain girl, full of energy and grit, rescues and restores Ada and the farm, where the two women await Inman’s poignant return and the accompanying tragedy.

As in Homer’s Odyssey, the returning soldier’s travel toward home provides the framework for a series of adventures and contacts with a variety of compelling characters. The book opens with the battle-wounded Inman recovering in a Confederate hospital in Raleigh. Outside the hospital a blind man is selling boiled peanuts. When Inman asks what he would give for just a few minutes of sight, the peanut man replies, “Not an Indian head penny.” He explains there are things he would never want to see. Inman understands, because he remembers vividly the horrors of war and the battles he experienced and wishes he had never seen them.

As Inman’s condition improves, he resolves to desert, leave the hospital, and begin his walk toward Cold Mountain. Not long after his trek begins, in the woods near a river, he sees a fallen preacher bent on killing a woman he has impregnated. Inman rescues the woman and brutally punishes the preacher.

Soon afterwards, he encounters and angers some armed and dangerous locals. They follow him to a river crossing. As he canoes across the swollen river they fire a barrage of bullets that destroy the canoe and almost kill him.

After Inman’s escape, he meets a deceitful redneck named Junior, a farmer and bawdyhouse keeper, who drugs Inman and sells him out to the Home Guard. After marching its prisoners in chains for several days, the Home Guard loses patience and executes its captives. Inman survives miraculously and goes on the road again, but only after returning to extract vicious revenge on Junior, whom he finds salting ham in his smokehouse.

Frazier describes the brutal details. “Junior raised up his face and looked at him but seemed not to recognize him. Inman stepped to Junior and struck him across the ear with the barrel of the LeMat’s and then clubbed at him with the butt until he lay flat on his back. There was no movement out of him but for the bright flow of blood which ran from his nose and cuts to his head and the corners of his eyes. It gathered and pooled on the black earth of the smokehouse floor.”

The fight with Junior is only the beginning. Along the way to Cold Mountain are encounters at every stop, many of them bloody. Inman’s travel home, like the Civil War battlefields, is marked by violence and death.

Frazier writes, “He could not even make a start at reckoning up how many deaths he had witnessed of late. It would number, no doubt, in the thousands. Accomplished in every custom you could imagine, and some you couldn’t come up with if you thought at it for days. He had grown so used to seeing death, walking among the dead, sleeping among them, numbering himself calmly as among the near-dead, that it seemed no longer dark and mysterious.”

But Inman has another, softer side. He loves nature and carries with him Bartram’s Travels, William Bartram’s description of his travels in the American South in the 1770s. In Inman’s view, “the book stood nigh to holiness and was of such richness that one might dip into it at random and read only one sentence and yet be sure of finding instruction and delight.”

Bartram’s description of a mountain scene that reminded Inman of Cold Mountain was his favorite selection. “Having gained its summit, we enjoyed a most enchanting view; a vast expanse of green meadows and strawberry fields . . . companies of young, innocent Cherokee virgins, some busy gathering the rich fragrant fruit, others having already filled their baskets, lay reclined under the shade of floriferous and fragrant native bowers of Magnolia, Azalea, Philadelphus, perfumed Calycanthus, sweet Yellow Jessamine and cerulean Glycine frutescens, disclosing their beauties to the fluttering breeze, and bathing their limbs in the cool fleeting streams; whilst other parties, more gay and libertine, were yet collecting strawberries, or wantonly chasing their companions, tantalising them, staining their lips and cheeks with the rich fruit.”

When Inman read this passage aloud to Ada at their reunion, “he could not wait to reach its period for all it seemed to be about was sex, and it caused his voice to crack and threatened to flush his face.”

Alternating with the chapters describing Inman’s travels are reports of Ada’s and Ruby’s growing friendship and success in managing the farm together.

The superstitious Ruby gives us a picture of farm life 150 years ago. Frazier writes, “The crops were growing well, largely, Ruby claimed, because they had been planted, at her insistence, in strict accordance with the signs. In Ruby’s mind, everything — setting fence posts, making sauerkraut, killing hogs — fell under the rule of the heavens . . . November, will kill a hog in the growing of the moon, for if we don’t the meat will lack grease and pork chops will cup up in the pan.”

Inman finally makes his way back to Cold Mountain. His homecoming and reunion with Ada are joyful, but short lived, as Inman dies in a firefight with the Home Guard.

Giving away the closing is not a spoiler. After 20 years in print, the book’s ending is no secret. But people still ask Frazier, why didn’t you let Inman live and make a happy ending?

Frazier explained to me that the real Pinkney Inman died in a gunfight with the Home Guard. Therefore, he said, “having that knowledge in my mind, I wrote the character to go with that ending without really fully accepting it. But at that point, where I had to decide, then I realized, it’s going to feel fake if I come up with a way for him to survive this.”

Frazier continued, “I got to the point toward the end of the book where I had to decide. And I drove all the way from Raleigh up to Haywood County. There’s a cemetery there, in a little town called Clyde, where Pinkney Inman is buried, but there’s not a marker. And I just walked around, looked at the view, and I just thought, you know, there’s only one way to end this, that I knew what happened from the first page of writing this book, to the real character, and it’s built in.”

Frazier’s decision resulted in the classic that has stood the test of time. Reading it cover to cover is still a moving experience.

But also, like Bartram’s Travels for Inman, we can pick up Cold Mountain and “read only one sentence and yet be sure of finding instruction and delight.”  PS

Charles Frazier tells much more about Cold Mountain and his experiences writing the book in his interview on UNC-TV’s North Carolina Bookwatch at: https://video.unctv.org/video/3004954333/

D.G. Martin hosts North Carolina Bookwatch, which airs Sundays at noon and Thursdays at 5 p.m. on UNC-TV.

Batteries Not Included

A plugged-in and powered-up Christmas

By Bill Fields

There were some Christmases growing up that Carolina Power and Light and Eveready Battery must have loved. The same would go for the manufacturers of those flimsy extension cords whose “U.L. approved” tag didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.

It is tempting to think that the popularity of high tech gifts is a relatively recent development, but anyone of a certain age knows that isn’t true. Of course, high tech of 40 or 50 years ago must be considered for its day, the way a 260-pound offensive tackle would then have seemed only slightly smaller than Godzilla.

Still, Christmas was juiced long before Major League Baseball. Along with “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” there were other words unique to the season.

“TO PROTECT FROM ELECTRIC SHOCK, DO NOT OPEN
COVER OR BACK. NO USER-SERVICEABLE PARTS.”

That caution came on one of the best presents with a cord I ever got, a reel-to-reel tape recorder from Santa/Western Auto that allowed me to pretend I was one of those basketball play-by-play announcers I heard on the radio so many winter evenings from distant locales. The machine should have come with a different warning: Until you go through puberty and start pronouncing “Fayetteville” with three syllables, you have absolutely no chance of sounding like them.

I could amuse myself with simple things — a ball of crumpled foil and a hanger shaped into a hoop taped to a doorframe, anyone? — but there was a period when I was attracted to something that powered up like bream to a cricket.

Take indoor putting. I could groove my stroke just fine by rolling a ball toward a chair leg or coffee mug, but the “Electric Putt Return” from Sears took living room practice to a higher plane. In form it resembled a dustpan, but in function the device was positively Jetsonian in how a golf ball was propelled after an attempt, only rarely failing to make it back to your feet. The distinctive click occurring when a ball began its return is on the soundtrack of my childhood.

The putting trainer had a single purpose, but the glory of another of my 120-volt holiday delights from Sears was its multi-purpose utility. Shaped like an oversized loaf of bread about two feet long, there was a clock — with alarm — on the left, a tiny television — VHF and UHF — in the center and a radio — AM and FM — on the right.

Despite my most creative antenna directing, the TV picture was usually snowy, sometimes rolling and never fully satisfying. Still, the clock and radio worked well and the whole “solid state” combo sat on my desk, leaving enough room to do homework. Owing to its faux mahogany top and sides, it was even handsome in its early-’70s way. The appearance certainly trumped the value “entertainment system” my parents gifted themselves one year. It wasn’t lacking in functions with an 8-track, radio and turntable, but the lift-off plastic lid covering the record player made it a leisure suit of electronics.

Year over power corded-gizmo year, I would say I made out better than the adults.

There was the matter of the irons, blemished but numerous, in the years when Dad worked at Proctor-Silex, which manufactured them. A steam iron, no matter how good or how much of a bargain, should be purchased when necessary, like new sheets, and never adorned with a red bow.

One Christmas there was an electric knife under our tree. I’m sure it came with a warning, too, but wasn’t as useful or as much fun as my tape recorder. The man who is credited with coming up with the idea of an electric knife, Jerome L. Murray, also developed boarding ramps to get people onto airlines and a pump essential in open-heart surgery.

Two serrated blades going through a ham or a turkey a couple of times a year — the noise of the contraption sometimes punctuated by the jarring contact with a platter — surely doesn’t measure up to Murray’s other accomplishments.

But those were the times and, as sure as kitchens were done in avocado, those were our things. PS

Southern Pines native Bill Fields, who writes about golf and other things, moved north in 1986 but hasn’t lost his accent.

Strokes of Fame

Shots heard ‘round the Sandhills

By Lee Pace

Payne Stewart’s 20-foot putt to win the 1999 U.S. Open on the last stroke of the championship on Pinehurst No. 2 is certainly one of the most famous strokes in golf history, let alone the annals of this little Sandhills burgh. Films have been made, books have been written about Stewart’s masterful stroke under enormous pressure; the photo of him extending his fist in celebration just as the ball trickles into the hole with thousands of spectators packed around the green is an image for the ages.

But let’s face it: That was a putt, a whack that any 8-year-old could replicate through a lion’s mouth at Myrtle Beach. What about full shots or at least chips and pitches, strokes that require the ball to at least get airborne and some fusion of multiple moving body parts?

Golf has been played at Pinehurst since 1898 on as many as three dozen courses if you include all Moore County. Here, then, are 10 of the best shots ever made in the Sandhills.

Denny Shute’s 3-wood, 1936 — The PGA Championship was Pinehurst’s first taste of major championship golf when the match-play event came to No. 2 in November 1936. Favorites for the title like Walter Hagen, Gene Sarazen, Paul Runyan and Tommy Armour lost earlier matches, leaving Denny Shute, the 1933 British Open winner, to face Jimmy Thomson in the 36-hole championship match. Shute was 2-up over Thomson through 33 holes coming to the par-5 16th hole in the afternoon round. He nailed a 3-wood second shot on the 475-yard par 5 to five feet and was conceded the eagle putt, giving him a 3 and 2 victory.

Ben Hogan’s sand wedge, 1940 — The 28-year-old Texan was winless on the PGA Tour and seriously considering giving it up when he came to Pinehurst in March 1940 for the North and South Open, a tournament considered one of pro golf’s top events of the era. In the opening round, Hogan holed out a shot from a greenside bunker on the par-4 11th for a birdie, fueling him to a 6-under 66. He led by seven shots after 36 holes and wound up beating Sam Snead by three for his first professional victory. He went on to win consecutive tournaments in Greensboro and Asheville, and the match for a Hall of Fame career was lit. “I had finished second and third so many times I was beginning to think I was an also ran. I needed that win,” Hogan said.

Sam Snead’s 4-iron, 1941 — It was a heavyweight threesome if there ever was one — Snead, Hogan and Charlotte’s Clayton Heafner in the last group of the final round of the 1941 North and South Open on No. 2. Hogan faded early, leaving Snead and Heafner in the spotlight. “They were trailed by almost all of the final day gallery of 4,000, and these two big hitters traded birdie punches from start to finish of the last 18 holes,” said one newspaper account. Snead had a one-shot lead coming to the final hole and ripped his 4-iron approach to within inches, securing a three-shot win. “As he broke through the ring of galleryites to tap the ball in, he got a hand such as few golfers ever receive,” the newspaper continued. Snead would win three North and South titles.

Harvie Ward’s sand wedge, 1948 — Harvie Ward had no designs on winning the North and South Amateur when he traveled to Pinehurst from Chapel Hill in April 1948. In fact, the Tarboro native and University of North Carolina golfer didn’t even pack a change of clothes. But he advanced day by day in match play until he reached the final against Frank Stranahan. The big shot came with a 1-up lead through 34 holes. Ward hit into the front bunker on the par-3 17th, then into the back bunker. Then Ward hit a magnificent recovery from that bunker to inches away for a tap-in bogey. Rattled, Stranahan missed a 3-footer for par and the hole was halved. Ward collected his 1-up win with a par on 18.

Hobart Manley’s run of threes, 1951 — It wasn’t just one shot from the 24-year-old Savannah amateur that makes the archives of great golf in Pinehurst — it was 15 of them. Manley and Billy Joe Patton were locked in a tight battle for the North and South Amateur title, and Patton was 2-up through the 13th hole of the afternoon round of the 36-hole finale. Patton would play the last five holes 1-under par, but he lost to Manley, who ripped off five straight threes, which were four-under with birdie, par, eagle, par, birdie. “Just watching the drama unfold made my heart pound and left me limp,” Bill Campbell remembered. Manley won the title, 1-up.

Billy Joe Patton’s 4-wood, late 1950s — The career amateur known for his uncanny recovery ability and gregarious nature hit any number of outstanding shots on No. 2 in winning three North and South Amateurs, but it was a certain 4-wood shot from a troubled lie in the late 1950s that summarized his gift to golf. Patton was in a playoff against Dr. Bud Taylor in the North and South and they came to the second hole. Patton’s tee shot came to rest in a bunker to left of the fairway, near Palmetto Road. He addressed his shot with one foot in the sand, one above it and his ball hung up in tall grass. At that very moment a woman stopped in her car and called out to no one in particular, “Does anyone know where I can get a room for the night?” Nonplussed, Patton continued to address the ball and said, “Lady, if you can wait a few minutes you can probably get mine.” He made bogey, lost the match and vacated his room for a trip back home to Morganton.

Tom Watson’s 8-iron, 1973 — Executives at the Diamondhead Corp., Pinehurst’s new owners since late 1970, conceived the idea of the World Open — a 144-hole marathon on the PGA Tour for a $100,000 first prize. The first one was held on No. 2 in November 1973, and twice a new course record was set. Gibby Gilbert shot a nine-under 62 in the first round and Watson followed with another 62 in the second round. The key shot for Watson was his 8-iron approach for eagle on the 14th hole, and he followed that with four straight birdies. “I was in a daze after that,” Watson said of the eagle. “I felt I could make everything after that.” Alas, the 24-year-old Watson had not quite learned to win and faded with rounds of 76-76-77 as Miller Barber collected first prize.

Mark O’Meara’s 6-iron, 1980 — O’Meara burst onto the national golf scene with a runaway 8-and-7 win over John Cook in the 1979 U.S. Amateur at Canterbury in Cleveland and came to the Country Club of North Carolina the following year as the defending champion. But he almost missed match play as Houston golfer Fred Couples shot rounds of 69-70 to collect the medal and O’Meara was one of 12 players who tied for 57th place, necessitating a playoff to determine the last seven spots in match play. The playoff started at 10 and, on the par-4 11th hole, O’Meara hit his 3-iron into the hole from the fairway. He promptly turned and walked back to the clubhouse. O’Meara lost to Willie Wood in the first round.

Annika Sorenstam’s 3-wood, 1996 — The young Swedish golfer won her first major in the 1995 U.S. Women’s Open at the Broadmoor in Colorado and came to Pine Needles in Southern Pines as the defending champion. Her coach, Pia Nilsson, accompanied her and spoke of golfers in Sweden as looking “at things differently — we’re trying to find ways to shoot 54, make birdies on every hole.” Sorenstam made it look that easy with a final-round 66 that staked her to a six-shot win over Kris Tschetter. The key shot was a 220-yard 3-wood on the par-5 10th and the ensuing 25-foot eagle putt.  “I was in a zone today,” she said. “It was like I could close my eyes and hit. Whatever I did, my shots went straight, my putts went in. It was unbelievable.”

Payne Stewart’s 6-iron, 1999 — Everyone remembers Stewart’s U.S. Open winning putt on the last hole. But the shot that staked Stewart to a one-shot lead on the last hole was his 6-iron to four feet on the 17th hole. Caddie Mike Hicks said the roars when Stewart hit his ball and when Phil Mickelson knocked his to six feet were greater than anything he’d ever heard on a golf course — including the Ryder Cup. “It’s getting kinda wild out here,” NBC’s Roger Maltbie said. Mickelson missed his putt and Stewart made his. “It was a gimme,” Hicks said. “He hadn’t missed inside four feet all week.”  PS

Chapel Hill writer Lee Pace has chronicled many of these memorable shots in Pinehurst lore in three of his books—Pinehurst Stories (1991), The Spirit of Pinehurst (2004) and The Golden Age of Pinehurst (2012).

Christmas Q&A

Some local translation required

By Renee Phile

I asked my boys to help me write this. At first, I was met with “Ugh,” and “I don’t like to write — you do,” and “I already have enough homework.” After I coerced them with Christmas music and hot chocolate with marshmallows, they obliged, sort of.

Nestled in, armed with my questions, pens, and Christmas ambiance, here’s what they had to say:

David — age 14.

What does Christmas mean to you?

To me, Christmas is a time to see family and eat good food. It’s also fun to spend time and do activities with people. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Grandma Jean spinning around the house making dinner.

What he really meant: I like to eat.

What do you like about Christmas?

I like the snow and the feeling where you just relax and have fun watching Christmas movies. The Christmas church service. All of it is a good time. I like seeing Grandma Jean getting ready for dinner. She makes good dinner.

What he really meant: I like to eat.

Speaking of movies, do you have a favorite Christmas movie?

Elf.

What he really meant: Elf is funny and it’s not in black and white and old like It’s a Wonderful Life.

What foods do you like to eat over Christmas?

Ham, corn, beans, turkey, potatoes, stuffing, and candy canes. Sometimes overcooked ham.

What he really meant: I’m omnivorous.

Do you have a favorite Christmas memory?

My favorite Christmas memory is being at Grandma Jean’s and having everyone there and eating and having fun.

What he really meant: I really, really like to eat.

What is another favorite memory?

Another one is being at Pop’s church at nighttime when it snowed and we ate dinner at the church. Also, one time Nanny overcooked the ham and it was hard to eat, but I still ate it.

What he meant: I will eat absolutely everything in sight.

What about a funny memory?

Hmmm . . . I can’t think of one. Wait, one time my dad gave me a present and accidentally wrote “dad” instead of Santa, so he crossed it out and it looked like this: Dad  Santa

What he really meant: It’s still worth giving Santa the benefit of the doubt.

What are your thoughts on Santa?

Well, I don’t like him because he’s fake.

What he really meant: I may still believe in Santa . . . a little.

Anything else you want to add?

I will be glad to be away from school for three weeks.

What he really meant: I’m stuck with my brother for three weeks. I’ll miss my friends and maybe even my math class.

Kevin — age 9.

What does Christmas mean to you?

Critmas means to me that Jesus was born.

What he really meant: Critmas means to me that Jesus was born.

What do you like about Christmas?

I like that you are able to have time off school (of course) and that you get to spend time with family and get presents and that reminds me this year could you get me Minecraft Legos?

What he really meant: I really really want some Minecraft Legos.

Do you have a favorite Christmas memory?

When I was in kinder garden we got to make an ornament and watch the polar ‘spres and have hot chokolet.

What he really meant: I like hot chokolet.

Do you have a funny Christmas memory?

There aren’t anything funny about Christmas that I know of.

What he really meant: There aren’t anything funny about Christmas that I know of.

Is there a food you enjoy over Christmas?

Yes, I like Critmas cake and Critmas cookies.

What he really meant: I like Critmas cake and Critmas cookies.

Do you have a favorite Christmas movie?

Yes it is the polar ‘spres.

What he really meant: Polar ‘spres is the best movie in the world.

What are your thoughts on Santa Claus?

The only thout about Santa Clause is that he is nice and caring.

What he really meant: I hope Santa Clause brings me Minecraft Legos.

Do you have anything else you want to add about how you feel about Christmas?

Yes the fackt that I like carol of the bells song.

What he really meant: The fackt is that I like carol of the bells song.

I tried to sneak in a few questions after they had finished their “assignments,” but they thought that would mean extra credit, which meant more hot chocolate and as Kevin suggested, Critmas cake.  PS

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

The Old Home Place

Visiting memories of days gone by

By Tom Bryant

It was one of those rare, late fall days with the wind quartering out of the southeast. Too late to be called Indian summer, and yet the soft warm breeze had a semblance of days past when summer was holding on with a real purpose, not wanting to let fall have the upper hand. We Southerners take days like this as a blessing, knowing that right around the next bend a frosty wind will drop all the remaining tree leaves, with the exception of the live oaks, and winter will arrive in earnest.

I was sitting in the swing on the long rain porch of the old home place, and Mom was in her favorite rocker, wrapped in an afghan. We were talking about nothing much, just rambling about days gone by and plans for Christmas that was a short time away. Thanksgiving had recently been celebrated by our immediate family: my sister who lives with Mother; my other sister who had come up from Florida; my brother, who had built a small cottage right behind the big house; along with Linda, my bride; our son, Tommy; and me. It was a grand occasion, and Mom was recalling days past when everyone would descend on the farm to celebrate.

Mother’s 98th birthday was last April. She is the last surviving child of Austin and Hensalie Fore. There were eight children, and when the family got together with aunts, uncles, great aunts and great uncles, and numerous first cousins and twice-removed cousins, we had a passel of people.

Every now and then, Mother’s memory slips, but she can still recall holidays and long-gone relatives as if they were sitting on the porch with us.

“Tommy, you remember your daddy used to drive you down here a few days before Thanksgiving to hunt with your granddad. Your granddaddy loved that.”

“Those were great times, Mom. It seems as if it was just yesterday, but you know that was a long time ago.”

“It’s my old age, and my mind plays tricks, but I can still see you with that great big shotgun your dad gave you. The gun was bigger than you were. I used to worry, but he assured me that you could hold your own in the woods. And your uncle Tommy, I was just talking to him the other day, and he was asking if you were going to deer hunt with the club this year.”

“Mom, Uncle Tommy has been gone a long time now. You were just remembering funny.”

My uncle Tommy had passed away 10 years ago.

“See what I mean about my mind playing tricks?” She looked out across the fields in front of the old house. The crops had recently been harvested by the farming conglomerate that leased most of the farms in the area, and there was a tractor plowing under cornstalks. “Is that your granddad coming across the field?”

“No, Mom. He’s been gone a long time, too.”

She looked at me and smiled. “I think I’ll go in and lie down a bit. I’m feeling right tired.”

“OK, Mom. Let me help with your walker.” I pulled it out for her and helped her down the hall to her bedroom.

“Enjoy that weather on the porch, son. It’ll probably be frosty in the morning.” She sat on the side of her bed, and I pulled a blanket closer. “I love you, son. You be careful in those woods tomorrow.”

I went back out to the swing. The rest of the family was enjoying the side porch off the kitchen. I could hear them laughing. The tractor was still working, getting closer to the road in front of the house. Dogs barked somewhere across the back pasture. I sat in the old swing and remembered the special days Mother’s mind had been tricking her about.

I was 12 or maybe 13 and loved the time spent on the farm, squirrel hunting in the little swamp way back behind the west pasture.  It was my time. I had the best of both worlds. Pinebluff, where I lived, was an ideal place for a youngster who enjoyed the outdoors. I had a relatively new bicycle, a Christmas gift from the year before, a loyal companion in a black curly-coated retriever named Smut, and many friends of the same bent as I. On Granddad’s farm, I had him and uncles who let me roam in the woods with them, and they treated me with good humor, not like the kid I really was. Those were wonderful times.

An old ramshackle pickup truck rolled into the side yard amongst a blue cloud of burning oil. Ed Junior eased out of the driver’s side and looked up at me on the porch. “Hey, Tommy, I thought you’d be out there squirrel hunting.”

“I’m too full, Ed. Too much of Bonnie’s cooking.” My sister had cooked a ham and fixins for dinner and we had eaten our fill.

Ed Junior’s family has lived on the farm as long as I can remember. He and his folks were mostly tenant farmers, in other words they helped provide the labor for a crop; and my grandfather provided the seed, fertilizer, and land. Both parties shared equally in any profits that came along. They also suffered almost equally any crop disaster. My uncle Tommy bequeathed Ed and his family lifetime rights to 10 acres on his farm. Ed and I were the same age, almost to the day, and we grew up on the farm together. I ate many meals at Aunt Mary Greene’s table. She was Ed’s grandmother and ruled her house with an iron hand.

“I brought Miss Evelyn a mess o’ collards. Where you want me to put ‘em?”

“She’s resting right now, Ed. We’ll put them on the back porch.” I walked out to the pickup and helped Ed with two bushel baskets of greens. We toted them to the back porch steps and left them there.

“They gonna need washing,” Ed said. “I just picked them from the back garden.”

We walked back to the truck and sat on the tailgate.

“How’s the family?” I asked.

“They’s doing OK. The daughters are helping me at the store, and the boys are in the army.” Ed had started a little truck garden store on a side street in town where he sold the many vegetables he harvested from his extensive garden. My granddad always said that Ed could grow anything. All he had to do was stick it in the ground.

”How you been doing? Miss Evelyn talks about you a lot.”

“I’m just like you, Ed. A lot older and a little fatter.” I patted him on his rotund belly and we both laughed. We sat and talked and reminisced a little about coon and squirrel hunts we went on as youngsters.

“Yassa, a whole lot o’ water has flowed down Black Creek since them days, Tom. I best be going. It’s getting on up in the day and I got to close the store.” He shook my hand and then impulsively we hugged.

“You look after Mama,” I said as he hoisted himself in the truck. “And you and your family have a Merry Christmas.”

“You, too, Tom. I check in on Miss Evelyn about every week. She has good days and some not so good.” He fired up his old pickup and rattled off in a cloud of blue smoke.

I went back to the swing. The sun was heading to the tree line and there was a noticeable chill in the air. The tractor was nearing the last row in the field, getting ready to quit for the day.  PS

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

Splainin’ Stuff

Home for the holidays, where it’s not necessary

By Haley Ray

“I bet it’s because you grew up in the South,” my Southern California born and bred college roommate asserted one evening. We had been discussing food, and I shared my loving, yet turbulent, relationship with dessert. Cadbury chocolate bars, pecan pie, bread pudding, crème brûlée, cheesecake, I do not discriminate when it comes to sugar. Sometimes the addiction runs rampant and I find myself racking up two to three sweet treats a day. When that happens, I have to go cold turkey and swear off all dessert for weeks, like breaking up with a boyfriend you know is bad news but has a charmingly consistent way of wriggling back into your heart.

My roommate, who “really doesn’t like eating dessert,” had reasoned that this appalling sugar habit must be unique to the Southeastern chunk of the United States, where sweet tea is king and comfort food, queen. Bless her heart. I informed her that I had actually spent my formative years in North Carolina eating meals comprised of grilled salmon and veggies. Sugar consumption had a strict parental control, and it was rare to find a box of cookies or a pint of ice cream in the kitchen. I had to get my fix at friends’ houses. I didn’t taste sweet tea until high school, since my parents — Michigan natives — thought it was a disgusting excuse for iced tea.

Still, despite the evidence proving otherwise, my roommate couldn’t be pried from her initial conviction. I didn’t know what else could help her understand that this was a nationwide epidemic, and not at all special to the South. The fact that the third roommate in our Los Angeles apartment was from Boston and also possessed a sizable sweet tooth did nothing to sway her. And Massachusetts doesn’t even have sweet tea.

So I let the issue slip from conversation, certain that no matter what I said she would still hold poor North Carolina accountable for corrupting my food preferences. Since moving west, misconceptions of my home state were a common theme in conversations. I grew accustomed to defending the South, usually to people who had grown up in the promised land of California. The Southern variety of Californians, specifically long-term residents of Los Angeles and Orange County, seemed to think I had been raised deprived of modern culture, eating fried chicken for breakfast, and driving unpaved roads. 

After getting over the insult, I was entertained by the confidence behind their assumptions. After knowing me for all of two weeks, one friend wondered why my parents didn’t simply uproot their lives and follow me to California if they missed their only child. “I think they would be much happier here,” she commented, as we idled in brutal Los Angeles traffic, watching a smoggy sunset. I’m sure the suggestion came from a good place, no more controversial than recommending vitamin C for a common cold or yoga for a tight hamstring. To her, crowded SoCal probably seemed like a wonderful spot to live out retirement years, though she had yet to visit any state in the South, much less Pinehurst, North Carolina.

I don’t blame Californians for this particular strain of regionalism. The left coast state has a long tradition of existing as the land of milk and honey, the golden paradise of America where anything is possible. This tradition has saturated California’s caricature in the media for decades, and will most likely continue for decades to come.

Californians are accustomed to transplants, lured by the state’s promises of success and wealth, all perpetuated by popular culture. Shows like The O.C., Beverly Hills, 90210, Entourage and Baywatch splash palm trees and beautiful coastal California homes on television screens. Iconic movies including La La Land, Vertigo and Clueless sculpt the nation’s collective view of the state. They, on the other hand, believe Gone With the Wind and The Dukes of Hazzard are the pinnacle of Southern culture. Portrayals of the Southern pace of life are unerringly unmodern, the accents thick, and the characters slow to understand essential contemporary values, like good education and dentistry. Most media depictions contain overarching stereotypes, but those of Dixie feel far more dated.

As a North Carolinian living in California, I started smiling when people balked at my lack of twang or how frequently I ate avocado, and accepted that they might never understand the virtues of my homeland. The open-minded, diverse communities of the American West have their advantages, but I’ll happily forfeit a coast of balmy palms to celebrate Christmas in the land of pines.  PS

PinePitch

The Lighting of the Trees

The Village of Pinehurst Christmas Tree Lighting celebration will take place on Friday, December 1, from 5 to 7:30 p.m. The festivities will include hay rides through the Village center, musical entertainment and photo ops with Santa. The Christmas tree lighting is at 6:30 p.m. Admission is free. Food and beverages will be available for purchase. Please bring canned goods and non-perishable items for the Food Bank of Central & Eastern North Carolina. The fun takes place at Tufts Memorial Park, 1 Village Green Road W., Pinehurst. Kirk Tours will provide free shuttle service from the Village Hall, 395 Magnolia Road. Info: (910) 295-1900.

If you miss Santa in Pinehurst on the 1st, be at the Depot in Historic Downtown Aberdeen Tree Lighting on Thursday, December 7, at 6 p.m. Santa is sure to make an appearance there, as well. For more information, call (910) 944-7275.

The Murphy Family Christmas Show

The Murphy Family will be back at the Sunrise Theater on Sunday, December 10, at 3 p.m. Expect to hear American popular standards, jazz, rock, and gospel-inspired Christmas arrangements as Paul Murphy and his family carry on a Pinehurst tradition that Paul and his father started decades ago. Cost: $18 general admission; $15 children 12 and under; and $22 VIP. Sunrise Theater, 250 NW Broad St., Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 692-3611 or visit sunrisetheater.com.

Spiderella on the Shelf

Written and illustrated by Southern Pines residents, Romey Petite and Laurel Holden, Spiderella is the first book in a three-part series about Eleanor, the girl who could sew faster than any seamstress in the kingdom — thanks to the secrets she learned from her friends, the spiders. Trapped in an attic and forced by her boss, Minerva, to work without pay, Eleanor has three days to make all the costumes for a birthday ball being thrown for the moody young prince.  With some help from the spiders and little bit of magic, Eleanor just might finish the costumes and manage her escape. Perfect for ages 7–10, Spiderella teaches young girls and boys to believe in their ideas and their own talents. Teased and misunderstood, Eleanor’s gifts take her soaring toward marvelous adventures. Spiderella is available at The Country Bookshop, 140 NW Broad Street, Southern Pines.

Homes for the Holidays

The Boyd House will be all dressed up for the Christmas Open House at Weymouth Center from Thursday, December 7, to Sunday, December 10. Take a walk through the 25 rooms and the stables decorated with live greenery artfully arranged by designers and community organizations. Enjoy complimentary refreshments and music in the Great Room. Hours are 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Thursday through Saturday, and 1 to 4 p.m. Sunday. Tickets are available at the Weymouth Center Office, Campbell House, Country Bookshop, Lady Bedford’s Tea Parlour, Given Memorial Library and Eloise Trading Co. The Weymouth Center is located at 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. For information and ticket prices, call (910) 692-6261 or visit www.weymouthcenter.org.

The Christmas Open House at the Shaw House will be Friday through Sunday, December 8, 9 and 10, from 1–4 p.m. Take a tour of the historic house, decorated as it would have been in the 1800s; and slip back in time with music, warm apple cider and homemade cookies. Peruse the Gift Shoppe for unique items and collectible treasures. Free admission. The Shaw House is located at 110 W. Morganton Road, Southern Pines. For information, call (910) 692-2051 or www.moorehistory.com.

The Episcopal Day School Candlelight Tour of Homes invites you into five historic houses on Sunday, December 10, from 1–5:30 p.m. Each dwelling will be decked out in holiday finery, unique in spirit and character. Tickets are $20 in advance in the Episcopal Day School office (340 E. Massachusetts Ave., Southern Pines) or at The Given Library, The Estate of Things, Country Bookshop, Lady Bedford’s Tea Parlour, Thyme & Place, and Eloise. Tickets will be $25 on the day of the event. For more information, call (910) 692-3492.

There Once Was a Girl from Aberdeen…

Fire up the Google rhyming tool. Against the advice of the wisest legal minds in Moore County, PineStraw magazine is soliciting your finest, original, unpublished Valentine’s Day–themed limericks. The best of breed, after being subjected to the grueling, gimlet-eyed scrutiny of a Blue Ribbon committee (think Pabst), will appear either in the pages of the February edition or in the dumpster behind Chef Warren’s. We’ll rely on the good taste and discretion of the citizenry at large to keep both the libidinous and libelous content to an absolute minimum. Deadline for all submissions is January 1, though we feel certain we’ll be able to recognize the ones written late on the evening of December 31st. Email your best efforts to:  pinestrawpitch@gmail.com.

11th Annual Reindeer Fun Run

A community event for everyone from serious runners to recreational walkers, families and pets. The 5k Reindeer Fun Run/Walk on Saturday, December 2 begins at 9:30 a.m. and curves through Aberdeen’s historic downtown neighborhoods with rolling hills and wide turns. The 12ks of Christmas Run beginning at 9 a.m. incorporates the 5k route along with a scenic tour of Bethesda and the Malcolm Blue Farm. Both courses finish on a sloping downhill toward downtown and the historic Union Station. For kids, the 1/2 Mile Egg Nog Jog & Kids Zone at 10:30 a.m. is a holiday must and fan favorite. All proceeds go to the Boys & Girls Club of the Sandhills. For more information, www.reindeerfunrun.com.

A Medieval Frolic

The lords and ladies of the Congregational Church of Pinehurst invite you to their 4th Annual Madrigal Dinner on Friday, December 8, or Saturday, December 9, from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. You will be entertained by choristers, jokesters, dancers and raconteurs. The Peasant’s Repast will include homemade stew, vegetable soup, hearty breads and apple crisp. Costumes are welcome, but not required. Tickets are $20 for adults and $10 for children under 12 and are available at Given Outpost and The Country Bookshop, or from Nancy at (910) 695-6727. Advance purchase required. The festivities take place at the church, located at 895 Linden Road, Pinehurst. For more information, contact Anne at (910) 639-9096 or  www.youarewelcomehere.org.

The Holiday Parades

Saturday, December 2, from 11 a.m.–12 p.m.: The Annual Southern Pines Holiday Parade features local marching bands, festive activities and an appearance from Santa Claus! The parade begins at Vermont Ave. and proceeds down the west side of Broad St. in the historic district of Downtown Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 315-6508.

Saturday, December 9, from 11 a.m.–12 p.m.: The Aberdeen Christmas Parade will proceed through historic downtown Aberdeen. For more information, call (910) 944-7275.

Saturday, December 9, at 1 p.m.: Head over to Southern Pines for the delightful Christmas Carriage Parade. Members of the Moore County Driving Club decorate their horses and carriages for this annual ride through the historic district of downtown Southern Pines. For more information, call (910) 639-2359.

The Rooster’s Wife

Rounding out the season’s delights
are these stellar performances:
Sunday, Dec. 3: Celebrate the season with a very special evening of bluegrass performed by Joe Newberry, prize-winning guitarist, fiddler, banjo-player and singer; and the captivating April Verch, a champion fiddler and step dancer. $20.

Friday, Dec. 8: Keeping themselves in the best of company, Anthony da Costa and Kimber Ludiker are usually found on stage with Sarah Jarosz and Della Mae, respectively. Huge guitar and fiddle chops underpin great songs on this rare duo show. $10.

Sunday, Dec. 10: Jonathan Byrd and Corin Raymond tell stories with their guitar, mandolin and fascinating words. The poetry in their songs will open your mind and your heart to amazing possibilities. $20.

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.