Hometown

My Two Cents

What’s your oldest possession?

By Bill Fields

This particular Sunday afternoon more than a half century ago was different from the others.

On a regular weekend visit to my grandmother Daisy’s house in Jackson Springs, looking for entertainment beyond the porch swing and GRIT magazine, I found a jar of coins on a table in a dim hallway. Ma-Ma, as we called her, gave me permission to examine them. 

Some of the coins might have been change Ma-Ma carried home from the Red & White grocery in West End or Kimes Blake’s store just down the hill. I discovered others, though, minted much earlier. With Ma-Ma’s blessing, a few Mercury dimes, buffalo nickels and Indian head pennies became the foundation of my boyhood collection. So did two badly tarnished coins, each slightly larger than a quarter but smaller than a half dollar, about 1 1/8 inches in diameter.

“They’re very old,” Ma-Ma told me. I confirmed this after borrowing her magnifying glass. One was so browned and worn that no date could be ascertained. The other, though, was in a bit better condition — it was an 1854 one-cent piece with a lady’s head encircled by 13 stars.

After I purchased a coin guide from The Country Bookshop — then located in a tiny space at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Bennett Street in Southern Pines — I found out my treasures were copper “large cents.” I later learned this denomination was produced from 1793 to 1857, when it was replaced by the smaller penny. A half-dozen variations were minted in that span. My discoveries were of the “braided hair” final design that debuted in 1839. All of the millions of large cents were made at the Philadelphia mint.

“Old things are better than new things because they’ve got stories to tell, Ethan,” one character says to another in Beautiful Creatures.

My large cents — under a jeweler’s loupe the other one appears to be from 1851 — remain my oldest possessions. They pre-date the Civil War, the telephone, automobiles and manned flight. They were minted during the California Gold Rush. The New York Times came off the press for the first time in 1851, the same year Herman Melville wrote Moby-Dick, and the Great Flood ravaged the Midwest. In 1854, the Republican Party was founded, and George Eastman and John Philip Sousa were born. There were just over 23 million people in the 1850 U.S. Census, including 3 million slaves.

The early 1850s was a time of pungents, leeches and tinctures, cod liver oil and pickled oysters, parasols and goatskin bootees. A large cent went a long way: It was 11 cents a pound for flour. A bushel of potatoes ran 90 cents. You could buy a lard lamp for 25 cents and a ton of coal for $6. Board might be $1.50 a week, and steady work could leave something left over for a bottle of Scheidam Schnapps, for medicinal purposes, of course. Life expectancy at birth was less than 40 years.

I’ve pondered whose pocket or purse held my large cents more than a century before I claimed them. Had they been passed along to my maternal grandfather, who was born in 1861, when he was a boy? Where might the coins have been other than Montgomery and Moore counties, where my family has roots?

Although it is a coin-collecting no-no but aware that they aren’t worth much as collector pieces, recently I couldn’t resist cleaning my Coronet cents. I soaked them in various solvents — vinegar, ketchup, Coke — and rubbed their surfaces with a pencil eraser. The wear and nicks are still there, but the original copper color is nicely revealed.

Their history always will be a mystery, but I hope my youngest relatives, now of elementary-school age, some day will wonder about their heritage decades down the road the way I do now. If they have children and pass the cents along, these mid-19th century coins could be the oldest things owned by someone in the 22nd century, when they will be very, very old, and cash itself might be ancient history.  PS

Southern Pines native Bill Fields, who writes about golf and other things, moved north in 1986 but hasn’t lost his accent. Bill can be reached at williamhfields@gmail.com.

Building Strong Roots

Reconstructing a Pinehurst landscape

By Claudia Watson  •  Photographs by Laura Gingerich

A little cottage on a well-kept street in old town Pinehurst sparked my curiosity for nearly two decades. The modest, single-story house hid behind a towering barricade of overgrown hollies. It looked melancholy except for a single camellia that hugged the tiny porch and bloomed during the dullest days of winter.

The house was built in 1957 of clapboard beveled heart pine siding and painted a then-trendy minty green. On occasion, an older woman cautiously peeked out a barely opened door, looking distraught by it all.

Nearly six years ago, after the owner died, there was an estate sale, mostly glassware, kitchen items and furnishings. A shed, almost fallen with age, was strewn with rusty yard tools and broken pots. All of it seemed so sad.

I was not the only one who was captivated by the old house. Sean Butler stopped by often to check on the owner and offered help with repairs.

“In its day, I knew it was a very nice home. It had good bones,” recalls Butler, owner of Butler Constructs. He and his business partner, Wes Smith, who lived in the neighborhood, walked through the house the day of the estate sale and made an offer on it that day. They purchased the half-acre property in 2015.

Butler’s redesign of the house maintains the original structure’s required exterior “cottagey” style. Inside, he let his imagination work as he drafted a new plan for the home, nearly doubling its size.

As work on the house continued, Angie Averitte and Patti Rainwater, both highly focused on buying a cottage in old town, noticed the renovation.

“We were in town with our real estate agent, stopped and saw that it was going on the market the next day. It was meant to be,” smiles Averitte after explaining they’d lost out on two other houses in the bidding wars of a hot real estate market.

Born down the road in Hamlet, North Carolina, Averitte started working for the predecessor of CSX Railroad in the small town. Her management career required relocating all over the East. “We called ourselves gypsies because we moved 12 times in 25 years,” she says.

When she closed her career with CSX after 38 years, she and Rainwater, a project manager for a home health company, lived in Nashville. Averitte’s desire to be with family coaxed them back to the Sandhills. “We moved back Christmas week of 2018. It was a good way to get out of Christmas,” she laughs.

Once settled, they recognized that living in a smaller house would take some adjustment. While they had many “what-if” dreams — they weren’t particularly conscious that the landscape might play a role in helping them put down strong roots.

During the late winter months, they’d walk the property assessing its potential. “We had a new patio, an old shed, some dead shrubs and a bit of a drainage issue, and didn’t know where to begin,” says Averitte. “We wanted livable outdoor space that was pretty, offered privacy and a place for entertaining. It was obvious that we needed help.”

At the suggestion of a friend, she called and then hired Dee Johnson, a highly recognized landscape designer who has always had a deep passion for gardens and horticulture. Growing up in rural West Virginia, Johnson often worked alongside her grandmother, an avid gardener. She and her parents enjoyed the outdoors, and getting their hands dirty was part of each day. She studied botany in college and relocated before receiving an undergraduate degree. When she and her husband moved to the Sandhills, she explored the Landscape Gardening program at Sandhills Community College.

“I thought it would be a nice hobby,” she laughs. She earned an associate degree in landscape gardening and began teaching in the Continuing Education program. After receiving an undergraduate degree in education and a master’s degree in agricultural extension education, she returned to teaching. Appointed coordinator of the landscape gardening program at SCC, she held the post 17 years. Her private design business remained in the background, but she geared it back up once she retired.

Johnson describes her design style as naturalistic — and she does not mean native plants, but plants in their natural form. Though she does design formal Williamsburg-type landscapes, these are not her preference. She disdains power shears used to make meatballs of shrubs.

“Plants will fight you tooth and nail. If it’s not supposed to be round, don’t make it. It’s going to try to go back to its natural state,” she insists.

One of Johnson’s formative influences is British landscape designer John Brookes, who introduced the notion that “gardens should be low-maintenance as well as beautiful by recognizing the proposed use of a garden before designing it.” He felt this ensured “that lifestyle, architecture and garden are a harmonious whole.”

Johnson uses the same approach with clients, and emphasizes they need to consider how they want the space to function. Those characteristics and the site orientation, house style, outbuildings and cultural history drive her gardens’ design and style.

These aspects are equally important as the practical considerations of budget and how much time the owner has to maintain the area. Being prepared with the information upfront keeps the plan and planting scheme on track and tailored toward the client’s taste.

Even if it’s a DIY landscape renovation, going in without a plan is not a good strategy. “It’s like going to the grocery store without your list. You’ll end up spending money on things you don’t need, then trying to find a place for it all, and then digging yourself out with a shovel for a long time,” Johnson says.

After a thorough site assessment, Johnson presented her proposal, including landscape and hardscape details, budget and timeframe. Though not a requirement of Johnson’s, Averitte and Rainwater elected to have her bid out the project and supervise the installation to ensure its successful completion.

Johnson promised a turnkey project. She used Joe Granato of Star Ridge Aquatics and Richie Cole of Knats Creek Nursery, two contractors who know her work and expectations. Start to finish, the project was completed in eight weeks, and just in time to take full advantage of the autumn rain and cooler temperatures that gave plants their roots.

The design is balanced and merges beautifully with the surroundings. It sets the space for arrival, and an invitation to explore and participate in the landscape. There are distinct areas of the landscape, with some “rooms” open and spacious, and others cozy and intimate. All of it is colorful year-round.

At the front entry, a whimsical masked tin pig peeks out from under the giant leaves of a potted philodendron Philodendron selloum that Averitt has toted around for 30 years. Another keepsake, a toxic Jerusalem cherry evergreen shrub Solanum pseudocapsicum, steals the show with boldly red, yellow, and orange fruit.

The owners, not fans of crape myrtles, asked that the two crape myrtles next to the house be removed. Johnson creatively moved them forward to a new planting bed between the semi-circular driveway entrances.

“This is a basic design principle,” explains Johnson. “You want to soften the edges of the house and the roof ridgeline and move your eye toward the front door.” 

The crape myrtles give height to the area, as dwarf buddleia, fountain grass, rosemary, variegated liriope and yucca offer a tidy look and color throughout the year.

As with many old town cottages, the practical but pesky issue is the lack of a garage. For the owners, who have two cars, maneuvering to park in the semi-circular driveway was tricky.

“Every time I was there, someone had to move a car,” recalls Johnson. She widened the driveway to permit another car to move by a parked car and added a parking area to the side. Now, tumbled stone edging keeps driveway gravel out of the grass and provides a finished edge that blends in with the surrounding plantings.

Johnson carefully plants closer to the property’s edge, which helps define the barefoot-friendly Zeon zoysia lawn. The garden areas serve as visual boundaries to the property, creating a pleasing view from inside the house by giving the eye more to see than just grass.

The small, one-story house suggests the plantings’ scale and shape, and a linear planting design combined with curved beds keep the eye moving across the site. The use of plants with shorter growth habits allows the owners to enjoy the view from their windows without much maintenance.

From the street, a passerby catches a glimpse of the colorful perennial and herb garden. It’s tucked into the back corner of the property and bordered by a cedar privacy fence. The old shed was renovated to become the she shed, its lines softened by blueberry bushes at the entrance and the young hardy kiwi vines Actinidia arguta ambling skyward along a sturdy cedar arbor.

Anchored by a delicate ‘Forest pansy’ redbud Cercsis canadensis, several Camellia sasanqua ‘Survivor,’ and a trio of winter hardy Hydrangea paniculata ‘Limelight,’ the garden provides breathtaking summer and late autumn color.

In the spring, the Itea virginica ‘Little Henry’ blooms in a cascade of lightly fragrant white spikes. Its foliage deepens to orange and red colors into autumn. Existing loropetalum, boxwoods, and miscanthus grasses were relocated to the area to extend the allure during the winter months.

But it’s the perennials that provide the punch. The flower combinations complement each other rather than clash or compete.

Pollinator favorites like Coreopsis Coreopsis lanceolate ‘Moonbeam,’ Walker’s Low catmint Nepeta x faassenii ‘Walker’s Low,’ Coneflower Echinacea purpurea, Goldstrum black-eyed Susan Rudbeckia fulgida, Black and Blue Salvia Salvia guaranitica, and the dependable Stonecrop, Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ enliven the garden.

Johnson blends eucalyptus, lamb’s ear, rosemary, culinary sage and English lavender into the garden with an appreciation for the texture and fragrance offered by silvery foliage.

Just out the kitchen door is the often-used pergola-covered patio. It’s become a favorite spot for a glass of wine before dinner, especially when the nearby cluster of gardenia Gardenia jasminoides ‘Kleim’s Hardy’ releases its heavenly scent.

But of all the new spaces, it’s the striking fire pit that draws the accolades. A curved stone walkway leads to the area that seats six in rainbow-colored Adirondack chairs conveniently outfitted with cup and wineglass holders.

“It was insightful, though we didn’t know it at the time,” Averitte remembers. “When COVID started, we didn’t interact with anyone for two to three months. Once spring came, and the yard was full of blooms, we invited two friends over and a couple of neighbors. It morphed into a pretty cool and safe way to visit in the middle of this pandemic.”

A sitting ledge hugs the back curve with the surrounding garden filled with Verbena ‘Homestead purple’, English lavender and butterfly bush Buddleja davidii ‘White Provision.’ A laceleaf Japanese maple Acer palmatum ‘Seiryu’ is flanked by two lovely hydrangea Hydrangea quercifloia ‘Snowflake,’ providing visual height, privacy and spectacular seasonal color — at least until the deer discovered them — calling for new options.

As the moon rises in a velvety blue sky, the intimate water garden off the master suite is a tranquil setting with the sound of falling water accompanied by a chorus of frog calls. The backlit Japanese maple Acer palmatum ‘Waterfall’ and saucer magnolia Magnolia soulangeana ‘Jane’ offer a pretty backdrop. Dwarf gardenias Gardenia jasminoides ‘Radicans’ provide fragrance, and Sweet flag Acorus gramineus ‘Ogon’ adds spiky texture and bright color.

Averitte says she was impressed by Johnson’s attention to detail and dedication to the project. “Her work touched every part of our property and, in so many ways, and that’s enhanced our lives.”

Living in a smaller house has been a significant change. Still, she and Rainwater agree that they have a greater appreciation for nature’s calming power, especially during the pandemic.

“It’s become our sanctuary,” says Averitte quietly, who never considered herself a gardener. “I find myself in the garden and bringing the garden inside now — taking snippets, spending time deadheading plants, and thinking about how this beautiful place is all ours now. We’ve put down our roots and will be here for a long time.”

As for the little cottage, it’s renewed and happy again, too.  PS

Claudia Watson is a frequent contributor to PineStraw and The Pilot and finds the joy in each day, often in a garden.

Alamanac

By Ashley Wahl

February is the space between the darkest hour and the earliest light. A paper-thin sliver of silver moon. A sensuous world of deep silence.

High in the towering pine, a pair of great horned owls sit with their clutch in the black of night, yellow eyes like ancient, swirling galaxies. In this realm of shadow and mystery — this wintry temple of stillness — they are the wisdom keepers. And they are always listening.

Warm beneath the great horned mother, three white spheres hold tiny, secret worlds. Days from now, the brood will hatch. But in this moment, all is quiet. Until it isn’t.

On the forest floor, movement flickers like a light in the dark. There’s a faint rustling of leaves. The stealthy owl king twists his head until he targets the source, seeing with his ears before his eyes. Hare? Mouse? We’ll never know. Nature holds her secrets close.

February heightens the senses. Silence cradles every sound, and you can feel it — the charged nothingness before the rhythmic hoots of the great horned beasts. The charged nothingness that follows.

Mystery flirts with your mind like wind dancing through metal chimes.

Just before the earliest light, you hear what sounds for all the world like the piercing, primal scream of a banshee. You are half frightened, half delighted, which speaks to your own primal nature. Next, you hear a sequence of yips and yups. A shriek and more yups. Then, silence.

You suspect what you’ve heard is a pair of foxes, but only the owl knows for sure. And in this sacred window between darkness and light — this thin crescent moon of a month — nature holds her secrets close.

When you listen with your soul, you come into rhythm and unity with the music of the universe. — John O’Donohue

Year of the Ox

Friday, February 12, marks the celebration of the Chinese New Year — day after the new moon. Cue the paper lanterns for the Year of the Ox, a year of hard work and, let’s hope, positive change. According to ancient myth, twelve animals raced to the Jade Emperor’s party to determine which order they would appear in the zodiac. The ox is the second because, well, the rat tricked it. All of this to say, trust your gut — and get ready for a good year in your garden.

Winter Bloomers

What is that spicy, glorious aroma, you ask? That would be paperbush (Edgeworthia chrysantha), which gets its name from its bark, not its fragrant yellow flowers.

Paperbush is a deciduous shrub that blossoms in late winter. Native to the Himalayas, China and Japan, this winter bloomer prefers moist, rich soil and a shaded landscape. And with its elegant silhouette and bluish, almost silvery foliage, it dazzles all year.

Speaking of bluish . . . let’s talk about violets. Blue violet, purple violet, hooded violet, wood violet, meadow violet, woolly blue violet. Whatever you call it, the birth flower of February is an herbaceous perennial celebrated for carpeting the winter landscape. They’re edible, too. Although the common violet grows wild along our East Coast, there are hundreds of species of violet (genus Viola), first cultivated by the Greeks circa 500 B.C.

According to Greek myth, hunter-goddess Artemis transformed one of her nymphs into a violet — not, say, a red rose — when the huntress’s twin, Apollo, tried to pursue her. Thus, the violet is said to represent modesty and humility. It’s also been known as the “lesbian flower,” and in 1927, a play called The Captive featured a female character sending violets to another female character. The production stirred the pot, so to speak, with its conspicuous theme of lesbianism and was eventually shut down. But in 1978, the color violet made its way into the rainbow flag for San Francisco’s Gay Freedom Celebration. Violets are for everyone.  PS

The Kitchen Garden

Cataloging Our Desires

A cornucopia of mid-winter reading

By Jan Leitschuh

You could call them Valentines from the fashion gardenistas.

Piled up by the couch, near the fireplace, lies a colorful pile of lavishly illustrated seed catalogs — the lurid romance novels of the produce patch. Tempters extraordinaire, as lovingly photographed as the sleekest supermodel, with their sexy photos of plump Chioggia beets, exotic red okra and butter-and-eggs sweet corn, these enticing, lush catalogs whisper breathily: Yes, darlin’, you, too, can grow produce like this.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Years of hard practical experience in the Sandhills shoot back with cynical sweet nothings, like: Squash bugs. Blights. Thrips. Powdery mildew. Hornworms. Flea beetles. Weeds and 100-degree heat. Deer, bunnies and voles.

And yet, love is blind. The candy store that is a seed catalog is far too seductive when set against February’s stern, cold winds and deep-chill nights. We rationalize and justify — a few packets of seed, a valentine to ourselves.

In any case, we’ve been staring at these wish books, lovingly circling and then crossing off old favorites and tempting new varieties since Christmas. It’s time to order up — or pitch the damn things.

So, that gorgeous red okra. Do we want to try it this summer? For a couple of bucks, we can raise eye-catching scarlet pods. Then what? Will the hubby even eat red okra? The catalog listing swears it is the tenderest.

There’s an exotic orange variety from China as well. But maybe a Japanese pink okra would be an even more illicit garden thrill?

Flip to the “Garden Pea” section for the sugar snap selection. Garden lovers, take heed. If you only order one thing, from a catalog or a local provider, it ought to be a sugar snap pea variety.

Podded sugar snap peas come thick and fast at a time in the spring when fresh produce is deeply appreciated. The seeds can actually be planted directly in the garden pea patch this month. If you have grandchildren (or even if you don’t), picking these crisp, tender pods fresh, with their tiny, sweet peas inside, is gratifying. Children will eat them. Even more gratifying is tossing a fresh handful atop a salad, or into a soup, stew or dinner stir-fry.

Then that cynical voice of reason slides in a warning: deer. Deer love pea vines. (Note to self: Plant a few pots on the deck to climb up the porch rail, along with a patch in the garden. Closer to the kitchen, anyway.)

Eat Your Colors offers a rainbow of produce possibilities. All kinds of bright salad greens beckon from its catalog pages, as do multiple, colorful varieties of heirloom tomatoes. Black zucchini, magenta eggplant. The sweetest, most tender green beans. Candy cane-striped beets. Turquoise corn? Every possible color of sweet and hot pepper one can conjure (except turquoise).

The breathless, attendant copy makes each variety sound better than the last, the writers having cut their teeth on romance novels, no doubt. So many circled items, so little garden space . . .

But wait. What is this? The rabbit-hole distraction of the flower seed section. Silky purple poppies? Orange cactus zinnias? Stocks and snaps and strawflowers. That kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate — a pink, Victorian-era, cottage garden classic — looks intriguing. (Sound of pen circling.)

Hmmm, and here are gomphrena seeds . . . haven’t seen these sun-loving, hard-working little purple flower globes in local nurseries in a while . . . so maybe I should grow my own?

Many seeds can be sown directly into the garden or pots. Plus, a greater variety of seeds are available than the transplants you can find locally. Seeds are also less expensive than transplants. 

You can also grow your own transplants, with a little desire. Six to eight weeks before the transplanting date, sow the seeds according to packet directions into some kind of a container indoors. They will need good light to stay stocky, and not grow leggy. Bottom heat also helps heat-lovers like peppers, eggplant and tomatoes.

Gradually transition your seedlings from the sheltered environment of your home to the garden. I like to set them out on sunny, mild days and bring them in at night before they chill. Toughen your tender love children by slowly introducing the transplants into full sun for a longer period each day, over a week’s time.

But back to our spring fever. The melons are particularly seductive. Perhaps try some small, serving-sized melons this year? Do we lust after the striking “copper red/striped with cream and green” 2-pounder from Punjab? The flesh is green and “slightly musky.” What does musky taste like?

Or would we rather plant that Armenian heirloom 1-pounder, a “vibrant yellow with fire-red zig-zag stripes,” with the “sweet, intoxicating aroma that will fill a room . . . ?”

No matter which sexy selection is chosen, and which fantasy fashionista seed ends up winging its way to our doors, it’s fair to say that we will remain true to our original garden valentine — the sugar snap pea. You really should try it if you haven’t, for fun.

Smile if ya got some.  PS

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

Southwords

Winter Carnival

Between a rock and a hard place

By Jim Moriarty

It was as if the town was flash frozen. I don’t remember exactly when it happened, nor do I recall the fulsome meteorological explanation of why. Something about a toad-strangling tsunami followed immediately by the polar vortex. The mind mercifully disguises traumatic events like this one — the week my mother, the Dark Lord, and my wife, the War Department, coexisted in a 20×20 space with nothing but a deck of cards, dying cellphones, a finite supply of crossword puzzles, a package of Ballpark franks, two cats and a fireplace with a dwindling pile of wood.

Like most transplanted Northerners, we once held the ability of our Southern brethren to drive in snow in utter contempt. It wasn’t personal, though I confess we did at first find it unusual when the merest whisper of snow, the slightest suggestion of a flake wafting from the sky on butterfly’s wings, could by itself empty the entire dairy section of the Winn Dixie. Fools that we were. We had been raised in a land of salt and sand and hard-packed stuff that your tires could bite into like a ferret sinking its teeth into an old man’s calf. We had yet to meet real, honest to God, Southern ice.

We knew ice, of course. Through years of evolution we’d learned to navigate it on skating rinks using blades sharp enough to carve a leg of lamb. But drive on it? Where we came from only Zambonis did that, and that was strictly to make more of it.

So, when the rain hit, and then turned to slushy snow, and then turned into serious, deep snow and then froze as solid as that 5,300-year-old caveman they found in the Alps and then stayed that way for day after day after day, well, it was a problem. The first night was filled with the sounds of overburdened pine branches cracking and snapping, followed by the dependable echo of transformers exploding. We were in for it.

Our street just happens to be in a neighborhood with a three-grackle limit — any more than that sitting on the wire at one time and the power goes out. We do not blame anyone for this; it’s just a property of the property, as it were. Our part of the grid has a tick. But this was a beast of a different stripe. The whole town was down.

With some difficulty, and relying on my years of Northern exposure, I was able to rescue the Dark Lord from her apartment and bring her to our house. We closed off all but two adjoining rooms and put a fire in the fireplace. It was cozy. How long could this last? It would get warm. The sun would melt the snow. The birds would sing in the fields. The electricity would be restored and, with it, the heat pump and the stove. Hot water would blossom like forsythia in the springtime. Only it didn’t get warm. It got even colder.

Because age has its privileges, the Dark Lord got the couch. The War Department and I settled into a sleeping bag on the floor. The cats looked at us much the way we once looked at Southern drivers. Resting like mountain lions high up on the backs of overstuffed chairs, you simply knew they were looking down, wearing their little fur coats, thinking to themselves, “You people have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

Day one. Day two. Day three. Still no electricity. After our flashlight batteries flickered and died, the remaining sources of light after sunset were the wood fire and a single oil lamp that, I believe, had last been used by Ahab on the Pequod. Encouraged by a captive audience, the Dark Lord found this a splendid time to deliver a rambling, and yet oddly comprehensive, historical perspective of the many things the War Department had done wrong. This involved everything from her husband’s — “I’m right here, mother” — shortcomings to our current lack of modern conveniences. By day four several of the area hotels were up and running and I managed to relocate the Dark Lord into one of them, thus saving her from being smothered in her sleep.

It was six, no seven, no six — oh, I don’t know — days until a power crew came down our little dead-end street reconnecting the doohickey to the thermocouple. They were from Houston, Texas. God bless Houston, Texas. I ran from the house waving my arms as if they were the Allies liberating Paris. Vive les Americains. Remember the Alamo.

We don’t laugh at Southern drivers anymore. And if snow is forecast, hi, ho, hi, ho, it’s off to the Harris Teeter we go.  PS

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

The Naturalist

The Dweller of Sandy Places

A new species described from the Sandhills

Story and Photographs by Todd Pusser

One might assume in this age of globalization and the internet that there is nothing left to discover on the planet. If there are any new species of plants and animals yet to be observed by human eyes, they must exist in some poorly explored corner of Earth, tucked away in a remote Amazonian rainforest or at the bottom of the deep sea.

Of course, the trouble with assumptions is that they are frequently wrong. 

We are living in an era many naturalists have dubbed “a new age of discovery.” Thousands of new species are being described each year — everything from monkeys to brightly colored tropical birds. Indeed, many new species are found in faraway jungles and at the bottom of the sea, but a surprising number are discovered right in our own backyards.

1n 1995, an entirely new species and genus of tree dubbed the Wollemi Pine, which grows over 130 feet tall, was found just outside of Australia’s largest city, Sydney. In 2010, biologists lifted a rock in the middle of an eastern Tennessee stream and found a new crayfish. At nearly half a foot in length, the Tennessee Bottlebrush Crayfish looks more like a Maine lobster than a denizen of a backwater creek.

Perhaps most spectacular of all, a new species of whale — a whale — was described in 2002 from specimens that washed ashore on the crowded beaches of San Diego in the 1970s. Originally thought to be a rare species of beaked whale from the Southern Hemisphere, biologists using advance genetic techniques, revealed that the cast-ashore leviathans were in fact a new species, which they named Perrin’s Beaked Whale after the biologist who first examined them. Despite their swimming in waters offshore our most populous state, humans have yet to observe a member of this odd species of whale alive in the wild.

In biological circles, North Carolina is frequently described as “the salamander capital of the world.” With 64 species found within its borders, North Carolina has more of the cold-blooded amphibians than any other state. Some, like the eel-like greater siren, a resident of murky, coastal swamp waters, can grow to lengths of over 3 feet. Others, such as the pygmy salamander, barely reach an inch in length and are among the smallest amphibians in the world.

Fifty years ago, Alvin Braswell, then an assistant curator of lower invertebrates at the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences in Raleigh, examined an unusual red salamander that had been found in the Sandhills region of the state. He initially thought the tiny 3-inch-long amphibian was just an unusual red variant of the Southern Two-lined Salamander, a common species found throughout much of North Carolina.

As more and more of the unusual salamanders were brought to the attention of the museum, Braswell began to suspect that they might be something new. Over time, it became clear that the little red salamander was found only along the margins of small creeks that meander through the Sandhills, and nowhere else.

In this day and age, describing a new species is a long, painstaking process that requires a lot of time and energy. Exact, minute, morphological measurements, as well as DNA analysis, need to be made across a series of collected specimens and then compared with those of closely related species. Often, the specimens were collected many decades ago, and their remains are preserved in jars of formalin tucked away in dusty museum cabinets scattered around the globe. Tracking each one down to make a proper comparative study is daunting and time-consuming.

Over the ensuing decades, Braswell worked his way through the ranks of the museum and eventually became the assistant director. Other duties called, and the description of the little red salamander was put on the back burner.

Enter Bryan Stuart, who began work at the museum in 2008 as the curator of reptiles and amphibians. Stuart, an expert in amphibian genetics and no stranger to working with new species, has found and described dozens of snakes, frogs and salamanders from the remote forests of Vietnam and Laos in Southeast Asia throughout his career.

With Braswell’s blessing, Stuart took over the study of the little red salamander and in December of 2020, published a paper (with Braswell as a co-author) formally introducing the Carolina Sandhills Salamander to the world.

Since 1735, when Swedish botanist Carolus Linnaeus introduced the concept of taxonomy, every living thing on the planet has been assigned a two-part Latin name. For the Carolina Sandhills Salamander, Stuart chose the Latin name Eurycea arenicola, which translated means the dweller of sandy places.

Though small in size, the salamander was big news in scientific arenas, and garnered worldwide coverage in the popular media. It was prominently featured on many end-of-the-year lists of the top species discoveries of 2020, right up there with a new monkey from Myanmar, a snake from India, and an orchid from Papua New Guinea.

For those who care about wildlife, the discovery of the Carolina Sandhills Salamander was a rare bright spot in the rather bleak year that was 2020. It also highlights just how little we know about this planet we call home. Who knows what other wonders are still out there, just outside the back door?  PS

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

In the Spirit

Ready, Set, Go

Shake, stir and be snappy

By Tony Cross

One of my good friends manages a restaurant and recently had to jump behind the bar because of a lack of help due to COVID. As new bartenders emerge in restaurant bars — and establishments who market themselves as “cocktail bars” — there are basics that even novice bartenders need to master.

My friend can make a decent drink — no worries there — but it pains me every time he shakes a cocktail. When he’s finished, he has the damnedest time separating the two shakers. So, what does he do? He bangs it against the bar until he gets them to come apart. Good thing he’s got two tin shakers. If one of them was a pint glass, hitting it against the bar could send shards of glass flying, ruining a perfectly good drink. That’s cocktailcide.

So, what to do? When placing your two shakers together, don’t put the top shaker (smaller tin, or pint glass if using a Boston shaker) pointing straight up. Place it at a slight angle, so that the two shakers sort of curve, something like the contour of a banana. Then shake. And shake hard. When you’re ready to separate your two tins (or Boston shaker), hit the bottom of the inside of your hand against the seal of the two shakers. You’ll see the two start to separate — that’s where you give it a quick snap of the hand, and voila! This is the correct way to do this, but it also saves time, and looks way more professional than beating it against the back of your bar.

Previously, I’ve discussed the importance of dilution in your cocktails, and how/why water is a key ingredient. Dilution is important, so when I watched a bartender take the time to whip up a nice variation of an old fashioned, it killed me when she added a small bit of ice and gave it a few lousy stirs, like it bored her. In that short 10 seconds of her life that I know she wants back, she had to have been thinking, “Ehh, here you go.” Now, did I ask her to redo the drink and stir more? Of course not, that would be silly. What’s also silly is charging $12 or $15 for a cocktail, and not knowing what you’re doing from A to Z.

So, what to do? Pack it with ice in a chilled stirring vessel and stir until cold and diluted.

I’ll finish with a pet peeve: Be fast. This is a must in any establishment, whether they’re busy or slow. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen bartenders doing their thing, but taking forever to get the drinks out. Bartenders do a lot more than just make cocktails — they set the tone for the night, make their guests feel at home, and so on. But you have to be fast. The stirred cocktail I ordered above was correctly made, minus the lousy stir job, but it took her forever to make it.

The establishment was slow, so she was conversing with a couple at the bar while she made my drink. It was torture. I once worked under a bartender that loved chatting with his patrons more than making the drinks, or it seemed that way. The wait staff and I almost formed a coup. Yes, it was that bad. So bad that in between ingredients, he would forget what he had put into his mixing vessel. His solution? Add another part of spirit. Nine times out of 10 this resulted in the drink being sent back for being too boozy.

So, what to do? Move it. If you want to be good at your job, you’ll be multi-tasking drink orders, conversation, food orders and so on. You have to be fast. Don’t be that place that’s known for slow service. Eventually your guests will go somewhere else.   PS

Tony Cross is a bartender (well, ex-bartender) who runs cocktail catering company Reverie Cocktails in Southern Pines.

Blast from the Past

Out with the new! In with the old!

By Deborah Salomon  •   Exterior Photos: Derk’s Works   •   Interior Photos: By Colette Photo

And now, for something completely different:

A residence titled Lansmyr Cottage, embraced by overgrown shrubs, vines, moss, weeping cherries, centenarian trees at the end of a long, narrow, unpaved driveway — amid yet hidden from old town Pinehurst mansions.

Eight bedrooms, 11 bathrooms on three levels approaching 9,000 square feet.

Two pianos, one a spinet, the other a concert-worthy grand by Mason & Hamlin, the craftsmen lauded by Rachmaninoff and Ravel.

A home-school classroom with a skeleton in the corner, for teaching purposes.

A gazebo and two-tier treehouse.

Five fireplaces with carved mantels, no two the same.

Eight-zone AC.

A working call bell system to summon servants.

An attic playroom only 7 feet shorter than a regulation bowling lane.

A master suite encompassing two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a sitting room.

All things considered, a residential relic that shuns hyper-electronics, paneled Sub-Zeros and similar stressors.

 

***

Obviously, a house this unusual reflects the family within: Nathan and Jacqueline Spearing and their children, Abel, Sophie, Eli, Aria and Jude. Their lifestyle follows religious tenets, as does their house, on occasion. The Spearings have hosted prayer meetings, an Easter egg hunt (2,000 eggs) and a sunrise service attended by 170 followed by brunch, without crowding. The house also showcases Nathan’s restoration business, Transform, N.C. Jacqueline, an accomplished classical pianist, fills the expanse with music.

Therefore, this home must be viewed through a different lens than neighboring renovations with altered floorplans, spa bathrooms, electronic gadgetry and High Point heirlooms.

***

Nathan, from Alabama, has six siblings. Jacqueline, from Florida, has 10. Imagine the cousin count when the families gather for holidays.

Nathan’s mechanical aptitude blossomed while helping his father and grandfather with renovations and construction. He is conversant in many trades, eager to accept the challenges of plumbing, heating, carpentry or laying vintage tiles. When Nathan retired from Special Operations at Fort Bragg, the growing family gravitated to Moore County, where he purchased and renovated a 1400-square-foot cottage, circa 1918, in downtown Southern Pines.

Several more projects preceded Lansmyr. Their purpose, Jacqueline says, was to strike a balance: “We wanted modern living with the beautiful details that were worth preserving.”

“Each house has a story,” Nathan says. “When you work on a house as a tradesperson, you can see the craftsmanship.”

Jacqueline casts a designer’s eye. “The curved glass, the carvings, the transoms — you don’t find that in new homes.”

Occupying the house during renovations deepened the experience, especially at Lansmyr, where blue-blooded ghosts roam long halls with polished floors.

***

Chicago insurance magnet Lansing B. Warner discovered Pinehurst, then a chic winter resort, in the early 1930s, while visiting a stepson at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. He appreciated the clientele, the social scene, and decided to build. Greensboro architect William Holleyman (responsible for the Cone Estate in Greensboro’s posh Irving Park) designed a Colonial Revival with Georgian details, including a Chippendale winding staircase and several areas with vaulted barrel ceilings.

When the announcement was made, the Pinehurst Outlook envisioned dancing in the streets with church bells ringing to celebrate the first substantial winter home construction since the beginning of the Great Depression. The house was completed in time for the 1934 “season.”

After Warner’s death in 1941, his wife sold Lansmyr to J. Stillman Rockefeller and his wife, the daughter of Andrew Carnegie II.

Imagine the name-brand guests entertained within these walls.

***

The bloom had faded when the Spearings purchased the house in 2016. Bones and plaster, still strong, but the guts (plumbing, wiring) had to go. “This is the best-built old house I’ve encountered,” Nathan says, because of the plethora of skilled labor available during the Depression. “This was my Ph.D. house. I knew what to do. I knew it would be our family home.”

The family moved in as work progressed, the children all bedding down in one finished room with fireplace near a functioning bathroom, then splitting up as other rooms were completed.

At this juncture, most renovationists — as opposed to restorationists — start moving walls. Not the Spearings, who, with minor exceptions, left both footprint and floorplan intact. This means a ground floor guest bedroom historically called “granny’s room” assuming an elder could not manage stairs; smallish bath and powder rooms; and a hall running the length of the longitudinal layout angling into a servants’ wing and three-car garage with chauffeur’s apartment.

These wings, some distance from the master suite and with modest rooms intended for the help, make ideal quarters for older children. Two of the Spearing boys share a room there; the other three children have singles.

But where are the toys, the dolls, the balls and games? In that long attic rec room with a TV where the children can watch videos and movies if they’re stuck inside.

“Our kids play and ride bikes outside,” Nathan says.

***

The Spearings’ strongest preservation statement remains the kitchen. In the luxury home market where dream kitchens clinch sales, this one hums retro. Not only have the tall carpenter-made glass-front cabinets remained intact, they have been repainted the eerie pale green of yesteryear, when the cook ruled the kitchen, not the chatelaine. Countertops were replaced but the porcelain sink and double drainboards stretching 10 feet survive. This layout forced the dishwasher into an elongated butler’s pantry which has another sink, intended perhaps for flower arranging.

Concession was made for a tea-coffee prep area, a European six-burner gas range and a tall refrigerator in sleek brushed metal.

“I thought an island would be convenient but . . . ” Jacqueline says. Instead, daytime meals are eaten at a free-standing modern table and chairs while the family gathers nightly in the dining room, at a 12-foot table with rough-hewn top and massive turned legs. The former servants’ dining room now serves as a pantry and utility space.

Furniture throughout is sparse but functional, including frigate-proportioned beds. A few pieces and artwork come from Jacqueline’s mother, but heirlooms aren’t plentiful in large families.

***

The couple’s palette veers from traditional pastels, substituting a variety of greens — from money-hued to swamp to lemon-lime — using a British paint with dense pigment and a velvety matte finish. Charcoal grey appears, even a daring mauve bedroom adjacent to a purple bathroom. Nathan learned that dark colors suit larger rooms, as well as highlighting trim. Window treatments are few, partly because the Spearings love natural light, also because the children discovered swinging on the drapes. Area rugs splash multi-colors and abstract designs over stained wood. Nathan built a wall of bookcases in the living room where the top shelf houses Jacqueline’s collection of globes.

The overall effect: vast, from the grand piano filling a bowed window in a sunroom large enough for a recital to two acres of enchanted forest where siblings play, instead of watching TV; uncluttered; bright. Lansmyr is playbook for opposing lifestyles: first opulent, maintained by servants; now a family-oriented retreat from worldly distractions.

“When I left the military we could have moved anywhere,” Nathan says, “but we love this community. Most important, we have a lot of people here that we love in the military and church communities. This is where we want to put down roots.”

Or, as his motto proclaims: “Still livin’ the dream.”  PS

Poem

Greyhound

Every year for one summer week we fled city concrete,

our skinned and scarred bony legs climbing steel bus steps.

Our mother shaking her head at the zoomorphic use

of a racing dog she believed was grossly falsified, sighing:

Why they would put a fast dog on this slow-ass bus is beyond me!

The driver collecting tickets always shook his head back,

not for the misleading hound, but the long night ahead —

a sundown that commenced crying fights, the lap feast

of cold fried chicken and bread slices, head balancing acts

of sleep upright. All to get down home, a foothill

in the blue ridge mountains where we stepped off

into a morning and the arms of our grandmother

who’d say: My you’ve grown. How was the ride? Who’d boast

she rode the mule-pulled tractor to the schoolhouse in snow.

— Crystal Simone Smith

(From the book All the Songs We Sing, celebrating the 25th Anniversary of the Carolina African American Writers’ Collective published by the Blair/Carolina Wren Press.)

Foods We Love

Treat yourself all year

By Jenna Biter   •   Photographs by John Gessner

We’re ready for the traditional lineup of Valentine’s Day confections. Bring on the chocolate-covered strawberries, red and pink M&M’s, conversation hearts and all of the other holiday sweets in between. (To be totally honest, we even use the lover’s day as cover to sneak desserts that have no holiday repute . . . say, two scoops of vanilla with sprinkles.)

But for the supposed holiday of love, Valentine’s Day can be quite the Scrooge with its adoration. Trust us, we’re not knocking desserts, but other meals have merit, too. Here are a few “not desserts” that deserve their holiday due, six breakfast-through-dinner favorites being served up year-round that might just give Valentine’s Day desserts a run for their date-night money.

These belong high on the list of “you just gotta try this.” It’s not that these dishes have anything to do with Feb. 14, it’s just because it’s food we’re in love with 12 months of the year. Of course, we’ll still be saving room.

Vietnamese Pho

Steve’s TK Pizza & Hot Subs

A pizza shop isn’t the first place we’d go to look for Vietnamese cuisine, but it should be. “With the pho, we didn’t have it around here,” says James Lam, co-owner with his wife, Keena, of Steve’s TK Pizza & Hot Subs. Pho is a traditional Vietnamese soup that combines a protein, rice noodles, onions, seasoned broth and toppings like Thai basil, cilantro, bean sprouts and lime wedge. “It was a drive for us to go to Raleigh and back to even get it,” he says. So, the couple channeled their Vietnamese heritage and started cooking up pho at Steve’s. The recipe came from Jame’s brother Ti Lu. And it’s definitely been worth it for us. The restaurant offers pho ga, which is chicken; and pho bo, which is beef, in a regular or super-sized bowl.

Train Wreck

Mason’s Restaurant & Grocery

“The dish is one of our homemade split buttermilk biscuits, deep-fried chicken thighs in a special breading that we put together. We top it with some cheddar cheese, pecan-smoked bacon, over-easy egg, and we put our homemade sausage gravy on top,” says Brian Hainley, chef and co-owner, with his wife, Alison, of Mason’s Restaurant & Grocery. And if you’re looking for an extra kick to help sweat out that hangover, get it Nashville hot. “It’s just a little bit of everything; it’s messy,” Hainley says with a laugh. Hence the name Train Wreck. “I’ve seen one person try to pick it up and eat it, and you can’t do that. It’s a knife and fork thing for sure.”

Blueberry Pancakes

Pinehurst Track Restaurant

“We do plain, we do chocolate chip now as well, but everybody loves that blueberry pancake,” says Tracy Cormier, owner of the Pinehurst Track Restaurant. She and her late husband, harness racer Real “Coco” Cormier, bought the restaurant almost 25 years ago and have since earned well-deserved accolades for their blueberry pancakes, even making a cameo appearance on The Golf Channel. “We get the mix, but my husband started it . . . and doctored it up. I can’t tell you the recipe. It’s a secret,” says Cormier. “I think it’s special also because it’s fresh blueberries.” But we’re convinced it’s because of the people. Get a short stack, full stack or even ask for a single — Tracy’s brother and restaurant manager Glenn Hartman will whip it up.

Bell Burger

In-the-Rough Lounge

Sometimes all you need is a good burger, especially after 18 holes. Lucky for you, Pine Needles Lodge & Golf Club has been serving up the Bell Burger for years at their 19th hole, the In-the-Rough Lounge. “It’s something that’s been a staple here,” says Graham Gilmore, the manager of the lounge. It’s a classic — a fresh 8-ounce patty topped with American cheese, applewood-smoked bacon, shaved lettuce and tomato, sandwiched by a toasted brioche bun that’s branded with the Pine Needles logo. “Anything to do with Mrs. Bell was always the biggest and the best, so that’s what we wanted to do with the burger,” says Gilmore of the staple’s namesake, World Golf Hall of Famer Peggy Kirk Bell. “It goes with the whole motif here; everything is about Bell and golf.”

BBQ Sundae

The Pik N Pig

There’s no ice cream in the Pik N Pig’s BBQ sundae. “It’s barbecue, baked beans, cole slaw, and we top it off with two hush puppies here in the restaurant,” says Jerad Wilson, the restaurant’s manager. The trifle-style dish is layered into a mason jar that’s nested in a bowl, so you can dump out the goods and mix them all together. “The idea came from the fair,” Wilson explains. “When we got into the state fair, it was, ‘What can we make that’s easy for people to walk around with and still eat?’ And that’s when we put everything into a cup. At the fair, it comes in a to-go cup with a spork, and people just go to town.”

“Taterman” Tots

The Deuce

“It’s kind of a fan favorite as far as the appetizers go,” says Francesca Carter, manager of The Deuce — the 19th hole at historic Pinehurst No. 2. She’s talking about the restaurant’s famed “Taterman” Tots. This shareable dish features a basket of golden-brown tater tots garnished with scallions and served with a trio of house-made dipping sauces: chipotle sour cream, Pepper Jack cheese and, of course, a classic ketchup. But the bacon, broken into halves and nestled in behind the tots, is the real MVP. “That’s what people order this for,” Carter says. “They will tell us, ‘Oh yeah, we came here and got this just for the pecan-crusted maple bacon.”

Jenna Biter is a writer, entrepreneur and military wife in the Sandhills. She can be reached at jenna.biter@gmail.com.

More Foods We Love

Because we couldn’t decide on just six drool-worthy dishes, here are a few more to tantalize your taste buds.

The Leadmine — Boozy Hot Chocolate (on the cover). Real chocolate, real milk, real marshmallow and real bourbon

The Bell Tree Tavern — Hand-breaded fried dill pickle chips, a Southern staple.

Fish Co. — Ramen bowls. The full panoply of Char Siu pork, egg, spinach, mushroom, nori or scallion.

Jaya’s Indian Cuisine — Coconut Chicken Curry. Little rice, little naan, little raita. Little wonder.

Granny’s Donuts — The Tarheel. But of course. The state donut.

Betsy’s Crêpes — The Samurai. Warrior-class breakfast, salmon and rice for the sushi lover in you.

Southern Angel Donut Co. — Apple fritter. They can’t make enough.

Vito’s Restaurant — Traditional white pizza. Virgin olive oil, fresh garlic, mozzarella, add a little spinach. Bellissima.

Sunrise Theater — Popcorn with real butter and real movies, one day soon.

The House of Fish Seafood Restaurant — Stuffed salmon. Seafood in the center, asparagus on the side.

Li’l Dino — French fries. How to push a sub over the edge.

Buggy Town — French Toast Paninis. Raspberry cream cheese or bacon, egg and cheese. Slap on the maple butter.

Lynnette’s Bakery — Guava and Cheese Pastelitos. Puff pastry, topped with glazed honey. Oh, my.

Elliott’s on Linden — Sticky Toffee Dessert. Classic English dessert with vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce and dried figs. You don’t need a passport.

Ashten’s Restaurant — Reuben Egg Rolls. Stuffed with corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese and caper remoulade. Grab them if you can.

The Bakehouse — Barcelona Burger. It’s a beef, spinach and onion mixture topped with American-Swiss cheese and garlic sauce on a fresh-baked bun.

Drum & Quill — Blackened Mahi tacos with superfood avocado slaw and lime. Olé.

Grinders and Gravy — Meatball Parmesan grinder with gravy and mozzarella. A legend already.

The Ice Cream Parlor Restaurant — Homemade chicken salad, in a wrap or on whole wheat, white or rye.

SoPies Pizza — Chicken Parm Hot New York Hero. Italian-breaded chicken breast topped with marinara sauce, mozzarella and Romano cheese.

Southern Whey — Pimento cheese. Enough said.

Sweet Basil — Tomato fennel soup. If it’s on the menu, it’s your lucky day.

Wedgie’s — The Pinky. A flatbread sandwich of roast beef, turkey, ham, Pink’s peppers, mozzarella, LTO&M.

Chef Warren’s — Yoga waffle. You can’t get bent out of shape with this Belgian waffle, biscoff, vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.

Beefeaters — French Silk Pie. Whipped rich chocolate mousse on a flaky pie crust with a creamy whipped topping and a chocolate drizzle on top. Uh-huh.

Southern Prime Steakhouse — Lobster Rangoons. Wantons with scallions and sweet chili garlic sauce.

Ironwood Cafe — Chicken and waffles. Corn flake breaded tenders with malted red velvet waffles.

Sly Fox Pub — Fish and chips with mushy peas. A pub staple.

Dugan’s Pub — Pub soup. Beef, bacon, cheddar cheese, onions, and on and on. Hot soup for a cold day.

Chapman’s Food and Spirits — Turkey Lurkey. Oven roasted turkey, dill Havarti, spinach, tomato, onion, herb mayo, cranberry and mango chutney on sunflower bread.

Berri Bowlful — Tart of Recovery Smoothie. Organic acai, organic tart cherry, banana and blueberries.

Nature’s Own — Verlasso Salmon Cake. Homemade salmon cake, tzatziki, paprika aioli.

Wolcott’s — Lobster bisque. Just like Maine.

Table on the Green — Chicken Pad Thai. Sautéed rice noodles with bean curd, ground peanuts, scallions, egg and fresh bean sprouts.

Midland Bistro — Lily’s Lobster Roll. Fresh Maine lobster, celery, green onion and tarragon aioli mayo on a Hawaiian sweet roll.