Summer Well

Must reading for your craft cocktail enjoyment

By Tony Cross

The craft cocktail movement has been in full effect for well over a decade now, yet a Moscow Mule is still foreign to a majority of locals in the Sandhills. I’ll admit that we’re slow to catch up on what’s happening in bigger cities; I had no clue about such cocktails until three years ago. When I started to delve into the world of balancing drinks, there was already so much information out there to give me a head start: I would watch videos on YouTube, check out menus from bars and restaurants across the globe, and, of course, study books from respected and famous bartenders. There are so many great reads, but I’ve picked three that have inspired me when I’ve prepared menus and drinks for events, and friends.

Speakeasy, by Jason Kosmas and Dushan Zaric

Written by the guys that started up Employees Only, one of the first craft cocktail joints that started the movement at the beginning of the millennium, Speakeasy was the first book I read when I became serious about making drinks. I first discovered Employees Only in a small New York Times article about a bar that sold their homemade grenadine and other syrups to guests and surrounding bars. Needless to say, that article piqued my interest and got the ball rolling on my curiosity for cocktails and the fancy establishments that perfected them. Ice is discussed in one of the first chapters; this may seem pretentious at first, but ice is a crucial ingredient to any good cocktail. Classics are covered, as well as many signature drinks that found their way onto the EO menu over the years.

Billionaire Cocktail

2 oz Baker’s 7 Year Old Bourbon

1 oz lemon juice

½ 1/2 oz simple syrup

½ 1/2 oz grenadine

¼ 1/4 oz absinthe bitters (or substitute Pernod)

1 lemon wheel

Combine bourbon, lemon juice, syrup, grenadine and bitters into a mixing glass. Add ice and shake like hell for 10 seconds. Double strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon wheel.

Bitterman’s Field Guide to Bitters and Amari, by Mark Bitterman

This one isn’t even a year old yet, but has been a staple at my home. Mark Bitterman has two shops (New York City, and Portland, Oregon) called The Meadow, which sells salts, chocolates and bitters. I was lucky enough to step into The Meadow a few years ago, and I was quickly overwhelmed by the large selection of tonics and bitters. Having this book on hand would’ve been a godsend. It’s only fitting that Bitterman’s passion is also part of his last name; his attention to detail goes above and beyond when describing amari and bitters. When breaking down the various brands of bitters, Bitterman uses a rating system from 1 (least) to 5 (most) on aromatics, bitterness and sweetness levels. There are also tasting notes to describe each product, along with the types of drinks that each one pairs with well. The same rating system and descriptions are used in his “Amari” section. In addition to describing practically every bitters on the planet, there are also recipes for making your own bitters (with a sitting time of less than a week!), cooking with bitters, and, of course, making cocktails with bitters. Bitterman gives plenty of examples of how switching up your bitters arsenal puts a great twist on the classics.

This recipe comes from Kirk Estopinal, bartender at Cure in New Orleans, and his now nowhere to be found Rogue Cocktails book (I borrowed it from a friend last year). Bitterman published this in his Field Guide, and it’s absolutely delicious.

Angostura Sour

3/4 oz lemon juice

1 egg white*

1 1/2 oz Angostura bitters

1 oz simple syrup (1:1)

Dry-shake the lemon juice and the egg white. (Put both ingredients into a shaker, and shake without ice. We do this to break up the protein bonds in the egg white; the result is a frothy, velvety texture in your cocktail.) Add the bitters, syrup, and ice and shake hard for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail coupe.

*Largely misunderstood, using egg whites in cocktails has been common practice since cocktails were created way back when. Many people are concerned about the risk of salmonella, but as long as you’re using organic/cage-free eggs (with the combination of high-proof alcohol), you’ll be good to go.

Death & Co. Modern Classic Cocktails, by David Kaplan, Nick Fauchald, Alex Day

The hype behind this book before it came out was all over the internet. I ordered it as soon as it became available, and was blown away on my first read. This is definitely, IMO, the best cocktail book out there. Death & Company opened in 2006 in New York City, making its mark in the craft cocktail movement. They’ve won awards at the annual Tales of the Cocktail convention in NOLA (Best Cocktail Menu, and Best American Bar), and with 500 cocktails to look over, it’s easy to see what a creative force this bar has been with bartenders from past and present. Death & Co. has a section on every spirit, including brand recommendations; sections on juicing, ice and tools; how to taste-evaluate cocktails, and even pages here and there devoted to their regulars telling fond stories about their first or favorite times at the bar with their favorite cocktail and its recipe on the side page. Too much to say about this work of art.

Shattered Glasser by phil Ward, 2008

“I love it when one of our regulars asks us to create a cocktail on the spot based on crazy criteria — and it’s even better when we can pull off a decent drink on the first try. One night Avery Glasser, the man behind Bittermens bitters (no relation to Mark Bitterman) and one of the bar’s original regulars, asked me to make him a drink that contained all of his favorite ingredients. The problem was that he likes a lot of weird shit. But, I gave it a shot, splitting both the base spirit and its modifiers, and it resulted in a surprisingly balanced drink.” — PW

1 oz El Tesoro Reposado Tequila

½1/2 oz Los Amantes Mezcal Joven

3/4 oz Carpano Antica Formula Vermouth

1/2 oz Van Oosten Batavia Arrack

1/4 oz St. Elizabeth Allspice Dram

1/4 oz Benedictine

2 dashes Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters

Stir all ingredients over ice, then strain into a coupe. No garnish. PS

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

Kidding Around

How U.S. Kids Golf conquered the world

By Lee Pace

Dan Van Horn was coaching his sons’ youth league baseball teams in the mid-1990s when he noticed the quality and variety of baseball bats being manufactured to address the youth market. Versions in aluminum and carbon fiber polymers with narrow barrels, lighter weights and nuanced weight distribution helped kids take a healthy cut and develop their form without being burdened with weights their small limbs and core couldn’t handle.

It occurred to Van Horn, a lifelong golfer, former mini-tour player and a father with an interest in his children learning the game, that the golf industry did a poor job addressing adolescent golfers in a similar fashion.

“You could find junior sets with a 3-wood, 5-, 7- and 9-irons that were essentially adult clubs, sawed off and a ‘junior’ label slapped on,” the Atlanta businessman says of his 1995 “ah-ha” moment. “The clubs were too heavy, the kids didn’t hit many good shots, and they didn’t have any fun. I sensed there was an opportunity there.”

The first domino fell one year later when he incorporated U.S. Kids Golf with the idea of manufacturing “ultra-light” clubs for kids based on their body heights with shaft flexes and swing weights geared to each length. The next domino fell in 1997 when the first club rolled off the assembly line.

“It was all about having fun,” Van Horn says. “If you play well, you’ll have fun. If you’re having fun, you might buy in for a lifetime.”

The dominoes kept falling through the years — establishing competitions for kids on local, regional, national and worldwide stages; setting junior-oriented tee markers so a 9-year-old could hit a driver and 6-iron on a par-4 like his dad does; coming to Pinehurst in 2006 for world championships that have become staples in the local golf scene; and creating coaching programs to help PGA of America members learn how to better teach and connect with kids and sell their memberships on the value of drawing children into golf.

In 2015 one of the most interesting dominoes yet fell: the purchase of a struggling club in the Sandhills, and the establishment of a working “golf laboratory” with a mission of teaching and growing the game among juniors and families. U.S. Kids Golf Foundation, established in 2000 as a supplement to the U.S. Kids equipment business, bought Longleaf Golf & Country Club in April 2015 and renamed it Longleaf Golf & Family Club.

“We’d been coming here for ten years and kept seeing Longleaf slide a little bit,” Van Horn says. “We wanted to have a presence in the community. We felt very welcome here, very supported by the community. The synergies around the Pinehurst/Southern Pines area as a golf capital, a golf mecca, have been important to us. It seemed like a great place to layer in more of the idea of kids golf, family golf.”

Van Horn and his Atlanta-based company knew what it was like to be a vendor to the golf industry. They understood managing and running tournaments. But there was one key perspective they lacked in the daunting task of expanding a game that is difficult to learn, time-consuming to play, requires considerable financial investment and is fraught with timeless traditions and oftentime stodgy attitudes.

“We wanted to experience the ‘other side of the track,’” Van Horn says. “We wanted to see the challenges in the golf shop on a real-time basis, understand the hindrances in running kids’ golf. We wanted a working laboratory where we could practice our vision of growing the game among kids and families while not disrupting traditional men’s play and club play.”

Van Horn smiles and acknowledges there is a certain dog-catches-the-car-now-what element to the foundation’s fourteen months running Longleaf, a Dan Maples-designed course that opened in the late-1980s golf boom but has struggled amid the early 2000s recession and 2008 financial collapse. Eighty of the course’s sprinklers quit working last summer, and the new owners invested in a new computerized switching and monitoring system to better manage the flow of water around the course. But the sprinklers still didn’t work properly.

“We eventually figured out the original lines ran under Midland Road, and over time the road sank and collapsed the pipes,” Van Horn says. “We wanted to learn the golf operations business. And we’re getting a full education.”

The club facility at Longleaf is teeming this July morning with kids, parents, volunteers and U.S. Kids staff descending here and at Pinehurst Resort & Country Club three miles away for the Red White & Blue Invitational, one of a series of regional competitions leading to the U.S. Kids World Championships spread across ten Sandhills area clubs in early August. This year’s competition is expected to bring nearly 1,600 golfers from more than fifty nations.

The Sandhills wasn’t quite sure what to expect in 2005 when the first U.S. Kids event was held and thousands of visitors from three dozen counties staged a parade through the middle of Pinehurst. All of a sudden, 8-year-olds were playing hide-and-seek in the halls of the venerable Carolina Hotel. Kids hit shots from sand traps by day, sneaked back in to build sand castles by twilight. Kitchen staffs learned to make pigs-in-a-blanket and were ready for French toast orders en masse in the breakfast buffet lines. The 2012 championship was the subject of a 100-minute documentary, The Short Game, that still runs on Netflix and profiles eight youngsters from around the world and their quest to win a world championship.

“I have never seen anything like these kids,” says lifelong Pinehurst resident Marty McKenzie. “These are the highest quality youth on the planet participating in the greatest sport on the planet, and it all takes place in our beloved Pinehurst.”

One initiative from Van Horn and his company that affects not only kids but women, seniors and men whose egos will allow them to stray from the traditional blue-white-red tee system is the implementation of a seven-tee configuration that puts golfers at the correct length of course based on their average driving distance. The practice ground at Longleaf is arrayed with a series of brightly colored stakes numbered one through seven, the closest stake colored blue and located 100 yards away, the middle stake orange at 175 yards and the farthest colored red and set 250 yards off.

A golfer’s average carry dictates which of the seven sets of tees he uses when he gets to the first tee of the course, with the tees at Longleaf ranging from 3,200 to 6,600 yards. The system is clearly explained in colorful signage on the practice tee and first tee. U.S. Kids is working with the American Golf Course Architects Society to educate the industry on setting up courses in this fashion, and the Longleaf staff has entertained emissaries from clubs such as Medinah in Chicago who are interested in making their clubs more welcoming to juniors and newcomers.

“You hear jokes in the industry about three million golfers a year in, three million out,” Van Horn says. “No one has done anything to help people get over what it’s like to be a newcomer in golf. That’s what Longleaf is all about.

“Now we have women playing a course 3,200 yards. It’s faster and more fun. They’re making pars and some birdies. Now they can actually reach a par-4 in regulation. Before they didn’t stand a chance.”

When Pinehurst hosted the 2014 U.S. Open and Women’s Open, Van Horn and his staff counted 26 competitors in the two fields combined who were U.S. Kids alumni, among them Justin Thomas, Patrick Reed, Lexi Thompson, Beau Hossler, Smylie Kaufman and Mariah Stackhouse.

Van Horn is asked if he could ever have envisioned the empire he’s created over two decades when he wanted better junior clubs for his kids.

“I have a lot of dreams, but I try to be faithful to the vision,” he says. “I take dreams one day at a time and try to be the best every day with it. You always can hope and have grandiose plans. I’m honestly frustrated that it’s not bigger than it is. I didn’t get into this for financial gain. I am doing it because I felt called spiritually and I feel like it’s my life’s mission. Maybe my entire life, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. Now I do and here I am.”  PS

Chapel Hill-based writer Lee Pace is the author of a dozen books on golf history, including The Golden Age of Pinehurst—The Story of the Rebirth of No. 2.

Travels With My Plant

Wherever I’ve lived, a geranium in a pot welcomes me home

By Deborah Salomon

One geranium, pink or red, in a clay pot.

Wherever I have lived, for more than fifty years, this has stood near the front door — a symbol, but of what? Geraniums in pots or window boxes remind me of photos and paintings of the French countryside I long to visit. The look is simple, elemental, classic, right.

When giving directions, I’d say, “The house with the geranium on the stoop.” This worked since neighbors chose pre-planted urns or hanging baskets.

My geranium owns a backstory.

The first I positioned by the door of an ugly house on an even uglier street where for fifteen summers I kept my eyes on the pot when walking up the front steps, to soften the blow. Those geraniums were always red, never salmon. My mother preferred concrete urns overflowing with salmon-colored geraniums; my dislike for the color was complicated, mirroring our relationship.

Several moves later found me in an adorable cottage, in a small but perfect Vermont city overlooking mountains and lake. The front stoop barely had room for the pot, but we managed.

Geraniums are annuals; they don’t overwinter indoors. In September I would bid farewell to the bloomed-out plant, dump the soil, wash the pot and, come spring, start anew.

I can’t remember why I brought this one inside, sometime in the early 1990s. My cottage was built against a hill, which allowed an above-ground basement. A previous owner had made the basement into a studio apartment with kitchen area and bathroom — convenient when the kids and their friends visited, otherwise unused.

The apartment door opened onto a wooded backyard. Beside the door was a covered area where I kept lawn furniture and planters. Except something about this clay pot with its spent stem made me set it on a basement windowsill.

I closed the café curtains — and forgot.

Those years are still a blur. My daughter, Wendy, died in 1991, changing everything; sunlight looked different, food had no taste, I couldn’t bear music, especially the folk songs she played on her guitar. I craved invisibility. Except I had an exhausting (and visible) job as features/food reporter at a good newspaper. Work must continue.

Winters are long in Vermont — long, cold and dark. Snow covers the ground from Thanksgiving until late March. That first winter without her was especially cold and snowy, which reminded me how much Wendy loved fresh powder. An accomplished ski racer, at 14 she trained with the Canadian National Junior Ski Team at their summer camp, in Argentina.

By April the sun was higher, stronger, illuminating winter dirt. I lugged the mop and vacuum to the basement, pulled aside the café curtains to open the window and let in fresh air.

There, on the sill, shrouded with dust, stood the forgotten clay pot. Miracle of miracles, from the withered stem erupted a green shoot, with two tiny leaves. From bone-dry soil a germ of life, sensing spring, had burst forth.

Neglected, against all odds . . . survival.

“It happens, sometimes,” a gardener friend told me.

My feelings were intense. I wanted to document the experience. The short column — barely 400 words — was the first in a weekly series on life’s vagaries that ran for more than a decade.

I have endured other losses and moved three times since that spring. In the Sandhills, with sun, heat and rain aplenty, geraniums grow into bushes. This year, mine — purchased at the farmers’ market — is a stunning purplish-pink, quite an Impressionist image with Lucky, my velvet-black cat, lying beside it.

This desire for a solo geranium in a basic clay pot remains strong. Was the tiny green shoot a sign that life survives circumstance? That a single flower can mitigate ugliness? I’m not a believer in mysteries or miracles. But I do know this: When I drive up and see that bloom, no matter locale or climate, house or apartment, I’m home. PS

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

Rediscovering a North Carolina Treasure

The works of John Ehle

By Gwenyfar Rohler

“We’re bringing John Ehle’s books back into print,” explained Kevin Morgan Watson, gesturing to Press 53’s display at the North Carolina Writer’s Conference. I nodded knowingly and inwardly hoped that my confusion didn’t show on my face. I was too embarrassed to admit that I wasn’t familiar with John Ehle or his work. To remedy my chagrin, I sought out Ehle’s The Land Breakers, and I was stunned that it had taken me until the age of 36 to discover his work.

The Land Breakers begins Ehle’s seven-book series exploring the settlement and development of the Appalachian Mountains in North Carolina. It opens in 1779 and primarily traces the journey of Mooney Wright, a Scots-Irish orphan who has recently completed his indentured servitude in the New World. Wright buys a piece of land, 640 acres of good, “bottom land.” When he and his young wife finally arrive after a perilous journey to this promised, much-dreamed-of prize, Ehle captures their rapturous disbelief and elation with honest realism. Reading it doesn’t so much remind one of being young, in love and filled with dreams and wonder, but actually takes one back to inhabiting that space in a way few writers can.

Ehle’s family history on his mother’s side can be traced to one of the first three families to settle Appalachian North Carolina, the frontier that The Land Breakers and its six companion novels chronicle. Throughout his adult life, he continued to live in the western part of the state (when not in New York or London for his wife, Rosemary Harris’, acting career), with homes near both Penland and Winston-Salem. From his author’s bio: “His interest in the folkways of the past . . . is an interest in the present, in where we are all going, what we are leaving, and what we will need to find replacements for.” Perhaps that is part of what makes The Land Breakers so compelling. On the surface, it appears to be a book about man versus nature and the insurmountable opportunities around him, but it is so much more.

In The Land Breakers, as each new family moves into the valley Mooney Wright has settled, Ehle introduces their strengths and weaknesses and the impact they will each have on the collective survival of the settlement. None of the characters are merely two-dimensional parodies of an idea; rather, they are all flawed yet desirable human beings struggling with their own mortality against a wilderness far more powerful than they are. The journey the characters make toward understanding what is essential for their survival and success is so captivating I could not put the book down. Ehle explores both life’s beauty and horror. Spoiler alert! The scene involving the snake attacks at night might be the most frightening three pages I have read in years. Forget the bogeyman and the phantoms of Stephen King — these snakes left me white-knuckled and twitching.

In 1967, John Ehle married Tony Award–winning English actress Rosemary Harris. With a film résumé that includes Beau Brummell, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, George Sand in Notorious Woman, Desdemona in Othello, Tom & Viv, and even Spider-Man, Harris has a career of legend built on a solid foundation of craft. Perhaps inspired partly by witnessing Harris’ film experiences, in 1974 Ehle released The Changing of the Guard, a book that chronicles the production of a big-budget biopic of Louis XVI. Were it not for the intensity of the writing and skillful use of metaphor that slowly overtakes the action of the book, it would be hard to believe the same man wrote both novels.

The Changing of the Guard is a prismatic display of storytelling. On the surface it tells the story of an aging British actor who sees himself as a contemporary of Richard Burton and Laurence Olivier, making his last big picture: a beautiful, sweeping costume drama of the last days of Louis XVI during the French Revolution. His real-life wife is cast to play his mistress, and her best friend is to be Marie Antoinette. From the outset the power struggle appears to be between the actor and the brash young director that the studio insisted upon. But slowly, the book evolves into Ehle’s retelling of the private life of Louis during the revolution, serving as both a metaphor for the war waged on set and the changes in the actor’s private life. The line between art and reality is crossed so frequently and subtly — almost a form of magical realism — that, in the hands of a lesser writer, the story line and conceit would be hokey and hard to follow. But from Ehle’s pen, it is completely believable. The part that makes the book painful to stomach is the needless human cruelty we are capable of inflicting upon each other — which Ehle demonstrates in broad strokes through the French Revolution and very pointedly with exquisite, tearing saber thrusts in the personal interactions between the actors and director.

Where The Land Breakers is about man versus nature and forces greater than man could comprehend, The Changing of the Guard takes on the inevitable autumn of life that comes to all of us and the painful battle with a world that no longer needs us. At their core both books explore the experience of giving yourself wholly to something bigger, greater than yourself. Be it art or the development of a farm, both are about legacies and leaving some sign that you passed through this world.

Similarly, Kevin Morgan Watson has dedicated himself to the enterprise of publishing and creating an outlet for work he believes in (and I am forever grateful to him for bringing Ehle’s books back into print). Ehle manages to look at very specific stories: the settlement and growth of the Appalachians, the transition in the film world from beautiful, bright costume dramas with stylized performances to dark, realistic depictions of life before electricity, a world of people who talk to each other like real people instead of caricatures. Ehle finds the universal struggle that speaks to readers, even if you have never built a log cabin or operated a guillotine.

Many people are preoccupied with their legacy; few people understand that legacy is something we begin creating every morning when we wake up, before we understand our own mortality. Perhaps Mooney Wright put it best: “A person becomes part of what he does . . . grows into what grows around him, and if he works the land, he comes to be the land, an owner of and slave to it.”  PS

Gwenyfar Rohler spends her days managing her family’s bookstore on Front Street.

Small Town Talk

There’s meaning beneath and beyond the words we speak. And something in the silence between them

By Clyde Edgerton

When I was growing up, most of the men in my family — a dozen or so uncles and older cousins — didn’t talk much. A conversation on the porch on a Sunday afternoon among, say, a couple of older cousin men, my daddy, Big Clyde (my namesake uncle) and Uncle Clem would go something like this:

“I’ll tell you one thing . . . that was a big tree they cut down over there.”

Silence. Maybe four, five seconds. “Yeah . . . sure was.”

More silence. A full minute.

“Did Benny buy that sitting lawnmower?”

“Don’t think so.”

Three minutes of silence. A car comes by.

Uncle Clyde sucks on one end of a toothpick while holding the other end, making a little noise between his teeth. Then he lowers the toothpick. “I don’t think I’d want one.”

“One what — big tree?”

“Sitting lawnmower.”

Somebody yawns.

“Me neither.”

More silence.  A car comes by.

That’s pretty much it, folks.

It was different with my mother and a couple of her sisters at the grocery store or during lunch at the Golden Corral. But here’s the deal: Not only did they talk to each other, it seemed like they talked to everybody else — mostly about family, people known in common, maybe what was on the news, but also about cooking, flowers, furniture refinishing, family history, family stories, gardening, misbehavior and more family stories. I think they automatically saw strangers as interesting.

That talk from the women in my family gave me a grounding I didn’t recognize, a grounding I didn’t feel in full until adulthood. Recently, I have realized that this talk was, in a sense, important and precious.

With them, I’d walk up to a young man tending the vegetable section at the grocery store. “Oh, my goodness,” my mother or an aunt would say to the young man, “these tomatoes look almost good enough to buy. What’s your name?”

“Robert.”

“Robert what?”

“Robert Wright.”

“The Lowe’s Grove Wrights or the Oak Grove Wrights?”

“Oak Grove.”

“I’ll bet you know Harvey, Dudley’s son.”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s my uncle.”

“No! Really? I haven’t seen him in six or eight years. Did his eyes ever get OK?”

“Oh, yes ma’am. They’re all healed up now.”

“[To another aunt] Didn’t Mildred used to date him?”

“No. She dated Simon. Robert, you have an Uncle Simon?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was in here yesterday.”

And so on.

I’d be standing there. “Clyde,” my mother would say, “this nice man takes care of the vegetables.”

I grew up believing that it was OK to approach people and ask them questions, to have faith that people would more likely answer than turn back to the tomatoes.

I’m glad that as a child I spent a lot of time with these women in my family and that I wasn’t raised mainly by men who didn’t talk much. Because as in so many things, how you start out eventually comes back to either comfort or haunt you. And more and more I see the advantages of looking into another person’s face, say, sitting or standing across from me, and surfing the channels of info behind their eyes, info that’s likely to come to me in words. It’s great research for writing novels, for learning about how things work — whatever the topic might be. There is meaning in such talk. Meaning found beneath and beyond the words. Such talk is somehow connected to the way we ought to be — approaching each other, without fear, just to talk a little bit.  PS

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

Catching Lightnin’ Bugs

By any descriptive name, they’re pure summer evening magic

By Ray Linville

I never heard the word “firefly” until I was an overgrown adult. When I was living in the North, someone in the winter mentioned that he missed seeing fireflies.

I don’t understand why anyone would want to refer to a lightnin’ bug by any other name. The term “lightnin’ bug” is so descriptive (even if it is a beetle, not a bug — but certainly not a fly). It’s one of the few names that perfectly describes the creature.

You can say “lightnin’ bug” only once to a 2-year-old, and she will immediately know what you’re talking about. “There it is,” my granddaughter said when I asked, “Where’s the lightnin’ bug?” without any explanation.

It’s a familiar sight on summer evenings at dusk as small children marvel at the blinking lights that slowly fly above the ground to heights where they disappear from sight. In a less gentle world, children once even captured these critters to make a lantern. It would be the only light permitted in a dark room and provided the perfect setting for telling tall tales, particularly ghost stories.

When I was growing up, catching lightnin’ bugs was the summer sport of my neighborhood. From older kids, I learned early that using a Mason jar was the perfect way to catch them. The glass jar showed the evening’s collection as it increased and also let the blinking lights harmonize in a silent rhythm. It’s hard to imagine that simply staring into a jar could be so entertaining.

The lesson of catching lightnin’ bugs was not complete until we agreed to release them into the air before we went inside our houses at bedtime. It was the first way that generations of future anglers learned a “catch and release” policy before holding a rod and reel. Even though a lightnin’ bug has a life span of only two months, as kids we were convinced that it would live forever if we didn’t harm it.

As parents, when you think your kids are ready for a “birds and bees” discussion, just remember the lightnin’ bugs. All that summer magic that they produce is simply flashy flirting — males flash their lights to attract the ladies, who reply with their own flashes.

More than half of the people in North Carolina use “lightnin’ bug” exclusively as the name in contrast to about 6 percent who use only the term “firefly.” (The others use both names interchangeably.) In western parts of our country, firefly is exclusively used. Of course, they’re confused because fireflies, er, lightnin’ bugs, that live in California and places in the West don’t light up like the species in our area.

If you want to catch a flashing bug, use a Mason jar, and be sure to call it a lightnin’ bug. Just don’t call it a firefly.  PS

Ray Linville writes about Southern food, history, culture and, sometimes, Mason jars.

Auspicious August

Have your cake — and half the icing too

By Astrid Stellanova

I’ve always gotten a kick out of how August-born Leos are creative types —extroverted and full of drama. But August-born Virgos are analytical types, who like working hard and being of service. This explains how come August is a lot of things to a lot of people: the month, for instance, we celebrate National Golf, Picnics, Peaches and, last but not least, Romance Awareness Month — with something for both sides of the spectrum to get a big old kick out of, Star Children. Ad astra — Astrid

Leo (July 23–August 22)

Gluttony is still a character defect, last time I checked. And when someone brings you a birthday cake, that does not mean you can scrape all the icing off, eat it till your stomach hurts and leave the plain old bald cake sitting there for everybody else. You know what you like, and once you’ve gone after it, you don’t care one iota if that sticks in someone’s craw as you swallow the last bite.  Celebrate yourself, Honey Child, but remember that might mean you leave at least half the icing on the cake for your friends.

Virgo (August 23–September 22

There was a time when being retro wasn’t cool. You missed that memo. Now you’ve grown into yourself and the time is finally right. Just keep that chin up and let everybody think you were simply way too cool to ever give a fiddle-fart what everybody else thought. Then become that person, Sugar.   

Libra (September 23–October 22)

Somebody ought to thank you, Captain Obvious. You have mastered the finer points of things that most people might think everyone sees. But they don’t, and you know it. So be true to yourself, Child, and let the jokes roll off your straight back. Busting out with a cuss word is not a good way to exercise your vocabulary.

Scorpio (October 23–November 21)

It has been an uphill climb for you, you’re hot and bothered, and your brain is as fried as a pork rind. Just when one weight rolls away another seems to find you. It’s easy to be you, because nobody else would take the job.  But it sure is going to have its perks; be patient.

Sagittarius (November 22-December 21)

Some think you are too big for your britches and have nowhere to hide.  Maybe you are. But maybe you have the right to stand up for yourself and not be overlooked or miss being counted. Everything sure isn’t what it appears. Like my bumper sticker says, honk if you love a good argument.

Capricorn (December 22–January 19)

You are still standing back, still wondering if you have what it takes.  Seriously? Does Dolly Parton let a bad hair day keep her off the stage? No, Honey. Your life didn’t start yesterday and leave you behind. It starts this very second so don’t miss it.

Aquarius (January 20–February 18)

What’s keeping you from the greatness you are born to enjoy? One degree of separation, my sweet pea. Only one. If you still want it, go for it. Unseen hands are reaching to help, and even if they are calloused, take them and dance.

Pisces (February 19–March 20)

Your honor student and your dog may be smarter than everybody else. But, Child, does that mean you are — all the time?  Don’t confuse pity with understanding. Also, don’t waste your last dime buying them lottery tickets, either.

Aries (March 21-April 19)

Are pork and beans your two major food groups? Is Pigeon Forge your idea of heaven? Don’t apologize. Are you sure you want to be someone other than who you really are?  Bless your heart. You are just fine as you are, and pass me the Texas Pete. 

Taurus (April 20-May 20)

Your reasoning lately makes no kind of sense. That’s like confusing collards with grits. When the whole mess in front of you is over and the collard stink clears from the room, the good news is your mind is going to clear, too. Blue skies are coming.

Gemini (May 21-–June 20)

Does your heart go pitter-patter when you hear a Harley? Is there a part of you that won’t be tamed? You let loose with the national anthem like you wrote it and make everybody smile. These passions are what make others love you, Sugar. Live your life out loud.

Cancer (June 21–July 22)

There’s a fine line between speaking your truth and using it like a blunt object. You scared your friends and neighbors, hollering as if that makes your argument one bit stronger. Sugar, it didn’t. Elvis died in August. The Mona Lisa was stolen in August more than a century ago — and it took two years to recover. It’s a tricky month ahead. But you don’t have to take that long to get a grip.  PS

For years, Astrid Stellanova owned and operated Curl Up and Dye Beauty Salon in the boondocks of North Carolina until arthritic fingers and her popular astrological readings provoked a new career path.

Dawn Patrol

Look for the common nighthawk at sunup or sundown

By Susan Campbell

Common nighthawks can be found all across the Sandhills and throughout Piedmont North Carolina, but they are neither “common” nor are they “hawks.”

For one thing, nighthawks feed exclusively on insects, which they dine on mostly during the night. Nor do they grab their prey using their talons as true hawks do. Instead they use their oversized mouths to snap up beetles and other insects in mid-air.

Nighthawks take to the skies mainly at dawn and dusk when insects are most active. Given their aerodynamic prowess, though, nighthawks are very successful predators at any hour. Due to their terrific night vision, they’re able to hunt quite effectively in total darkness. It is not, however, unusual to see them feeding during daylight hours, especially when they have young to feed. Look for them in early summer, when cicadas, grasshoppers, larger wasps and other bugs are especially abundant. Their characteristic low “peee-nt” call and erratic moth-like flight is unmistakable.

Common nighthawks spend much of their day perched on pine branches. Invisibility is the goal, and it is easily attained with their mottled black, gray and white feathering. Their nests also are well camouflaged. On the forest floor, females simply scrape out a spot to lay their speckled egg, which blend in well with the mineral soil and miscellaneous debris typical of native arid terrain. Females perform a feeble “broken wing” display when disturbed. This is the only defense they have to draw potential predators away from the eggs or young.

A great place to encounter a nighthawk is at an airport or any other large open area. There, you’ll likely hear the unmistakable “booming” of males during the early morning. The unique noise is not a vocalization but comes from air passing over the wing feathers of breeding males as they dive through the air.

Unlike some other species, the urbanization of the Triad and Sandhills has not taken a big toll on nighthawks. For instance, the abundant insects drawn to floodlights at the Piedmont’s many athletic fields and other outdoor venues provide nighthawks with excellent habitat to support their families. And nighthawks are one of only a handful of bird species that seem perfectly at home nesting on flat rooftops. It is not unusual to see or hear nighthawks at summer baseball games or early fall football games throughout the region.

Found in so many open areas in the Eastern United States in summer, common nighthawks begin to move south in early fall — often in large flocks. They migrate long distances to winter destinations in Central America and northern South America. But all across Piedmont North Carolina during August and September, you can spot them just before dark in the evening or early in the morning. So you have lots of time left to spot a nighthawk this season — keep an eye out! PS

Susan would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. She can be contacted by email at susan@ncaves.com or by phone at (910) 695-0651.

Gone Fishin’

By Jim Dodson

As you read this, I’m sitting by a trout stream in an undisclosed location somewhere deep in the North Carolina mountains. If I was wrapped in hickory smoked bacon, Lassie probably couldn’t find me.

But fear not, friends, I’ve left behind a few well-chosen words from my dear old friend Ogden Nash, who always has something timely to say.

To Donald on his way to Cleveland:

Love is a word that is constantly heard,

Hate is a word that’s not.

Love, I’m told, is more precious than gold,

Love, I have read, is hot.

But hate is the verb that to me is superb,

And love is a drug on the mart.

Any kiddie in school can love like a fool,

But hating, my boy, is an art.

   *

The danger of a hole in the porch screen:

God in his wisdom made the fly

And then forgot to tell us why.

   *

An ode to poison ivy:

One bliss for which there is no match,

Is, when you itch,

To up and scratch.

   *

Song of the Interstate:

I think I shall never see

A billboard lovely as a tree.

Indeed, unless the billboards fall

I’ll never see a tree at all.

   *

Wish you weren’t here:

Some hate broccoli, some hate bacon,

Some hate having their picture taken.

How can your family claim to love you

And then demand a picture of you?

     *

To the family at the start of the week:

How pleasant to sit on the beach

On the beach, on the sand, in the sun

With ocean galore within reach,

And nothing at all to be done!

No letters to answer,

No bills to be burned,

No work to be shirked,

No cash to be earned.

It is pleasant to sit on the beach,

With nothing at all to be done.

     *

To the same family at the end of the week:

One would be in less danger

From the wiles of the stranger

If one’s own kin and kith

Were more fun to be with.

     *

And finally, a few original Ogden-inspired lines jotted down by a
pristine stream where the trout are laughing at my hand-made flies:

A gal at the beach paints her toes,

To catch the attention of beaus;

But a guy at the beach will just scratch his feet,

And wonder if anything good’s left to eat.

     *

Gardener’s lament:

To a gardener  in the heat of late summer,

Oh, my, what a seasonal bummer,

With hydrangeas so wilted, you feel almost jilted,

It’s a wonder you bother to rose.

     *

Politics as use-you-all:

I suppose I’m the Average American,

Tho I can’t say  just how the hellican,

Vote for these two, either one of which who

Make me wish I was just a mere skeleton.

     *

A brief escape:

So here I sit by a stream,

Dreaming the American dream,

I might not come home, just pick up and roam,

At least till I find some ice cream.  PS

Contact editor Jim Dodson at jim@thepilot.com.

August

One for the Kids

This month, as part of the popular Movies by the Lake series, The Aberdeen Parks and Recreation Departments and sponsors will show The Good Dinosaur, a Disney/Pixar film that follows a young Apatosaurus named Arlo and his unlikely friend, a feral cave boy named Spot. On Friday, August 12, from 8:15–9:30 p.m., bring the whole family along to experience this Jurassic adventure on the big screen. Free admission; concessions available for purchase. Aberdeen Lake Park, 301 Lake Park Crossing, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-7275 or townofaberdeen.net.

Band Together

On Sunday, August 7, 3 p.m., Weymouth Woods Nature Study features Hummingbird Banding with Ornithologist Susan Cambpell. Witness the delicate process of handling these tiny birds, collecting data, and banding and releasing them — a rare and specialized activity that will render you absolutely spellbound. And if you get a chance to explore a longleaf trail, who knows what other wild things you’ll encounter? Weymouth Woods-Sandhills Nature Preserve, 1024 Fort Bragg Road, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-2167.

General Admission

Join Retired Maj. Jason Hawk for In & Out at the Outpost on Thursday, August 25, at 7 p.m. This free lecture will focus on the life and legacy of Gen. George C. Marshall, the soldier and statesman whom Winston Churchill called “the last great American.” Marshall had a home on Linden Road from 1944 until his death in 1959. Learn more about Marshall’s life and connection to Pinehurst during this summer evening program. Given Outpost, 95 Cherokee Road, Pinehurst. Info: (910) 295-7002.

Banjo-ification

On August 5, 5–8:30 p.m., First Friday presents Parsonsfield, a five-piece alt/folk band from Northampton, Massachusetts. Think: banjo in the park with a rowdy, rock ’n’ roll spirit that stomps out all the rules. Chris Freeman (vocals, banjo), Antonio Alcorn (mandolin), Max Shakun (vocals, pump organ, guitar), Harrison Goodale (bass), and Erik Hischmann (drums) recorded their debut album in 2013 under the moniker Poor Old Shine, but changed their name in July 2014 following their inspired experiences recording two albums in Parsonsfield, Maine, at producer Sam Kassirer’s farmhouse studio/retreat. Rain or shine, First Friday concerts are free and open to the public. Food and beverages available for purchase. Alexandra King opens. The Preservation Green (grassy lot) adjacent to the Sunrise Theater, 250 Northwest Broad Street, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-8501 or firstfridaysouthernpines.com. 

Frank Admiration

On Thursday, August 18, beginning at 7:30 a.m., golf professional Scott Holmes will attempt to play one-hundred holes of golf in 12 hours as a tribute to his late uncle, Frank Smither. Frank lived with a developmental disability and was an active member of The Arc of Moore County and the community for many years. Pledges per hole and flat donations will benefit The Arc’s social and recreational programs, which Frank loved. “Fore For Frank” will take place on Course #4 at Pinehurst Resort. Friends of The Arc who sponsor or contribute $100 or more will be invited to an evening celebration and entered into a raffle to win two tickets to “An Evening With David Feherty,” a benefit for the Linden Lodge Foundation on Friday, August 19. For more information or to volunteer, please contact The Arc of Moore County at (910) 692-8272. Donate here: www.foreforfrank.com.

Pop Goes the Matrix

The Dancing Dream is a professional ABBA tribute band based in New York City and so close to the real deal that watching them will feel like experiencing a glitch in the matrix. And you’ll love it. On Sunday, August 28, at 3 p.m. Vision 4 Moore presents “A Tribute to ABBA”, a high-energy concert that benefits Meals on Wheels of the Sandhills and The Linden Lodge Foundation. In 2012, this sparkling tribute band appeared on The Colbert Report. Don’t miss the chance to see them play in the Pines. Tickets: $25 (general admission); $30 (day of show); $35 (center orchestra). Robert E. Lee Auditorium, 250 Voit Gilmore Lane, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 365-9890 or www.vision4moore.com.

Making Paper

On Tuesday, August 16, from 9:30 a.m. – 3:30 p.m., artist Kathy Leuck will lead “Playing with Paper”, a crafty workshop for students of all levels. Alter paper in ways you’ve never imagined. Use a sewing machine and Gelli printing plate, make your own rules, and create one-of-a-kind note cards and collages that will change the way you look at paper evermore. Cost: $50; $45 (associate members); $40 (members). Includes lunch. Artists League of the Sandhills, 129 Exchange Street, Aberdeen. Info: (910) 944-3979 or www.artistleague.org.

Carolina Chronicles

In Slave Escapes & the Underground Railroad in North Carolina, authors
J. Timothy Allen and Steve M. Miller use harrowing first-hand accounts to investigate how African Americans escaped oppression in a dark chapter of Tarheel State history. Hear them discuss Quaker safe houses and freed slave communities on Saturday, August 27, 4 p.m., at this free Meet the Author event. The Country Bookshop, 140 Northwest Broad Street, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-3211 or www.thecountrybookshop.biz.

Bosom Buddies

Three words: Sugar Kane Kowalczyk. On Thursday, August 4, at 7:30 p.m., Sunrise Theater Summer Classic Series presents Some Like it Hot (1959), the  Billy Wilder film starring Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon. When two Chicago musicians witness the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, Joe and Jerry flee town (in drag!) as Josephine and Daphne, the newest members of an all-female band fronted by a ukulele-playing blonde named Sugar Kane Kowalczyk (Monroe). Mayhem and hilarity ensue. Screening sponsored by Whit Lauter. Tickets: $6. Sunrise Theater, 250 Northwest Broad Street, Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-8501 or sunrisetheater.com. 

Planting Happiness

Lunch and Learn in the Gardens with Master Gardener Bruce Fensley will ready you for Mama’s spicy collards. On Monday, August 22, learn when to plant which root and leaf crops and how to plan for fresh veggies all fall and winter. Free one-hour workshop begins at noon. Bring your own lunch; drinks provided. Ball Visitors Center, Sandhills Horticultural Gardens, 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst. Register by email: landscapegardening@sandhills.edu. Info: (910) 695-3882 or sandhillshorticulturalgardens.com.  PS