Birdwatch

BIRDWATCH

Cold Customers

Return of the dark-eyed juncos

By Susan Campbell

“The snowbirds are back!” No, not the thin-blooded retirees: They won’t be back until spring. These are the little black-and-white sparrowlike birds that appear under feeders when the mercury dips here in central North Carolina. They can be found in flocks, several dozen strong in some places. And, in spite of what you might think, they are far from dependent on bird seed in winter.

Dark-eyed juncos are a diverse and widely distributed species. Six populations are recognized across the U.S., Canada and Mexico. Slight but noticeable variations in appearance constitute the difference in these populations. Some have white wing bars while others sport a reddish back and the birds in the high elevations of the Rockies are recognized by extensive pinkish feathering on their flanks. Our eastern birds are known as “slate-colored juncos” for their dark brown to gray feathering. They are accustomed to cold temperatures whether in summer or winter. As with most migrant songbirds, their migratory behavior is based on food availability, not weather. Flocks will fly southward, stopping where they find abundant grasses and forbs. They will continue on once the food plants have been stripped of seed.

Dark-eyed juncos can be found throughout North America at different times of the year. During the breeding season, juncos are seen at high elevation across the boreal forests nesting in thick evergreens. Our familiar slate-colored variety breeds as close as the high elevations of the Appalachians. You can find them easily around Blowing Rock and Boone year-round. These nonmigrants actually have shorter wingspans as a result of their sedentary existence. Watch for male juncos advertising their territories up high in fir or spruce trees. They will utter sharp chirps and may string together a series of rapid call notes that sound like the noise emitted by a “phaser” of Star Trek fame.

In winter, flocks congregate in open and brushy habitats. Juncos are distinguished from other sparrows by their clean markings: dark heads with small, pale, conical bills, pale bellies and white outer tail feathers. Females have a browner wash and less of a demarcation between belly and breast than males. They hop around and feed on small seeds close to ground level. Some individuals can be quite tame once they become familiar with a specific place and particular people. Juncos do communicate frequently, using sharp trills to keep the flock together. They will not hesitate to dive for deep cover when alarmed.

So, the next time you come upon a flock along the roadside or notice juncos under your feeder, take a close look. These little birds will be with us only a few months, until day length begins to increase and they head back to the boreal forests from whence they came.

Almanac January 2026

ALMANAC

January

By Ashley Walshe

January is an ancient remembering; a rush of cold; the crunch, crunch, quiet of naked woods.

This new day, sunlight caressing the frigid earth, inspiration knocks with the clarity of woodpecker drumming against towering pine. Bundled in layers, you lace up your boots, leash up the dog, make for the leaf-littered trail in the open, unobtrusive forest.

Crisp air fills your lungs with a sense of wildness, each breath sharpening your instincts, expanding your horizon, deepening your kinship with the natural world. As dead leaves rustle beneath feet and paws, the wisdom of animal awakens within you. This isn’t just a walk in the wild. It’s a homecoming.

Despite the bleakness of this winter landscape, the sting of the cold, you feel a surge of bold and blissful aliveness. At once, emptiness becomes threshold of infinite possibility. At once, the unseen sings out.

Opossum tracks spell midnight wanderings. A circling hawk graces a vibrant blue sky. Dog presses warm snout to damp earth and listens.

You listen, too, noting the rhythm of your breath, the cadence of your footsteps, the distant crack of hoof upon fallen branch.

Beyond a young beech tree, its pale leaves suspended like a murmuration of ghosts, half a dozen white-tailed deer stand invisible against the sepia backdrop. But here’s the thing: A veil has been lifted; your vision, clarified. You can sense the wild stirrings of these hollow woods. Your breath in the cold is living proof.

Keeping it Real(istic)

The New Year has a way of making us believe that anything is possible — and why not? But we do love to set lofty (read delusional) goals for ourselves, don’t we?

Who thought this was a good idea?

The ancient Babylonians were perhaps the first. Some 4,000 years ago, during their 12-day Akitu festival, “promises to the gods” were made to earn their favor or repay debts. The ancient Romans adopted this ritual to honor Janus (god of beginnings, transitions and time), while early Christians reflected on past transgressions and resolved to “be better” at the start of the bright, new year.

“New Year’s resolutions” entered modern vernacular by the 19th century, becoming a largely secular practice. This year, should you make a promise to yourself, earn your own good favor by breaking large goals into smaller steps. And, whatever your commitment, do it from a place of genuine desire — not just because you think you should.

New Year, New Earth

Suppose we resolved to live in greater harmony with the Earth this new year. Small changes can make a big impact. Below are a few suggestions to deepen your relationship with the natural world and, perhaps, reduce your carbon footprint. Feel free to make your own vow, of course. This is strictly between you and Mama E.

Wake up to watch the sunrise
Support your local farmers market
BYO reusable shopping bags
Choose native plants and pollinators for the garden
Ditch bottled water (and single-use plastics)
Visit your local nature preserves
Spend more time barefoot on the earth
Pause to watch more
sunsets

2026 Almanac Department

The Winter Blues

THE WINTER BLUES

The Winter Blues

There’s no better time to have the blues than in winter, and the Arts Council of Moore County seconds that emotion with its exhibit “The Winter Blues.” The artworks in the juried show can be viewed at the Campbell House Galleries, 482 E. Connecticut Ave. in Southern Pines, beginning the 9th of January. In total 122 pieces were submitted by 74 artists in media ranging from paintings and glass to ceramics and fiber, and of that number, 95 works by 64 artists were accepted for the show. The art was judged by the ACMC Visual Arts Committee comprised of Kate Curtin, Katherine MacRae, Stuart Fulghum, Paula Montgomery and Nanette Zeller. The pieces will remain on display at the Campbell House until February 11.

2026 Feature The Winter Blues

Out of the Blue

OUT OF THE BLUE

Ode to Snoball

A kitty worth the scratch

By Deborah Salomon

I am a lifelong animal lover/rescuer/advocate. I don’t just donate. I adopt. Since the 1970s I have opened my door and heart to one, two or more hungry, cold, injured, pregnant kitties at a time. Three years ago, when my precious black satin Lucky and fussbudget Missy passed on, I decided it was time to retire. Then, on a frigid January night, a pure white apparition with blue eyes and pink mouth appeared at my door. Her family had moved on, left her behind, I later learned. I opened the door. She crept inside. End — no, beginning — of story.

I named her, obviously, Snoball.

I allow myself just one kitty column a year, in January. The subject is usually behavior. Because cats could not be more fascinating, even when destroying furniture.

Snoball, a princess of incredible beauty, is also a chatterbox: She talks. With inflections that, I imagine, express her opinions on many things, from a big black beetle scurrying across the floor to my reluctance to let her climb into the fridge crisper. Snoball likes lettuce. Even better, she likes chewing the plastic around the lettuce. Maybe cats know their people are polluting the world with plastic. They’re just trying to help.

Other times her chatter sounds like two grannies outbragging each other re: grandkids’ achievements. Snoball plays the lawyer card, which always wins.

I know from experience that two cats are easier, although more expensive, to live with than one. They keep each other busy. Ever noticed how noses twitch silently as they watch stupid commercials on TV? If it’s a “fixed” male-female duo the gal usually calls the shots. Sometimes she develops a fetish. I once had a kitty named Sophie who had a corn fetish. She would attack the grocery bags I brought in, looking for an ear of corn. Woe was me if the supermarket failed in December. I would put the ear on the floor where Sophie covered it, like nesting with kittens. She lost interest when the husks dried up.

Cats are tricky eaters — a problem since their food is so varied and expensive. Instead of canned I usually buy boneless chicken on sale, boil, chop fine and freeze with broth in batches, which I thaw and mix with high-quality kibble. Snoball greets this yummy meal with mixed reactions, which include sniffing, walking away, waiting to see if anything better’s forthcoming before returning to lick-’n’-pick.

But if a meal is late, she lets me know with a dirty look and snide remark. I guess she forgot about being outside, cold and hungry.

Despite a reputation for aloofness, kitties do know how to initiate and return love. Snoball’s signal is the long-handled brush. Brushing puts her in a trance. So does stretching out across my lap for the rubdown, which releases a cloud of white fur requiring a special rake to pry it off the carpet.

When not napping on my sofa or upholstered chairs, Snoball, an inside only kitty, follows the sun around five window perches. Two overlook bird feeders. She chatters the squirrels away, much preferring bird antics, which she follows like a tennis match.

Only once did she attempt an escape . . . in the pouring rain. Lesson learned.

Still unlearned . . . to keep those wicked claws furled. My hands and arms are black and blue with bruises, just from play, of course. But when Snoball wants to play, “no” is not an answer. Her favorite nip is a bare ankle. I bought an expensive hopping toy for distraction. She bestowed a deprecating look and swatted my knee.

But knowing she’ll be at the door when I arrive home, and at my feet when I climb under the covers, is worth a few drops of blood.

Because she’s my Snoball . . . and I love her.

2026 Department Out of the Blue

Sporting Life

SPORTING LIFE

Restoring the Soul

Pausing for a solitary side trip

By Tom Bryant

It’s ironic that three days before Thanksgiving in 2024, a time of celebration and great revelry, I was told that I almost died.

It all started in July of that year. Now I’m pretty much a healthy, in-good-shape guy. Always have been from early childhood to what is often laughingly referred to in today’s society as geezerhood. Played sports in high school and college, joined the Marines in a fit of finding myself. I found myself alright. The Marine Corps taught me in a short time to look after my body. I’ve fished and hunted and camped from Florida to Alaska always in good condition and good humor. I take a multivitamin and a 10-milligram Simvastatin daily, and that’s the extent of my pills.

So what happened? Coming home from the beach one Sunday morning, I noticed a recurring sharp pain in my lower abdomen. It went away and I thought no more about it. I had my annual physical coming up in a week or so, and I figured I’d tell the doctor about it then.

After several tests, my local physician referred me to the urology department at First Health. The results from an exploratory surgical operation weren’t that good. Linda, my bride, was there with me in the recovery room and she told me tearfully that I had cancer.

There. Those three magic words that will turn anyone’s world upside down. “You Have Cancer.”

I remember I was kind of dopey recovering from the anesthesia, and the first thing that entered my mind was, “This is gonna play hell with early fall fishing.”

Later, as the reality of the situation began to sink in, I was upset that not only was I in for a bad time, but Linda was going to have to suffer with me. I remembered some of the stages that a new cancer patient goes through: fear, anxiety, sadness, anger. Sure, I had some of those feelings but I made up my mind that just like many other adventures in my life, I was gonna consider this another hazardous occurrence, a learning experience, and play it to the hilt.

The folks at First Health referred me to the specialists at Duke, and I was off and running. Linda and I made appointments to meet with the recommended oncologist and surgeon bright and early on a Tuesday morning in August. I remember the day because we cancelled a beach trip scheduled for that week.

The people at Duke have a cancer center bigger than any health facility I’ve ever been in. The entire building, all five floors, is dedicated to cancer patients, and from the valet folks who park your car to the individuals in charge of information who point you in the right direction, we never felt out of place.

We met with the oncologist first, and she laid out a program of chemotherapy, about two months’ worth, that would take place before the surgery. We then met with the surgeon who explained the procedure and what I could expect during the recovery period. When I asked what would happen if I decided to let nature take its course, he simply replied, “You’ll have about nine months.”

We made arrangements and appointments, going along with all the recommendations from the experts, collected our car from valet parking and headed home.

“We’ve got a couple weeks before the chemo stuff starts. What say we go to the beach?” I asked Linda as I dodged in and out of the breakneck drivers who seem to hang around the high-speed highways.

“I vote for that,” she replied. I could tell that our recent experience with the doctors was a lot for her to take in. Me too.

The beach was wonderful. I didn’t even carry fishing equipment, and we left the little Airstream at home. All we did was hang out, reminisce about old times, and enjoy good seafood. We stayed at one of our favorite hotels right on the beach. We talked and talked and talked. Always in the back of our minds was the upcoming ordeal and the best way to handle it.

My brother had passed away two years before from lung cancer, so we were not entering our upcoming travail totally unprepared. We knew what could happen.

Our son, Tommy, was constantly in touch, not wanting to be too far from all the decisions. By now, the word was out about my health situation and the phone started ringing off the hook — not my phone, mostly Linda’s. Family and friends wanted to know what they could do to help. I was amazed at all the good wishes that came in from friends everywhere.

In September our ordeal began. Although I didn’t have a lot of side effects, chemotherapy exhausted me. I didn’t lose all my hair but I did lose a lot of weight. The folks at Duke were amazing. Never have I met such caring people.

I had to bail from chemo right before the last infusion. It seems that the chemicals in the stuff not only kill cancer but can also destroy hearing. The oncologist said enough’s enough. The surgery was in about two weeks.

The next day I decided to ride out to the old tobacco farm that my good friend Joe Rosy owns. He lets me have access to the farm to bird hunt. The part of the land I use is about 150 acres located close to Drowning Creek. It’s where I go to restore my soul and remember what living is all about.

Usually I’ll park the Cruiser and walk, but with my energy at ebb I rolled down the windows and, at crawl speed, drove around the familiar property. There was the cut in the pines that led to where a used up sawmill once stood. Mackie, my little yellow lab jumped a pair of quail every time we went to the spot. I never did shoot — just seeing them fly was enough.

On the corner of the pine stand that Joe uses to harvest pine straw was a tall longleaf that I would sit under, waiting for the evening flight of dove. I drove on around the harvested soybeans and took the minuscule path that serves as a road between the two barns. At the end of the road, surrounded by pines, is a small field of maybe 10 acres. I got my first turkey there, hunkered down at the tree line. He was a big one, 21 pounds.

I pulled the truck up under a big white oak, took a water bottle from the cooler. I always carry a portable folding chair in the back of the Cruiser, and I decided to sit for a spell. Several years ago, I sat in this same spot on the day I carried Mackie to the vet to have her put down. She was past help, in her old age, hips gone and suffering. The vet said it was time. My dogs have always been family and that special, sad time was locked in my memory. On that day there had been a big red-tailed hawk circling the woods down close to the pond and, as I sat there kicked back, sipping water, I saw a red-tail flying in exactly the same location. Wonder if that’s the same bird, I thought. Naw, too long ago. Could be an offspring though.

In a little while, watching and taking in the peacefulness of the little farm, I became worried that Linda might be concerned, and I decided to head on back home. The big cancer operation was scheduled and our hands would be full.

As I eased out to the main road and got out to close the gate, I could still see the hawk. He was wheeling about, out over the fields now, climbing higher and higher. I watched until he was almost out of sight, then I got in the Cruiser and headed down the road toward home.

2026 Department Sporting Life

Golftown Journal

GOLFTOWN JOURNAL

A Quick Nine

The Pinehurst experience

By Lee Pace

In June I will complete revolution No. 69 around the sun. As a new year dawns, it’s natural to pause, reflect and be grateful for what you’ve experienced. One very satisfying and interesting compartment of my professional life has been chronicling golf in Pinehurst — beginning in 1987, when I quit my last real job to forage an existence amid words, photos, paper and ink (later adding packets and protocols and something called HTTP).

So, I’m lucky indeed for having been able to write my Quick Nine stories of the Sandhills.

The 1980s/’90s Resurrection of Pinehurst — First there was the 75-year era of the founding Tufts family in Pinehurst. Then the awkward and clumsy decade of Diamondhead. Then in marched Robert Dedman Sr., of Dallas. “Partner, I think this place is worth saving. This is one of those places you just can’t duplicate — it’s kind of like buying the St. Andrews of America,” Dedman said. It took time, money, astute leadership and vision. Gradually, Pinehurst once again became a player in American golf.

Payne Winning in 1999 — No one knew exactly what to expect when the USGA awarded Pinehurst No. 2 its first U.S. Open. Would the crowds come? Would the town support the influx? Would the golf course stand up? Those questions and many more were answered with shiny gold stars, the leading domino falling toward No. 2 being the first course designated as a U.S. Open Anchor Site. The drama and emotional wattage of Stewart rolling in a 20-foot putt on the last stroke of the championship was just icing on the cake.

The Life of Peggy Kirk Bell — She certainly knew how to play golf, having won the Titleholders and the North & South Women’s Amateur, and having been a founding member of the LPGA Tour. But Peggy and her husband, Warren “Bullet” Bell, learned the hospitality business as they went along, and Peggy turned an impromptu golf lesson to a lady guest in the 1950s into a thriving golf instruction business that in November 2025 saw Pine Needles Lodge & Golf Club hosting its 59th Couples Golf Jamboree. Her spirit permeates the Sandhills today.

The Last Amateurs — My 1991 book Pinehurst Stories was built around interviews and chapters on 18 elite names in golf who had a good story to tell from their golf lives around Pinehurst. Hands down the highlight of that research was interviewing and getting to know Billy Joe Patton, Harvie Ward and Bill Campbell — three elite players from the mid-1900s with magnificent amateur records. Patton cried talking about his Pinehurst experience. Ward’s eyes twinkled. And Campbell spoke with a notable degree of eloquence. All three loved the Sandhills.

Ben Hogan’s First Win — Hogan was winless in eight years on the pro golf tour in March 1940 and just about to call it quits. A club pro job was waiting for him at home in Fort Worth. But the volcano detonated in the North & South Open on the hallowed ground of No. 2, with Hogan shooting a tournament record 277. From there he went to Greensboro and Asheville and won two more tournaments, breaking par in 11 of 12 rounds. The world of golf never knew what hit it.

The Coore/Crenshaw Project — “This will be the smartest thing we’ve done or the dumbest,” said Pinehurst owner Bob Dedman Jr. in 2010. Dedman had just given golf architects Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw license to dial the clock back on his No. 2 jewel to an era broadly defined as “The Golden Age” between Donald Ross’ death in 1948 and Pinehurst’s sale to the Diamondhead Corporation in 1970. It was a brilliant move indeed, restoring the course to the gnarly look of Ross’ homeland in Scotland.

The Changes in the Village (Not) — Pat Corso, the president and CEO of Pinehurst Resort from 1987-2003, looked at a vintage black and white aerial photo of the village of Pinehurst one day in the early 1990s. The photo was taken probably in the 1950s. “Except for the cars, it looks exactly the same,” he said. It would today as well. Marty McKenzie, a lifelong Pinehurst resident and businessman, likes to call it “The Magic Bubble.” There is still nothing garish or gaudy inside that bubble.

The Walking Game — Pinehurst owner Richard Tufts once said there would never be golf carts in Pinehurst. They defied the spirit of the old Scottish game, he said. Of course, Tufts and his lieutenants bowed to market forces in the 1950s and ’60s and the resort followed national trends over the coming decades that sadly saw those infernal contraptions as the default mode to playing the same. Happily, those trends reversed as I chronicled in my 2021 book, Good Walks. Today at many Sandhills courses you can walk-and-carry, take a trolley or hire a caddie — golf as it should be.

The Dynamic Decade — It was a bold and drastic move for sure when Coore & Crenshaw stripped out all that lush green Bermuda grass on No. 2 and in its stead melded sand and wire grass and jagged edges. That set the template for a crescendo of adventurous change over the next dozen years — The Cradle short course, the rebuild of No. 4, the transformation of an abandoned steam plant into the Pinehurst Brewery, the launch of the satellite golf destination south of town with No. 10 (open) and No. 11 (under construction), and the USGA setting up shop with offices and the World Golf Hall of Fame.

It’s been quite a run. It’s been a blast to have a front row seat.

2026 Department Golftown Journal

Rachel Rocha + Nolan McNeill

Rachel Rocha and Nolan McNeill met in a college communications class when they were paired up for an assignment. They exchanged numbers for the project and ended up eating lunch together every day that semester. Seven years later Rachel and Nolan got engaged, and on Oct. 4, 2025, they were married. “We recently sent wedding pictures to our professor thanking him for the introduction!” says Rachel.

The couple exchanged “I dos” in the Fair Barn. Decorations of burnt orange and shades of green complemented the autumn season. “I wanted to be a fairy princess in the fall,” Rachel says.

The wedding ran smoothly. The couple was happy with all their vendors, though one stood out to the bride. For photography the couple hired Kaitlyn Blake, who made sure to help the bride honor her late mom. “My mother died when I was a teenager, and it was really important to me that we celebrated her,” Rachel says. Thanks to Blake, Rachel has photos of her mom’s saved seat “holding” her wedding bouquet.

photographer: Kaitlyn Blake Photography
wedding planner: Pamela Butterworth, Hollyfield Design Inc.
ceremony & reception: The Fair Barn
dress & shoes: Grace Loves Lace
hair & makeup: Reign Beauty
bridesmaids: Birdy Grey
groom & groomsmen: Nordstrom Rack
flowers: Hollyfield Design Inc.
cake & catering: Elliotts on Linden
rentals & music: Ward Productions
transportation: Wright Car Services
signature drinks sign: FoxWillowStudio, Etsy

2026

Emma Taylor + Holden Brown

Emma Taylor’s cousin-in-law set her up with Holden Brown, and it was a match. A couple of years into dating, Holden proposed to Emma during a family photo session on the fittingly named Holden Beach. A couple of years after that, the spouses-to-be wed at Village Pine Venue on Sept. 27, 2025.

The bride and groom loved the trees on Village Pine’s property. “My family owns a sawmill, so we are constantly planting pines on all our land,” says Emma. “My parents’ house is surrounded by pine trees, and I think they are beautiful.” The Browns doubled down on Southern foliage, incorporating magnolia leaves into their floral arrangements with the help of Jack Hadden Floral & Event Design.

Personal touches completed the big day. Emma wore a tennis bracelet her dad had gifted to her mom long ago. The bride’s brother and his best friend’s jazz duo, Soul Noises, performed during cocktail hour. As for the seating chart, the couple’s grandmothers created an art gallery of paintings and pottery.

photographer: Hailey Davis Photo
videographer: Gold Leaf Productions
wedding planner: Nicole Smith, Vision Events Wedding & Event Planning
ceremony & reception : Village Pine Venue
dress: Coastal Knot Bridal
jewelry: Bailey’s Fine Jewelry and Schiffman’s Jewelers
shoes: Jimmy Choo
hair: Olivia DeSena
groom & groomsmen: Satin & Lace
flowers: Jack Hadden Floral & Event Design
catering & desserts: Rocky Top Catering
rentals: Curated Events, Decoraciones Sonia and Greenhouse Picker Sisters
transportation: Kirk Tours & Limousine
invitations & programs: Minted

2026

Amanda Salloum + Robert Simmons

Pinehurst native Amanda Salloum and Kinston native Robert Simmons had their first date at Barcelona Wine Bar, in Raleigh, in 2021. Three years passed, and Robert took Amanda back to the very same tapas restaurant for a brunch she won’t forget. After finishing a delicious meal, he proposed in front of a picturesque, ivy-covered wall near where Amanda was living. A hidden photographer captured the moment.

One year later the Simmonses married in The Village Chapel in front of 140 guests on Sept. 13, 2025. After exchanging vows, the newlyweds hitched a ride with Sandhills Trolley Company to their reception at the Country Club of North Carolina. The space was decorated in a subtle palette of pale pink and pale green, white and gold.

Looking back, the couple have no complaints or regrets. “We had the most amazing day,” Amanda and Robert say. “Everything turned out so beautifully from start to finish — we could not have asked for a more perfect wedding day.”

photographer: Jennifer B. Photography
videographer: Nate Berry, Pretty Films
wedding coordinator: Pamela Butterworth, Hollyfield Design Inc.
ceremony: The Village Chapel
reception: Country Club of North Carolina
dress: Anne Barge, Lana Addison Bridal
shoes: Maeve, Anthropologie
hair: Bamboo A Boutique Salon
makeup: Retro Studio Bar
bridesmaids: Bella Bridesmaids
groom & groomsmen: Men’s Wearhouse
flowers: Hollyfield Design Inc.
cake: C Cups Cupcakery
napkins & chargers: Richmond Rentals
transportation: Sandhills Trolley Company
invitations: The Village Printers

2026

Mackenzie Donoghue + Christopher Yang

Mackenzie Donoghue and Christopher Yang met a modern way — on a dating app. But they went on their first date an old-fashioned way — in person, walking around the water at Southern Pines’ Reservoir Park. After getting engaged, the couple chose Duncraig Manor, in Southern Pines, as their wedding and reception venue. They got married at the magical estate on Aug. 23, 2025.

When Mackenzie walked down the aisle, she wore earrings repurposed from her late grandmother’s rosary. Personal touches on their wedding day didn’t stop there. Mackenzie was born in Korea but moved Stateside as an adult. To pay homage to her roots, the couple incorporated wedding ducks into their big day. “In traditional Korean weddings, a pair of ducks symbolizes unity, friendship and love,” Mackenzie says.

The couple’s only regret? “We would have found a way to invite more of our close friends!” says Mackenzie. “We did the best we could with the size restrictions and other factors, but looking back, we dearly missed several people we love.”

photographer: Kaitlyn Blake Photography
ceremony & reception: Duncraig Manor
dress: Maggie Sottero, Smithfield Bridal
shoes: Betsey Johnson
hair & makeup: Chelsea Regan Makeup + Hair
bridesmaids: JJ’s House
groom & groomsmen: JoS A. Bank
flowers: Duncraig Manor
catering: Vito’s Ristorante & Pizzeria
transportation: A Ride Transportation
invitations & programs: Minted
music: Stone Dolls

2026

Tag: 2026

BIRDWATCH

Cold Customers

Return of the dark-eyed juncos

ALMANAC

January

Keeping it Real(istic)

New Year, New Earth

THE WINTER BLUES

The Winter Blues

OUT OF THE BLUE

Ode to Snoball

A kitty worth the scratch

SPORTING LIFE

Restoring the Soul

Pausing for a solitary side trip

GOLFTOWN JOURNAL

A Quick Nine

The Pinehurst experience

Rachel Rocha + Nolan McNeill

Emma Taylor + Holden Brown

Amanda Salloum + Robert Simmons

Mackenzie Donoghue + Christopher Yang