Space Well Spent

Blinkbonnie is larger than life

By Deborah Salomon

Photographs by John Gessner

Styling by Matt Hollyfield

   

Bigger-than-big. Practically enormous. This residence is proportioned for an era of grandeur.

Scarlett would recognize the Tara-esque columns, while the European antiques gleam as though polished by Mr. Carson, the butler on Downton Abbey, who might appreciate the triple-sized butler’s pantry, too. Remove the runner and its length suits bowling. A grandfather clock reaches for the ceiling. The pool and pool house/sauna would eclipse those of most hotels. There are five bedrooms, six bathrooms, three home offices, a basement of ballroom dimensions, multiple gardens, even a fenced dog park for mini goldendoodle Lilly.

Just living there could be an aerobic workout.

Of course Pinehurst Old Town centenarian Blinkbonnie has been updated, enlarged and repurposed by several occupants. An added-on portico may seem incongruous to the Dutch Colonial architecture with gambrel roof, yet the house clings in spirit to an original purpose: genteel, happy times when conversation was an art and money flowed like prohibition whiskey during Pinehurst’s fashionable winter “season.”

But times have changed, as has Blinkbonnie — Gaelic for “a glimpse of beauty.” Its most recent iteration: a refuge where owner Lisa Youngclaus escaped COVID by floating on the pool with her friends or, on a rainy day, dawdling in the 2,000-volume library where books are color-coded, or maybe even having a go at the full-sized billiards table in the finished basement where her son and friends once hung out.

     

The story starts, as do other Pinehurst homestead histories, in the early days of the 20th century. In 1917, Simon Chapin of New York, a major developer of Myrtle Beach, got word of the vacation enclave the Tuftses were building. Liking what he found, he built what is now called While-Away Cottage for his family on Blue Road and this larger estate for his sister, Mary Alice Chapin May, on nearby McCaskill. She wasn’t there long. In 1920 the house, by then owned by Dickenson Bishop, was christened Bishop’s Cottage. Several owners followed, including someone identified as “well-known sporting figure” Jay Hall, and Pinehurst mayor Steve Smith and wife, Becky.

Golf drew Bill and Lisa Youngclaus, both advertising executives living in Chicago, to Pinehurst, where they owned a weekend home at Country Club of North Carolina. After their son was born in 1996, Lisa retired and the family moved to Pinehurst full time.

But the CCNC pied-à-terre wasn’t big enough for gatherings of the blended family. Besides, Lisa and Bill had spent a year in Paris, where she collected antiques on a grand scale, as well as art and assorted museum-quality objets begging a suitable venue. How many houses offer a double-wide foyer, intricate eyebrow moldings, bay windows, high ceilings, interesting wallpapers, chandeliers by Baccarat of Paris, a 30-foot-square living room dominated by a baby grand piano, drums, and an Aubusson tapestry of Pablo Picasso’s painting The Acrobat? The contorted abstract is flanked by contemporary armless sofas and antique French tables. Complementing this Picasso are several look-alikes Lisa found on Bald Head Island and had framed. On the floor, a silk rug from London. On the ceiling, strategically placed recessed lighting.

Yet, amid such splendor, Lisa chose checked gingham drapes hanging from a dowel rod. “I like to mix the old and the new,” she says, which explains a TV den with grasscloth walls, and sectional sofa in rust and sand tones that she calls her winter room. There are surprises, too, like the bathroom with a stained glass window and clawfoot tub, and a sunroom enhanced with blues, wicker and graceful ceiling details.

   

Throughout, a clever architect sited rooms with windows on two, sometimes three sides for maximum all-day light.

“I couldn’t believe it when we first walked around the house. I could see how our furniture fit the spaces. There was a place for everything,” including a giant French poster circa 1888, advertising an art exhibit in Brussels, that dominates the staircase landing.

   

Lisa remodeled the kitchen when they moved in but left the dark wood cabinetry, which she preferred to sterile all-white. She also kept Venetian plaster walls in a creamy hue but refreshed the master suite in blues and white, which continues into an adjoining sun/yoga room, her “serene retreat.”

Lisa is a yoga instructor who has traveled to India to import icons and other merchandise for studio boutiques. In her own home she successfully juxtaposes these pieces with formal European furnishings, a 17th century tapestry and contemporary art. Yet, given copious space and absence of clutter, each piece stands out, ready to tell its story.

     

Time passes, circumstances change. Bill died in 2006. Their son, a musician, is still close by, but Lisa’s step-grandchildren are grown. “When your family changes you make a new family, with friends,” Lisa says, recalling a recent birthday binge given by 15 girlfriends, her sisterhood. “I’ve matured with the house, from babies to kids hanging out in the basement.” To now.

But for Lisa one thing remains constant: “When I get up in the morning and walk down the stairs I think, OMG, look at the arched windows, the doors and everything else. I’m so lucky.”   PS

Poem

Chime

We were birds then

at thirteen, a chime

of wrens chirping,

carbonated goddesses

blowing bubbles,

spilling secrets,

dancing the latest dances,

we did each others’ hair,

practiced kissing,

gossiped (a girl’s

first step toward insight),

we shook the magic eight ball,

could not imagine

a path toward our future —

we only knew we didn’t want

our mothers’ lives,

taking dictation,

cleaning up messes,

hiding tins of money,

we were angels falling,

wingless, trusting

the wind to lift

our bodies of light

far above the silver

water tower,

to let us down kindly

somewhere, anywhere

wild and broad and new.

— Debra Kaufman

Debra Kaufman’s latest collection of poetry is God Shattered.

In the Spirit

Flavor Savors

Infused syrups for myriad libations

By Tony Cross

The holidays are upon us. I know, I’m rolling my eyes, too. Time flies, and whether you’re ready or not, ’tis the season. The struggle is real, and so it begins.

These next two months can be an excuse for having a few more drinks than we normally would (you know who you are), so why not have some fun with it? If you’re playing host to family and friends, or just relaxing at home after being dragged to holiday get-togethers, here are a few syrups you can have ready in your fridge. They mix well with a variety of cocktails (shaken and stirred), and pair quite nicely with non-alcoholic beverages, too.

The syrups aren’t hard to make. The key is using fresh ingredients — sourcing them locally and being organic helps as well — and measuring your specs. Once you have these ready to go, you can interchange them in an arsenal of drinks. Included with each syrup is a cocktail that incorporates the former. Feel free to interchange some of these syrups with different spirits.

 

Syrup:  Ginger and Honey

1 part fresh ginger juice

1 part honey

Combine both ingredients into a blender and turn on high until honey is completely incorporated. I highly recommend sourcing local honey, and organic ginger. A quick note on juicing ginger: If you don’t have a juicer at home, stop by your local health food store or juice shop. Chances are you can buy the ginger there and have it juiced on the spot. Either way, make sure your juice sits in the fridge for a couple of hours before straining it. Ginger juice is very fibrous and you want as much of that fiber as possible to settle at the bottom of your container before using. This is called “racking.” Some might think that organic ginger is a bridge too far but I’ve been working with cold-pressed ginger juice for over five years now and I can attest, organic ginger tastes and looks better. Try it and see. Syrup holds for 2 weeks.

Cocktail:  Penicillin

2 ounces blended Scotch

3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice

3/4 ounce ginger-honey syrup

1/4 ounce Islay Single Malt Scotch Whisky

Candied ginger

In a shaking vessel, combine blended Scotch, lemon juice and ginger-honey syrup. Add ice and shake until vessel is ice cold. Double strain into a rocks glass over ice. Float your 1/4 ounce of Islay Scotch over the cocktail. Garnish with candied ginger. You can also use this syrup with gin and tequila sours.

Syrup:  Brown Sugar/Cinnamon

10 grams cinnamon sticks

1 part brown sugar

1 part cane sugar

1 part water

1 ounce Everclear grain alcohol 151 proof (optional)

Place cinnamon in a blender and blend quickly for 10 seconds. In a small pot, combine brown and cane sugars with water. Place heat on medium and stir until sugar has completely dissolved. Place the syrup in the blender with the cinnamon, and blend once again for another 10 seconds. Let the syrup cool in a container, and then strain out the solids. Refrigerate until ready to use. Syrup holds for one month — or many months if Everclear is used.

Cocktail:  Old Fashioned

2 ounces bourbon

1/4 ounce cinnamon syrup

3 dashes Angostura bitters

Orange peel

Cinnamon stick

In a stirring vessel, combine bourbon, syrup and bitters. Add ice and stir until your cocktail is both cold and water is diluted. Strain into a rocks glass over ice. Express oils from orange peel over your cocktail, dropping peel into the drink with cinnamon stick. You can use this syrup in rum and tequila old fashioneds. It also works well with tequila sours.

Syrup:  Vanilla   (Makes 2 cups)

1 1/4 cups water

1 1/4 cups light brown sugar

1/4 vanilla bean

In a small saucepan, combine the water, sugar and vanilla bean and bring to a simmer over medium-low heat, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Remove from the heat and let stand for 30 minutes. Strain through cheesecloth into an airtight 1-pint glass container. Seal the container and store in the refrigerator for up to one month. This syrup goes well with whiskey sours and vodka sours (add muddled strawberries for the latter).

Non-Alcoholic Cocktail:  Haikara Mugicha

3 ounces charcoal-roasted barley and lapsang souchong tea (recipe below)

1/2 ounce vanilla syrup

3 dashes Angostura bitters

Orange twist

Build the drink in a double rocks glass by adding the tea, syrup and bitters over hand-carved ice. Stir well until chilled. Garnish with an orange twist.

Charcoal-Roasted Barley and  Lapsang Souchong Tea

4 cups water

1/4 cup charcoal-roasted mugicha (or barley tea)

1 1/2 teaspoons loose lapsang souchong tea leaves

Fill a 1-quart container with the water, add the teas, and let steep at room temperature for 30 minutes. Strain through a coffee filter into an airtight 1-quart glass container. Seal the container and store in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. This recipe is courtesy of famed Japanese bartender, Masahiro Urushido’s book, The Japanese Art of the Cocktail. Your ice does not have to be hand-carved unless you feel obliged.  PS

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

Bookshelf

November Books

FICTION

Into the Forest, by Christina Henry, edited by Lindy Ryan

Deep in the dark forest, in a cottage that spins on birds’ legs behind a fence topped with human skulls, lives the Baba Yaga. A guardian of the water of life, she lives with her sisters and takes to the skies in a giant mortar and pestle, creating tempests as she goes. Those who come across the Baba Yaga may find help, or hindrance, or horror. She is wild, she is woman, she is witch — and these are her tales. Edited by Lindy Ryan, this collection brings together the voices of Gwendolyn Kiste, Stephanie M. Wytovich, Mercedes M. Yardley, Monique Snyman, Donna Lynch, Lisa Quigley and R. J. Joseph, with an introduction by Christina Henry.

Flight, by Lynn Steger Strong

It’s Dec. 22, and siblings Henry, Kate and Martin have traveled with their spouses to Henry’s house in upstate New York. This is the first Christmas the siblings are without their mother and the first not at their mother’s Florida house. Over the course of the next three days, old resentments and instabilities arise as the siblings, with a gaggle of children afoot, attempt to perform familiar rituals, while also trying to decide what to do with their mother’s house, their sole inheritance. As tensions rise, the whole group is forced to come together unexpectedly when a local mother and daughter need help.

We Are the Light, by Matthew Quick

Lucas Goodgame lives in Majestic, Pennsylvania, a quaint suburb that has been torn apart by a recent tragedy. Everyone in Majestic sees Lucas as a hero — everyone, that is, except Lucas himself. Insisting that his deceased wife, Darcy, visits him every night in the form of an angel, Lucas spends his time writing letters to his former Jungian analyst, Karl. It is only when Eli, an 18-year-old man the community has ostracized, begins camping out in Lucas’ backyard that an unlikely alliance takes shape, and the two embark on a journey to heal their neighbors and, most importantly, themselves. We Are the Light is an unforgettable novel about the quicksand of grief and the daily miracle of love from the bestselling author of The Silver Linings.

Foster, by Claire Keegan

It is a hot summer in rural Ireland. A child is taken by her father to live with relatives on a farm, not knowing when or if she will be brought home again. In the Kinsellas’ house, she finds an affection and warmth she has not known and slowly, in their care, begins to blossom. But there is something unspoken in this new household — where everything is so well tended to — and this summer must soon come to an end. Winner of the prestigious Davy Byrnes Award, this internationally bestselling contemporary classic is available for the first time in the U.S. in a full, stand-alone edition.

 

NONFICTION

Friends, Lovers and The Big Terrible Thing: A Memoir, by Matthew Perry

The star of Friends takes us behind the scenes of the hit sitcom and his struggles with addiction in this candid, funny and revelatory memoir that delivers a powerful message of hope and persistence. “Hi, my name is Matthew, although you may know me by another name. My friends call me Matty. And I should be dead.” So begins the riveting story that takes us along on his journey from childhood ambition to fame to addiction and recovery in the aftermath of a life-threatening health scare. Before the frequent hospital visits and stints in rehab, there was 5-year-old Matthew, who traveled from Montreal to Los Angeles, shuffling between his separated parents; 14-year-old Matthew, who was a nationally ranked tennis star in Canada; 24-year-old Matthew, who nabbed a coveted role as a lead cast member on the talked-about pilot then called Friends Like Us . . . and so much more. Perry lays bare the fractured family that raised him (and also left him to his own devices), the desire for recognition that drove him to fame, and the void inside him that could not be filled even by his greatest dreams coming true. But he also details the peace he’s found in sobriety and how he feels about the ubiquity of Friends, sharing stories about his castmates and other stars he met along the way. Unflinchingly honest, moving and uproariously funny, this is the book fans have been waiting for.

 

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

Pookie’s Thanksgiving, by Sandra Boynton

Little Pookie loves his mama and his family, but he especially loves pie! This fun celebration of food and family is the perfect Thanksgiving book for little ones. (Ages birth-3.)

How It’s Made: The Creation of Everyday Items, by Thomas Gerencer

From airplanes to basketballs to gummy vitamins, find out how they’re made in this fun tell-all title that’s perfect for any inquisitive budding scientist. (Ages 7-12.)

Terry’s Crew, by Terry Crews and Cory Thomas

Terry’s crew at his new school may not look like the typical friend group but, together, they can do anything they set their minds to! With themes of respect, hard work, school success and commitment to family and friends, this graphic novel is sure to be a hit. Available on Nov. 8. (Ages 9-12.)

Outside Nowhere, by Adam Borba

Parker Kelbrook’s father sends him halfway across the country to work on a farm alongside five other kids who find him less than charming. As Parker learns to roll up his sleeves and keep his head down, strange things start happening. After he awakens one morning to find a 1,700-pound dairy cow on the roof of a barn, he suspects that something magical and mysterious is growing in the farm’s fields. (Ages 10-13.)  PS

Compiled by Kimberly Daniels Taws and Angie Tally.

Golftown Journal

It’s a Beautiful Day

Hot or cold, rain or shine

By Lee Pace

At the opposite end of the phone line, there is flesh and blood. There is a real person — not a computer navigated by a series of keyboard punches.

It’s a beautiful day in Pinehurst.

Ring the main number at The Carolina Hotel and Pinehurst Resort since the mid-1980s and you have found someone like Dib Taylor, Gloria Spencer, Art Roper or one of their fellow phone operators. Dial out to Bandon Dunes or Pebble Beach and you get a recording inviting you to hack your way through the maze.

A Pinehurst member might be calling from McKenzie Road and know for a fact it’s raining cats and dogs, but since the 1980s they would get the “beautiful day” greeting followed by the phone operator’s first name.

“I love to say it,” Dib Taylor once said. “Does it show? I have fun with it. People will tease me. Rain or shine, to me it’s always beautiful in Pinehurst. But if people ask, I’ll tell them the truth.”

“People say I make their day, pump them up a little bit,” added Spencer, who worked the resort phone lines from 1985 through her retirement about a decade ago. “It makes me feel good to say it. Rain or snow, it doesn’t matter, people call and say, ‘I called just to hear you say that.’ It’s a personal touch that’s important.”

Pat Corso was a hotel executive with Club Corporation of America when he was dispatched to Pinehurst in 1987 to run the resort and club. Phone operators at a resort on the Florida Panhandle that was in Corso’s regional domain answered with, “It’s a beautiful day at Sandestin,” and Corso thought that would work well at Pinehurst, too. Ever since, the Pinehurst staff has worked the phones 24/7 and presented a subliminal message to callers that Pinehurst is a better place than any they might be calling from.

“Pinehurst to me means serenity, it’s peace, it’s the people,” Spencer said. “When I first came to work here, I thought I was going on a picnic, it’s such a place of beauty. Pinehurst is such a peaceful, calming place.”

Another signature greeting of Pinehurst is the 300 yards of Carolina Vista, the lane that runs from Highway 2 north to The Carolina Hotel. The stately white building sits grandly in the distance with its copper roof and signature cupola, framed by a canopy of hollies and pines and hundreds of flowers nestled along the street. Travelers often have driven from distant parts or ridden for 90 minutes from the airport in Raleigh and are taken aback as they pass from the here-and-now into antique nirvana.

Jack Kennally worked on the transportation staff at Pinehurst for more than a decade and sometimes heard first-time visitors grouse about the long drive from Raleigh-Durham International.

“They ask, ‘Why’d they build it so far from the airport?’” said Kennally, who then told them Pinehurst was built before the airport. That gives them some perspective and puts them in the proper frame of mind when his shuttle turned off the round-about and wound its way up the Vista.

“They love the architecture of the houses along the lane,” Kennally said. “They say, ‘Oh, it’s lovely.’ They imagine what it looked like back in the ’30s, that kind of thing. The big dome, the copper cupola, are very striking. The drive up the Vista sets a nice tone for the visit.”

During his tenure as Carolina Hotel general manager from 2004-2020, Scott Brewton would drive out of his way each day going to work — eschewing a more direct route into the employee parking lot in back of the hotel in favor of entering via Highway 2 and Carolina Vista and passing by the old world grandeur of Ailsa House, Beacon House, Heartpine House and Little House.

“You swing off the traffic circle and there’s a gentle rise, and it’s like the hotel comes out of the ground,” Brewton said. “There are flowers on your left and right, people walking dogs or carrying tennis rackets. It’s a nice visual to start every day.”

May Wood, a golfer at Vanderbilt University in 2002 and the winner that year of the Women’s North and South Amateur, remembered her first drive along Carolina Vista.

“It was electrifying,” she said. “I almost teared up the first time I saw it. It was the most beautiful place I’d ever been.”

The “beautiful day” theme carries over from the hotel into the village of Pinehurst and, of course, onto the five golf courses emanating from the main clubhouse. Kaye Pierson has worked part time on the Pinehurst golf course maintenance crew since 2008 and, as the quality of cellphone cameras improved, began looking for good images as she mowed grass on the golf courses at dawn each morning. One morning in January 2013, she came to work and told the guys in the maintenance shop, “Watch the sky show this morning.”

She snapped a photo of the Putter Boy statue, the practice putting green, the Padgett Learning Center building and the red, gold and blue palette of the sky in the distance, all of it accented with the early morning mist hanging low to the ground. Nine years later, she captured a shot on the third green of No. 2 looking east along the fifth hole, the sky in a similar dazzling arrangement. Both images were dispensed worldwide via Pinehurst Resort’s social media channels and now are available on prints in gift shops around the resort.

“It’s just magical at that hour,” she says. “For anyone who works on a golf course early in the morning, that’s it. That’s why we’re out there. We are fortunate to be on the course that time of day to see the quiet and the mist and how it changes. Everything just kind of stops for a few seconds and you realize how lucky you are.”

In the village there are no right angles in the roads and no large signs on the shops and you half expect to see Beaver Cleaver or Barney Fife walking down the sidewalk. James Tufts’ New England roots dominate the architecture — the arched doorways, the Colonial Revival façades, the sharply pitched roofs and the gables, the cedar and redwood trim, the white picket fences, the cabins built of juniper logs, the original heart pine columns of the Casino building (now a real-estate agent’s office). Pinehurst has no drive-up windows, but one bank has a “Walk-Up Garden.” And then there are the colors, the two best being the forest green throughout the village and the sepia on the old photographs preserving the history — from the halls of the Carolina Hotel to the file books in the Tufts Archives.

“Each day you spend in Pinehurst, you escape the real world,” said clothier Chris Dalrymple, who owns Gentleman’s Corner. “You mark it off as a day you succeeded.”

Scott Straight has visited Pinehurst frequently from his home in French Lick, Indiana, sometimes as a guest of the gathering hosted each fall by Fluor Corporation and others on a spring golf outing with friends and family. When he first came in the early 2000s, cellular service was spotty in the Sandhills.

“It’s like going back in time, back to a much simpler time,” Straight said. “I couldn’t believe it when I first visited. Here I was in this little village, this golf resort, with no cell service, no email, totally removed from the world.”

He smiled, noting the evolution of technology.

“Unfortunately, somebody went and put a cell tower nearby,” he said.

Pinehurst isn’t immune from technological innovation, but it’s still old school with a voice reminding you it’s in a beautiful world of its own.  PS

Lee Pace’s first book about Pinehurst and its history, Pinehurst Stories—A Celebration of Great Golf and Good Times, was published 30 years ago.

Hometown

Table for One

Thanksgiving on the road less traveled

By Bill Fields

By the fall of 1976, an honest appraisal of my golf game would have resembled that of the used cars my father bought when money was tight and he needed transportation: runs rough, could blow a tire at any time, uncertain future. I was 17 years old, a high school senior. Despite many hours spent playing and practicing through my teens, I was still a handful of strokes from being a scratch golfer. Only at the smallest of colleges would I have a prayer of making the team.

But my enthusiasm hadn’t evaporated, which is why I asked my parents if I could enter the George Holliday Memorial Junior Tournament held in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, over Thanksgiving weekend. I would make the 130-mile drive by myself in the family Fairlane, spend two nights at the Howard Johnson’s on North Kings Highway, distinguish myself with a good performance in the boys 16-17 age group, and take some confidence into my final spring of prep golf at Pinecrest High School.

I was a responsible kid, having only an occasional beer when Tuesday teen night at the Castle of Dreams was over. Mom and Dad knew the only damage I might cause in a motel room was scuffing a wall on a practice swing. They said, “Yes.”

Before dawn on Thanksgiving morning, I left Southern Pines for a tune-up round at the tournament site, Myrtle Beach National Golf Club. I had a couple of packs of Nabs on the car’s bench seat and a road map, but having made the ride 15 to 20 times, usually on family beach trips, I knew the route.

After making it to the course, I registered and went out for 18 holes, completing a foursome with boys from Virginia and South Carolina. We were among nearly 200 entrants in the event, played since the early 1970s to honor a Wofford College golfer, George Judson Holliday III of Galivants Ferry, who perished in a 1967 car crash.

By 4 p.m., I had checked into the motel on what was a quiet main drag and called home collect to let my parents know I was settled in. Traveling with my shag bag like pros of yesteryear, I hit some wedge shots on a nearby field. Later, after wiping my clubs clean, I walked into the Howard Johnson’s restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner. Given that there were only about a dozen people dining, getting a seat wasn’t a problem.

The excitement of the trip, of my grown-up adventure, gave way to a different emotion after sliding into the booth and watching the waitress remove the other place setting. I got lonesome thinking of my parents at the table back home and the familiar foods — turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, green beans, apple rings — they were eating. I was the only solo diner aside from an elderly man drinking coffee at the counter. 

I contemplated ordering a hamburger and French fries but decided I had to get turkey and all the trwimmings, even if it wasn’t going to taste like my mother’s cooking. I ate most of my turkey and the accompanying sides, eschewed one of HoJo’s 28 flavors for a slice of pecan pie, and paid my bill. Once I was back in my room, I chained the door and got a water glass off the bathroom vanity to use as a putting cup. Three-footers, 6-footers, 10-footers — for an hour I tried to groove my stroke. I wished my “make” percentage was higher, but at least I was faring better than John-Boy, who got injured in a sawmill accident during a special Thanksgiving episode of The Waltons.

A poor start Friday morning — bogeys on the first three holes — had me feeling like I’d been hit in the head, and I wasn’t able to reverse the mojo. Far from shooting a score that might have earned an instant’s worth of interest from any of the college golf coaches in attendance, I was in the mid-80s. Saturday’s score was only marginally better. Joey Sadowski of Hickory, North Carolina, finished at one-over-par 145 to beat Mike Cook of Cartersville, Georgia, by a single stroke. Each of them would go on to play collegiately at UNC and the University of Georgia, respectively; I would be in a golf physical education class at Chapel Hill, hitting wiffle balls off a door mat in Woollen Gym. 

I put my clubs in the trunk and pointed my Ford toward home. In 2 1/2 hours there would be leftovers.  PS

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

Focus on Food

Aw, Shucks!

Oysters for breakfast

Story and Photographs by Rose Shewey

If you think oysters are for people in pink polo shirts with designer haircuts, chances are you have not attended an oyster roast in the South. Not only were these mollusks considered poor man’s food at varying times throughout history, oyster roasts have been a celebrated low country tradition in many Southern states for folks of all walks of life.

Which begs the question: Raw or cooked? How do you prefer your oysters? According to M.F.K. Fisher, one of the original food writers of our time, oyster-eaters can be divided into three camps: There are the oyster enthusiasts who will eat oysters any which way as long as mollusks are on the menu; there are the purists who will eat oysters raw and raw only; and lastly, there are those who will eat oysters cooked and no other way.

As for me, I like my bivalves raw as much as I like them cooked but will happily pass on oysters altogether if it’s summertime. As far as I am concerned, oysters are classic cold-weather fare even though the old adage that warns against eating oysters in months without an “r” no longer holds true. Despite good arguments that support safe and tasty oyster feasts year-round, I stand with tradition on this one.

“Oysters are the usual opening to a winter breakfast . . . indeed they are indispensable,” wrote Grimod de la Reynière in the Almanach des Gourmands in 1803. OK, oysters for breakfast might be pushing it a little, but I believe Reynière had it right nonetheless.

Consider this: Oysters are incredibly nutritious with unbelievable amounts of zinc — a trace mineral that will help your body fend off cold season maladies. Winter really does seem to be the perfect time to indulge in oysters.

As a “northern light” who grew up on the same latitude as Montreal, Canada (just a few thousand miles to the east), I cannot in good conscience say that North Carolina is cold during the month of November. However, having attended several Thanksgiving oyster roasts, I am definitely in favor of busting out the old oyster knife and doing some shucking this time of year. Besides, millions of French cannot be wrong — France boasts record sales of fresh oysters from late fall until the new year, every year. So, enjoy plump, briny and succulent oysters whenever you want, but celebrate them during the chilly holiday season.

Raw Oysters with Orange Fig Mignonette      (Makes 4-6 appetizers)

1/4 cup freshly squeezed orange juice

1/4 cup red wine vinegar

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon ground pepper

2-3 fresh, ripe figs, peeled and minced

2 shallots, minced

2 teaspoon minced chives

1 teaspoon dried red chili flakes

24 freshly shucked oysters

Add orange juice, vinegar, salt and pepper in a small bowl and whisk to combine. Stir in figs, shallots, chives and chili flakes, and drizzle mignonette over oysters.   PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website at suessholz.com.

Southwords

Nekked Fighting

The ultimate element of surprise

By Beth MacDonald

Occasionally, I find myself in places where strange things happen so frequently no one bats a silky, fake eyelash at them. New York City, for example. I have never been surprised to see a citizen dressed as Superman directing traffic with ping-pong paddles. Washington, D.C., it seems, isn’t far behind.

I was in D.C. recently to visit some friends and do some work. Mason, my husband, was with me. He can’t hear well, especially when I am near him and ask him to do something. This very specific type of hearing loss is often diagnosed as “Mixed Marital Hearing Loss, Unspecified,” which means he can’t hear requests, plans, demands or the doorbell.

As with most hotel rooms that aren’t presidential suites, the bathroom is directly by the entrance door. It was 9 o’clock in the morning. The Do Not Disturb sign was hanging on the doorknob. I was showering and Mason was on the other side of the room, behind a partition that served as a wall/coffee bar. I knew he was there because he was singing. His voice is deep and buttery, so I usually enjoy his warbling; though given his hearing condition, they could probably hear him in Raleigh.

As I exited the shower, I heard the hotel room door click open. Knowing Mason was oblivious on the other side of the room, I braced myself for it. Nekked fighting. Combat Nu.

Because everything in my life is connected to some eccentric misadventure somewhere else, this one began in Arkansas, sort of. Years ago I had a boss who was from there. He was short, probably because the mosquitoes ate half of him, and his Southern drawl was so thick it could make biscuits. He started every workday with wise advice as he passed my office. One day it was this: “Nekked fighting! You’ll win!” I furrowed my brow and asked what on this glorious green Earth he was talking about. At the time it never occurred to me that this could actually come in handy.

“Think about it,” he stopped, very serious. “Someone comes at ya ready to fight. Git nekked. Then, when they stare at ya, naked and ugly, flabby and weird lookin’, you attack! You have the element of surprise. Use it to your advantage and you win!” With that, he and his cup of coffee moved on.

I kept that little nugget of wisdom in the back of my cap until that hotel door clicked open.

This is it, I thought to myself. This is the day I would become the champion of Combat Nu. It all happened in slow motion, like in The Matrix. Someone was breaking in. I turned toward the door, dripping, naked and weird looking. I came face-to-face with the danger, ready to fight. The blood-curdling scream that came out of the maid as she fled down the hallway convinced me I had won. But I wondered, is it two falls out of three? Am I a black belt, to be feared and respected?

I put on some clothes and went downstairs to inquire at the front desk if they had a moment to hear my testimony about naked fighting. The staff was so unmoved by my experience it was as if this was a common occurrence. Their only response was, “I’m sure she knocked, you just didn’t hear it.”

At that moment, I started to cry in the lobby of a lovely hotel in downtown D.C. while trying to convince the front desk staff that Combat Nu is not a matter to be engaged in lightly. They seemed blissfully unaware of the true severity of the situation.

Mason finally either got to the end of his song or he realized I was missing and came downstairs looking for me. He’s all too aware that I am a living, breathing, walking catastrophe with a certain je ne sais quoi. He put a pair of sunglasses on me, stood me against a wall, said, “Do not move.”

Then he headed over to the Starbucks in the lobby to get me a double caramel macchiato and probably a set of ping-pong paddles.  PS

Beth MacDonald is a Southern Pines suburban misadventurer, author and Combat Nu black belt.

Caught In A Trap

Agatha Christie’s classic turns 70

By Jim Moriarty  •  Illustration by Miranda Glyder

The world’s longest-running play, written by the world’s most successful female playwright, who also happens to be the world’s bestselling novelist, will celebrate — at least in part — its 70th anniversary on the Owens Auditorium stage of the Bradshaw Performing Arts Center. Dame Agatha Christie’s classic, The Mousetrap, premiered in London’s West End on Nov. 25, 1952. Its BPAC performances on Nov. 17-20 will also serve as an anniversary celebration for the Judson Theatre Company as it closes out its 10th season of bringing live, professional theater to the Sandhills.

“Judson Theatre Company was selected to be one of the theater companies all over the world given the rights to produce a 70th anniversary production of The Mousetrap,” says Morgan Sills, Judson’s co-founder, executive producer and a Sandhills native who assumed the role of BPAC’s executive director last March. “I love it. It will be our third Agatha Christie after And Then There Were None and Witness for the Prosecution, each of which broke our box office record at the time.”

It also marks the first time one of Judson Theatre Company’s previous headliners will return. Alison Arngrim, best known for her character Nellie Oleson on the long-running television series Little House on the Prairie, was in Judson’s production of And Then There Were None five years ago. She’s the author of the autobiographical book Confessions of a Prairie Bitch: How I Survived Nellie Oleson and Learned to Love Being Hated, which became a one-woman show.

“I get this text from Morgan, just a heads up: ‘I’m on the phone with your agent. You wouldn’t want to come and act in an Agatha Christie again, would you?’ And I’m like, ‘Which one?’ It’s Mousetrap,” says Arngrim, whose character in the play is Mrs. Boyle. “I’m a sucker for a villain role and I’m like, wait, isn’t this the really mean, terrible, remorseless English woman who dies at the end of Act I? I enjoy mean, cruel and remorseless older English ladies who die in Act I. I’m totally there. I love Agatha Christie and I love Judson Theatre. I had an absolute blast the last time I did it.”

After a half-dozen out-of-town shakedown cruises that started at Theatre Royal in Nottingham in October of ’52, The Mousetrap — which began as a radio play that morphed into a short story that evolved into a stage play — has run continuously in London’s West End since it premiered there, with the exception of a brief shutdown from March 2020 to May 2021 caused by the COVID-19 pandemic.

Set in the great hall of Monkswell Manor, “this collection of characters from different backgrounds gets trapped in a snowstorm,” says Sills. “There’s been a murder and you find out whodunnit. It’s got a classic Christie plot and a surprising resolution. I’ve been looking forward to doing it for a while and when the anniversary came up, we knew this was the year to do it.”

By tradition, at the end of the play, the audience is asked not to reveal the killer’s identity to anyone outside the theater to avoid spoiling the surprise for future audiences. That the play has become a London tourist and theater-going staple was a surprise to even Christie herself, who imagined it might enjoy as much as an eight-month run. In 2011, a telegram sent in 1957 from playwright Noël Coward to Christie was discovered in a piece of furniture purchased from the Christie estate. It said, “Dear Agatha Christie. Much as it pains me I really must congratulate you on The Mousetrap breaking the long run record. All My Good Wishes. Noel Coward.”

While a 10-year anniversary can seem insignificant stacked up against the 70-year history of a theatrical institution like Mousetrap, Judson Theatre’s decade of success, including as it does the years when all of Broadway was shut down by the pandemic, is impressive in its own right. Ten years ago Joyce DeWitt starred in Judson’s first production, with the late Tab Hunter. “Love Letters ended up being one of the happiest experiences of my life, doing that play with Tab,” DeWitt says. “He is one of the most underrated actors in the history of Hollywood. He was so good in that role, so powerful, so present, so simple and so nakedly honest that I just fell inside what he was doing.”

After 10 seasons, the number of classic plays and the actors who brought them to life is too long to list. A good sign. “There’s been so much joy,” says Sills, who co-founded Judson with artistic director Daniel Haley. “So many of the stars we’ve had have been wonderful on the stage — because they’re not hired for their celebrity, they’re hired for their talent — but they’ve been wonderful off stage, too. To see our students and interns interact with them, the way the legacy of theater is passed on by working with them, has been beautiful.”

Involvement with the community has been at the heart of Judson’s mission. “Daniel and I are especially proud of the education program,” says Sills. “The Mousetrap will be part of that. The students get a copy of the book. We have a study guide written. They attend the show. We pay for transportation, their ticket, and substitute teachers. They get a field trip and a one-of-a-kind experience.” Combined, there will be something in the neighborhood of 600 students attending from North Moore, Union Pines and Pinecrest high schools.

“I’m grateful that we’ve managed,” says Sills of their first decade. “It’s always been challenging but the challenges change and the joys of doing it change. There hadn’t been true professional theater here in such a long time. The inspiration came from what they used to do in Pinehurst’s Theater Building with stars and plays, everything.”

But it wouldn’t have been possible without Sills’ Sandhills upbringing and connections. “It’s very much to do with Morgan being from there,” says Arngrim. “It’s hard to do any project from a charity to a theater to anything in any community where people think it just blew in from outside and it’s not part of ‘our’ community. If it was just someone coming from New York into Pinehurst, North Carolina and saying, ‘Hey, I’m going to do theater here’ it might not catch on the way that it did.”

And, having worked in theater in nearly every capacity known to man doesn’t hurt. “It really comes down to the fact that Morgan’s just a really fine theater manager,” says DeWitt. “He not only knows and understands the theater but he loves it, so his passion matches his talent. What he and Daniel have done there, it’s really kind of beautiful.”  PS

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

PinePitch

Jealousy, Gambling and Death — What’s Not to Like?

Tragic love takes the stage in high-def at the Sunrise Theater, 250 N.W. Broad St., Southern Pines, in a live performance of La Traviata by the Metropolitan Opera on Saturday, Nov. 5, at 1 p.m. For more information go to www.sunrisetheater.com.

Sunday Serenade

Duke University’s Ciompi Quartet arrives Sunday, Nov. 6, at 2 p.m. to sweep you off your musical feet. In a career that spans five continents and hundreds of concerts, the quartet has acquired a reputation for performances of intelligence and creative programming, mixing the old and new in exciting ways. Join them at the Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Info: www.weymouthcenter.org.

The Brothers Kossler

Settle into the Bradshaw Performing Art Center’s intimate McPherson Theater from 7 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. on Tuesday, Nov. 22, for an exciting evening of classical guitar artistry with the Kossler Duo. Brothers Adam and John have established themselves as soloists, chamber musicians and educators, and have performed in concerts across the country. Concessions will be available for purchase. McPherson Theater at BPAC, 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst. Info and tickets: www.ticketmesandhills.com.

Sweet and Powerful

At the age of 22, Japanese native Risa Hokamura is on the short list of the world’s finest violinists. She’ll appear in the second of the four-concert Classical Concert Series at the Sunrise Theater, 250 N.W. Broad St., on Monday, Nov. 14, from 7:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Presented by the Arts Council of Moore County, tickets can be purchased at the Arts Council offices at Campbell House, 482 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines or by calling (910) 692-ARTS. For additional information go to www.mooreart.org.

O Christmas Tree

Join friends new and old from 4:30 p.m. to 6 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 26, for the tree lighting celebration up and down the streets of Southern Pines. Santa Claus will be spreading cheer and taking pictures with good boys and girls (please bring your own camera). Downtown Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-7376.

Photograph By Ted Fitzgerald/The Pilot

Thank You for Your Service

Bring the whole family and support all of Moore County’s troops and veterans at the annual Veterans Day Parade on Saturday, Nov. 5. To all those who served, we want to honor and thank you. If you are a local veteran, please join the parade. Downtown Southern Pines. Info: (910) 692-7376.

Ornaments, Lights, Action!

Let the twinkling and giving begin at the 26th annual Sandhills Children’s Center Festival of Trees, Nov. 16 – 20, at the Carolina Hotel, 80 Carolina Vista Drive, Pinehurst. The display of Christmas magic is open daily beginning at 10 a.m. Each item is designed or donated by local businesses and residents, and all proceeds go to help children with special developmental needs. Admission is by any monetary donation at the door, with a special “Girls’ Night Out” Nov. 16 with the McKenzie Brothers Band. For more info: www.FestivalofTrees.org.

The Last Waltz

It Makes No Difference what’s happening Up On Cripple Creek, because on Thursday, Nov. 24, at 7 p.m., the Sunrise Theater will present the Thanksgiving tradition like no other — its free screening of The Last Waltz, the Martin Scorsese-filmed tribute to The Band. What’s The Weight? Sunrise Theater, 250 N.W. Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: www.sunrisetheater.com.

Notes of Nostalgia

The Sandhills Repertory Theatre presents “Judy Norton in Concert” in two shows at the Sunrise Theater, 250 N.W. Broad St., Southern Pines, on Saturday, Nov. 12, at 7 p.m., and on Sunday, Nov. 13, at 3 p.m. Best known as the character Mary Ellen in the hit television series The Waltons, Norton has a long career spanning decades in music, film and television. For tickets and additional information go to www.sandhillsrep.org, sunrisetheater.com or call (910) 692-3611.

Last Dance

Don’t miss your last chance to dance and mingle on Sunrise Square for the final First Friday of 2022. Enjoy food trucks, some Southern Pines Brewery brews, and listen to great music while supporting the local theater on Nov. 4 from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. Leave the dogs, outside alcohol and rolling coolers home, and make a night of it. Sunrise Theater, 250 N.W. Broad St., Southern Pines. Info: www.sunrisetheater.com.

Man in santa claus costume winking

Santa is Never Overdue

Santa Claus is coming to town on Saturday, Nov. 19, and he’s making a special stop at the Given Memorial Library. Take a photo, make a craft and leave with a special gift bag. There are two time slots, from 9:45 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. and 10:45 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. Library cards not required but space is limited, so Santa’s helpers are taking reservations beginning Nov. 1. Given Memorial Library, 150 Cherokee Road, Pinehurst. Info and reservations: (910) 295-3642.