Falling in Love

FALLING IN LOVE

Falling in Love

And planting in abundance

By Randy Boyd • Photographs by John Gessner

You do learn some things at your mother’s knee, which is how I ended up falling in love with gardening. I was raised by a passionate gardener, and while my chores started with mowing the lawn, my eyes inevitably fell on my mother tending her many beautiful rosebushes. Over the years she had more than 30 varieties, all flourishing the way the joy of gardening did in me.

Being raised in Laguna Beach, California, and having designed a number of gardens there, I knew the plants and care appropriate for the West Coast like the back of my hand. When I moved to Pinehurst a little over a year ago with my husband, Mark, my desire for a garden came with me, but the requisite knowledge did not. I had to learn the plants that love to grow in the Sandhills.

In our home here, a walled brick patio and a small, long side yard presented their own promises and problems. I had to rethink what to use and how to landscape this new area. My greatest influence is English gardens, particularly in the Cotswold area, and I approach landscaping like I approach interior design for my clients — I look to see what entertainment or area of interest needs to be found and supported. On the patio this translated into pots of various sizes and materials to help add interest, along with some art pieces like a tall, vintage aviary and some statuary. We located a dining table there to entertain as well.

I watch the sun and temperatures to see what will thrive in what place. My pots are lush because I tend to plant in abundance. I don’t want it to look like we are waiting for something to fill in. Because my side yard has fencing and the patio has brick walls, I have the freedom of not worrying about deer — a luxury not everyone enjoys. I use pots of various sizes, 18-22 inches, filling each with three or four plants purchased at a decent size, anchoring with a 1-gallon plant and adding 4-inch containers.

One important factor in either the side yard or the patio is to have things — pots, statuary, plants — that take the eye up and down so there is constant visual interest and movement. Color needs to be thought through to give a sense of peace, avoiding the kind of clash that can throw off the natural feel while still maintaining a curated plan.

In the first year for the patio I’m using climbing roses on a trellis, hostas, potato vine, shasta daisies, hydrangeas and geraniums. For the side space — inspired by an English garden’s sense of controlled chaos — I plan for height in the back, using color as the eye trails down and forward. Flowers are intentionally planted at the edge of the path to soften the lines.

In California I took a more Mediterranean approach, which has to do with temperature, dryness and the look of the houses where I lived. All the elements, from architecture to flower bed, need to complement one another. I tend toward a cooler color palette of pale pinks, lavender both in color and the plant itself, hostas in various shades, and grey hews from accent plants for contrast. We also have some small lemon trees and a Japanese maple in large pots.

Gardeners love every step from preparing the dirt, filling pots and even watering (although next year I am getting a drip line). Gardening doesn’t just happen — it takes planning and executing and then the daily job of weeding and deadheading so it always looks neat and tidy. All of this brings me great satisfaction as I wander out first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee, or in the evening with my glass of wine. I feel at home and at peace.

England has been called a nation of gardeners. Pinehurst may be called the Home of Golf, but some of us think it could be the Home of Gardeners, too.

2026 Feature

A Stitch in Time

A STITCH IN TIME

A Stitch in Time

Every quilt tells a story

By Sharon Swanke

Every other year “Quilting in the Pines” fills the Pinehurst Fair Barn with color and creativity. Since its beginning in 2004, the show has gathered quilters and their work from all over the Southeast to be shown and judged. Sponsored by the Sandhills Quilters Guild, the 2026 show is Friday and Saturday, Sept. 25 – 26, from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Admission is $8 for adults and free for children under 18.

Beyond the judged quilts, the show includes a variety of vendors, a boutique of quilt-related and craft items made by guild members, a quilt raffle, a silent auction, a children’s scavenger hunt, raffle baskets and food trucks. All proceeds from the show go toward gifting handmade quilts and pillowcases to local charities, including Habitat for Humanity and Falcon Children’s Home.

Members of the Sandhills Quilters Guild include traditional and modern quilters, art quilters and storytellers. All quilts are true expressions of the artist’s vision, often telling stories of why the art was created.

Among the guild’s award-winning members, Mary Abbott Williams started her quilting journey at age 5, choosing fabrics to add to her babysitter’s projects. Abbott Williams has matured into a multiple award-winning traditional quilter who finds joy in studying and re-creating antique quilt patterns and motifs with the ultimate goal of “making quilts that look like they belong in another century.” This year she’s curating the balcony display, which will feature her reproduction quilts from the 1760s to the 1800s in honor of the nation’s 250th anniversary.

Christine Weld is a modern quilter and Army spouse who has found quilt guilds across the country ready to welcome her wherever her family has relocated. From the Colonial Piecemakers Guild in Williamsburg, Virginia, to the Hudson Valley Modern Guild, Weld has discovered a social network of sewists. She joined the Sandhills Quilters Guild before her family even moved to the area. During the pandemic she designed modern quilts on her blog and submitted a pattern to Moda Fabrics for its “Bakeshop” line. Now, with Moda quilt patterns in four books published by Martingale & Co., Weld continues to lend her talents to the challenge of creating new and exciting modern quilts using precuts.

Linda James’ art quilts are exquisite expressions of her creativity. She started her sewing journey making doll clothes, and her search for appropriate fabric led her to the Quilters Gallery Shop, where she gawked at the completed quilts for so long the staff came to check on her. James loves it when her quilts tell a story that engages the viewer. “My first show entry featured funky twinkling stars with odd cuts of fabric. It reminded me of peering at the stars in New Mexico with my brother at my side,” she says. James won the Viewer’s Choice award at the 2024 show. Her work with needle and thread has led her to create eye-popping quilts, winning multiple quilting awards and launching a longarm quilting business.

Abbott Williams, Weld and James are just three reasons “Quilting in the Pines” captures the passion and creativity of the art.

2026 Feature

Point of View

POINT OF VIEW

Point of View

Lakeside living in the Sandhills

By Jenna Biter • Photographs by John Gessner

At the end of a sleepy cul de sac, beneath a Southern canopy of magnolia, dogwood and pine, stands a dove gray house with a water-lover’s view. Bob and Mary Jo Newman enjoy 270 degrees of Lake Pinehurst from their place on the point.

“We wanted every room available to the view,” says Mary Jo.

The Newmans hired Mark Parson to make that happen. The architect spent hours on the acre-and-a-half property, envisioning a traditional-style design that works with the trees, shoreline and lake itself. The 4,000-square-foot build combines stone with wood shingle siding, white accents and porthole windows that evoke a weekend of sailing.

A rounded veranda takes advantage of the view. “It’s a very serene and relaxing place to finish the day,” Bob says. Heaters and a ceiling fan make the space comfortable year-round. Way up in the tower, a baby blue room takes equal advantage of the view. No TV, no distractions, just sunsets and the lake. Off to one side, there’s a dock for the Duffy cruiser. “You can’t be on a lake like this and not have a boat,” says Bob.

The Newmans found Pinehurst by way of nearby real estate investments. “I discovered what a great place it would be to live,” Bob says. Residents of Minnesota, the Newmans camped out in the Sandhills while searching for a place to purchase. The hunt was short-lived. The lakefront lot had been on the market for six years, probably because the home that sat on it was a bit of a project, but the Newmans were ready to take it on.

“We just fell in love with the property,” says Mary Jo.

It was the trees and lakeside living. Bob grew up in California, competed as a rower, first at Orange Coast College, then UCLA, and then the U.S. National Team before coaching for 17 years. Their plan was to remodel, but due to restrictions, it didn’t work out. “So, we scrapped it and built,” says Bob.

That was about three years ago. The Newmans relocated their primary residency from Lake Minnetonka, Minnesota, to Lake Pinehurst. Now they’re consolidating life in their North Carolina home. They spend mornings and evenings outdoors and retreat to air conditioning when the summer sun is unbearable. They open the glass on the double front doors to let the lake breeze waft through screens when it isn’t.

Bob’s Swedish ancestors would be impressed by the Viking-worthy wood beams holding up the vaulted ceiling of the great room. “I’m 6’ 6” so I really appreciate volume around me, particularly height,” Bob says. The men’s locker room at Forest Creek Golf Club inspired the design. A wood-burning fireplace stretches to the ceiling, and a pair of Mary Jo’s watercolors flank the column. They’re portraits of dogs past and present. Dog present, a Welsh springer spaniel named Winston, puppies around on the hardwood floors.

“I love a center island,” says Mary Jo, moving on to the kitchen. “I do a lot of cooking.” She wanted counter space to work and room for people to congregate during parties. She got both. There is a telescope and a dining table that seats 12 when both leaves are inserted.

“This was an add-on, an afterthought we call ‘the alcove,’” Bob says, referencing their favorite room, a sitting area by the kitchen. “It was supposed to be open patio, but we thought that a large open patio wasn’t going to be used as productively as it could.” They pivoted. The shingle siding had already been installed. They kept it and closed the outdoor space in. It’s flooded with natural light and became the place where they spend much of their time.

There’s an oar on the wall from Bob’s rowing days. The Newmans purchased the coffee table from an English antique shop when they were abroad for the Henley Royal Regatta. It features a segment of a rowing boat, Bob guesses from the 1800s.

Another favorite space, Bob’s office, is on the first floor, plus the master bedroom with an heirloom needlepoint chair from Mary Jo’s family. Two guest bedrooms, one decorated with green and the other navy, are on the second. Both have dormer windows on two walls.

“The fact that you can see the water from almost every room — it’s like living in a park,” Mary Jo says.

“It’s a little hideaway,” says Bob, “a real pleasure to live here.”

2026 Feature House

Chalk Talk

CHALK TALK

Chalk Talk

Are you ready for some football?

By Mike Pagel • Photograph by John Gessner

SAME PLAYS, DIFFERENT LANGUAGES

The key for an offense is to develop a system that can communicate the action plan or play to all the offensive players in a concise but still complete way.

The responsibility of creating the play calling language falls on the offensive coordinator. Most take various portions of play calling systems they’ve known before and create their own version. There are various methods for an offense to notify all its players where, for example, a running play is to be executed. Some teams use a numbering system, while others may use names. In numbering systems the “holes” or running lanes can be numbered from right to left, with 1 being wide right and 9 being wide left. Other teams number left to right. Some teams will use even numbers to the right (right guard is 2 with 8 signifying wide right) and odd numbers to the left (left guard is 3 and 9 wide left). Zero and 1 represent the center’s right and left hips, respectively. And, of course, some teams use odd to the right and even to the left.

And then there are naming systems. Instead of numbers, teams may use specific words to explain where a play is to be executed, with a category of names describing the play (examples may include cities, states, animals, etc.). Using states as an example, Ohio may designate an outside or wide play, while Texas may mean an inside play. If, say, Ohio means a wide play toward the tight end, Georgia may mean a wide play away from the tight end.

At times, a directional call is needed. Any pair of “opposite” words can be used. Common examples: red = right and blue = left or hot = right with cold = left. Teams usually settle on 2-3 ways to call a direction. Pass play calls are even more complex because they include not only the line blocking scheme but also the routes the receivers need to run to stretch the defense. Plus there are audibles (plays called at the line of scrimmage), which may or may not be changing the play. Remember Peyton Manning and “OMAHA”?

BEND, DON’T BREAK VS.THE ATTACK DEFENSE

While an offense needs to determine if they will be a ball control offense (stronger emphasis on running plays) or a more aggressive passing attack offense, defenses need to determine what style of play they want to use. The two basic styles are “bend, don’t break” and the “attack” defense.

The “bend, don’t break” defense focuses on the defensive players not allowing the opponent’s offense to make big yardage plays, the theory being the longer it takes for an offense to penetrate deep into the defense’s territory, the more likely the offense will make a mistake putting themselves into a more difficult situation to obtain a first down or to score points. The problems with this defensive philosophy are the defensive team’s offense will have fewer chances to score plus it can lead to the opponent’s offense dictating the tempo of the game.

In the early 1980s, the Miami Dolphins were very successful in utilizing the “bend, don’t break” philosophy. They had numerous experienced veteran players who were very good at anticipating how an offense would try to attack them, which led to the Dolphin players rarely being out of position. They would give up yardage but were able to capitalize on an offense’s mistakes to thwart drives.

During my four years with the Baltimore/Indianapolis Colts franchise, we were in the same division as the Dolphins, which meant we played them twice a year. In 1984, we added four new plays against the Dolphins when they visited us in Indianapolis. By utilizing these four plays throughout the first half, we were able to confuse and disorient their defense, which led to us being in complete control of the game. At halftime, the decision was made to go away from the new plays (I still don’t understand that one), which led to the Dolphin defense regaining their composure and holding us scoreless in the second half. Meanwhile, the Dolphin offense, led by Dan Marino, got untracked, and we ended up losing the game.

The opposite defensive theory is the “attack” philosophy. The goal of the “attack” defense is to impose its will on the opposing team’s offense. This philosophy calls for the defense (especially the defensive linemen) to penetrate into the backfield of the offense to disrupt the timing and to force the offense into making mistakes. If successful, an opponent’s offense can become very frustrated. But if the pressure does not disrupt the timing of the offense, the second and third line of defenders have much more ground to protect which could lead to big yardage plays.

The 1985 Chicago Bears’ “46” defense was an attacking style defense. Their alignment allowed their talented players to be blocked by one player at a time. Often, at least one of the Bears’ players would defeat their opponent, which would disrupt a play. In 1985, the Indianapolis Colts lost to the Bears 17-10 because we did not capitalize on two scoring opportunities. After the opening kickoff, we marched deep into Bears’ territory. We could not score a touchdown, so on fourth down we tried a short field goal, which was missed.

Late in the game, one of our receivers got behind the Bears’ secondary. Unfortunately, the pass was not completed. We had our chances but didn’t take advantage of the opportunities — a fatal mistake against those Bears because you weren’t going to get many.

PLAYMAKERS VS. STEADY PLAYERS

For a football team to be successful, the offensive and defensive units need a specific combination of players. Each unit needs to consist of three or four steady players and seven or eight playmakers. What’s the difference? Steady players put themselves into the proper position to make a play. If they fail to do this, they are more easily defeated.

Playmakers have the ability to overcome being out of position yet still be successful. Unfortunately they tend to be out of position more than steady players, which can create opportunities for their opponents. Why three or four steady players? If there are more than four steady players within a unit, that unit is less likely to make out of the ordinary plays. With fewer than three steady players, a unit can be very effective until their opponent gains some momentum.

To stop the momentum, playmakers are forced to gamble more. This often leads to the players being even more out of position, which creates more opportunities for the opponent’s offense. Just because a player may be classified as a steady player doesn’t mean he can’t make great plays, nor does carrying a playmaker label mean the player tends to be out of position too often. Mike Singletary, the Chicago Bears middle linebacker from 1981 to 1992, always seemed to be in perfect position while being very intense. That combination made him a steady player who was also a playmaker.

On the other hand, Jerry Rice, the San Francisco wide receiver from 1985 to 2000, would be considered a playmaker. He could shred a defense, but that happened because he was disciplined running his pass routes as designed which made him very consistent. He was a playmaker who was also a steady player. Only a few players have the ability to do both as often as Singletary and Rice did, which is why these two are in the NFL Hall of Fame and the vast majority of players are not.

FIRST NFL START

Five minutes before the opening kickoff of my second NFL preseason game, the coaches told me I was going to start the game at QB. That was OK with me and I was very excited. Early in the game, we faced a third down passing situation. The defense played a two-deep zone with man-to-man coverage on our five receivers. On the left side of the field, both of our receivers ran an inside (toward the middle of the field) route, which left that side of the field devoid of defenders.

I sprinted into the voided area on the left. Just as I recognized how open the left side of the field was, I experienced what felt like a freight train running behind me. Approximately 20 – 25 yards downfield, the freight train began catching up to me. Wisely, I ran out of bounds. It was at that precise moment that I realized just how big, fast and talented NFL players were. Oh, by the way, the freight train was named Lawrence Taylor.

DON’T BE A HERO!

Late in my career and as a member of the Los Angeles Rams, we were playing the Minnesota Vikings in Anaheim, California. We were losing 21-7 in the second half when our coaching staff made a change at quarterback. As I ran onto the field, my thought was, “Don’t try to do too much.” Instead, I focused on speeding up our tempo. This caught the Viking defense off-guard. We marched down the field, the drive ending with a touchdown pass to our tight end. Now the score is 21 – 14 and our crowd is getting excited. We kick off and one of our players crushes the ball carrier, causing a fumble that we recover around the Vikings’ 20-yard line.

As I ran back onto the field, the thought crossed my mind that if we scored, we would have a great chance to win the game and I might be considered a hero. We drove inside the Viking 10-yard line when a pass play was called. Instead of throwing the ball to a receiver who was on the goal line, I tried to throw to a receiver deep in the end zone. Huge mistake. The pass was intercepted, ending that drive and effectively taking away any chance we had to win the game. All because my mindset changed from “do your job” to “you can be the hero.”

BUILDING AN OFFENSIVE LINE

One of the most important but also one of the most difficult tasks in creating a good football team is to develop a solid offensive line.

First, you need five players with enough talent to play in the NFL. Next, the five players need to develop the trust and respect of the other linemen. And then, as a group, they need time playing alongside each other so they can develop the understanding and instinct of how their line mates will react in every situation. They have a split second to make the correct decision and then complete the block. If one fails, they all fail.

Some NFL teams have figured out what type of offensive lineman fits in their system. Every year they tend to have a solid group. Some teams struggle to figure out the type of linemen that fit their system, or they cannot find the linemen with the required skill sets. These offenses tend to be very inconsistent. For decades, the offensive line for the Pittsburgh Steelers looked the same. The players changed but the replacement had very similar skills as the previous player. The Steelers knew what type of player they needed for each of the five line positions, and they would sign players who fit their criteria.

During the late ’80s, when I was with the Cleveland Browns, we had a very solid offensive line. Most had been together for a number of years and had developed a solid group chemistry. Cody Risien was an extremely talented right tackle who was often tasked with pass blocking the defensive end over him all by himself. This allowed the other four linemen to work together to block the other pass rushers. In the running game, they were well-versed on how to block the defensive players based on how the defensive players reacted.

TRANSITION FROM STARTER TO BACKUP

When players join the NFL, they can find themselves in an unfamiliar situation. Most NFL players had great college careers, but instead of being on the field most of the time, they’re relegated to part-time duties. Not only can it be tough on the ego, it also limits the opportunities to improve. Because the starters take most of the repetitions during practice, the backups must find a way to maintain and improve their skill sets to ensure they can perform at their highest level if called upon. This takes determination, desire and consistent effort. Those who figure out how to be ready are often rewarded with longer careers.

During my first four years in the NFL, as a member of the Baltimore, then Indianapolis, Colts, I started the majority of games. Before my fifth year in the league, the Colts traded me to the Cleveland Browns, who had a talented second year QB named Bernie Kosar. Early in our pre-season camp, Bernie was named the starting QB. At first, this did not sit well with me. I had to change my mindset. The first adjustment was to convince myself that I was the starting QB but wouldn’t be getting much playing time. Second, instead of getting physical repetitions in practice, I had to take mental reps. I would stand behind the offense and “read” the defense to determine which receiver should be targeted with a pass. Learning how to practice the mental game helped me to produce when my chances came.

JOHN TEERLINCK

John Teerlinck was a former NFL player who became a well-respected and accomplished defensive line coach in the NFL. In fact, he was such a great coach, the award given annually to the best defensive line coach is named after him. In 1990, John was the defensive line coach for the Cleveland Browns. As the backup quarterback for the Browns that year, one of my responsibilities was to simulate our upcoming opponent’s offense for our defense. (The group of players who simulate an opponent’s offense or defense in practice is called the “scout” team.) Every Wednesday — which is usually the first day of an NFL work week — John would ask me to simulate some characteristics of our upcoming opponent’s offense. If our opponent’s quarterback liked to scramble, I was asked to scramble in practice. If our opponent’s QB stayed in the pocket, so did I. Sometimes John would notice a certain movement a QB would make just before the ball was snapped. He would ask me to simulate the movement in practice so our defensive linemen could get a split-second jump on the snap in the game.

Over the course of that season, John and I developed a great bond. After the 1990 season (the Browns won three and lost 13 games), John and I were released (fired) by the Browns. John quickly signed with the Los Angeles Rams. Luckily for me, he developed a friendship with the Rams offensive coordinator, Ernie Zampese. After John saw that I had been released by the Browns, he told Ernie that I’d be a good fit for the Rams. The Rams gave me a tryout and allowed me to be part of their 1991 preseason training camp. Because of John’s recommendation, I ended up as a member of the Rams from 1991 through 1993, my last three years in the league.

EMBRACE THE ‘NO ONE’ ROLES

One day while I was a member of the Cleveland Browns, Clay Matthews Sr. made a comment that has always stuck with me. He said he would rather be the “rush” linebacker instead of the “cover” linebacker. This confused me, so he explained. As the “rush” LB, not many fans see him unless he makes a sack. Everyone cheers the sack. As the “cover” LB, no one notices until he fails and the guy he’s covering makes a catch. No one cheers after that.

To be clear, Clay was a terrific player who was equally adept at rushing the QB and covering a receiver. There aren’t many like him. As a backup, 1 was always searching for ways to get onto the field. One of the few opportunities for a backup QB was to be the “holder” on extra point and field goal kicks. Like a “cover” linebacker, no one notices the holder unless he makes a mistake. In simple terms, the holder kneels on one knee approximately 7 yards from the line of scrimmage. When the ball is snapped, the holder has to catch the ball, place it on one end, rotate the laces away from the kicker and put the proper tilt on the ball. All of this needs to be completed within one second.

Fortunately, I was afforded the opportunity to be the holder for the Browns for a few seasons. During my first preseason with the Rams, I didn’t get the chance to “hold” for the newly acquired veteran kicker, Tony Zendejas. Instead, I held for a rookie left-footed kicker. During the preseason games, the first team (Zendejas) had a number of mishandled extra point and field goal attempts. After one last mistake in the final preseason game the special teams coach pointed at me and said, “You’re holding from now on.” And with that statement, I knew I would be a member of the 1991 Rams.

BROKEN NOSE

In the early 1980s, the New York Jets defensive line was called the “New York Sack Exchange.” And yes, they could put some serious heat on an opponent’s quarterback. Their left defensive end was Mark Gastineau. He was one of the NFL sack leaders for multiple years in a row. Since we played them twice each of my first four years in the league, he had plenty of opportunities to sack me. During one of our games in Indianapolis, his forearm “inadvertently” went inside my face mask, which broke my nose. (In today’s game, that would be illegal, but in 1985, not so much.)

After the game, one of our team doctors told me my nose would be off to one side of my face in the morning and to simply push it back into place. The doctor was right. A few weeks later, we were playing the Cowboys in Dallas. One of their running backs caught a pass near our sideline and our linebacker pushed him out of bounds. As fate would have it, the running back’s helmet hit the same doctor in the face, which broke the doctor’s nose. As he was lying on the sideline with his nose bleeding, I took the opportunity to tell him his nose would be off to one side in the morning and to just push it back into place. He laughed, got up, stopped the bleeding and finished the game on the sideline.

UNBREAKABLE RECORDS

There are two records of mine that will never be broken. In 1983, I threw the last touchdown pass in Baltimore Colts’ history. And in 1984, I threw the first touchdown pass in Indianapolis Colts’ history. Robert Irsay, the owner of the Colts at the time, packed up and moved the team from Baltimore to Indianapolis in the middle of the night on March 28, 1984.

AUTOGRAPH REQUESTS

Believe it or not, fans still send autograph requests through the mail, which I sign and return, time permitting. Here are a few pro tips if you’d like to get an autograph from a former player:

1. Don’t tape the back of the envelope. It’s a pain to open.

2. Try to provide a self-sticking SASE. It’s kind of disgusting licking a bunch of envelopes.

3. Don’t tell the ex-player how many years he played. We already know.

4. Provide a short, fun experience or memory. They’re a blast to read.

2026 Feature

Tables of Togetherness

TABLES OF TOGETHERNESS

Tables of Togetherness

A guide to stylish spreads

By Emilee Phillips • Photographs by John Gessner

The beginning of autumn means the holiday season is right around the corner. With that brings the innate desire to gather. But you don’t have to wait for a special occasion to host. Dinner parties invite guests into your world in a way that technology never can. As the seasons settle into a gentler rhythm, let your evenings do the same. Allow conversation to fall in step with the changing season — intentional, comforting and unhurried, like wax slowly melting from a candle. To help inspire your next dinner party, we asked two elite hostesses their favorite tips and tricks for throwing together tables of any size, in a way that welcomes guests to relax, slow down and stay awhile.

***Harvesting* *Hospitality***

Maribeth Tumberg has a knack for making people feel welcome. In fact, the running joke among her closest friends is that she could talk to a brick wall, which means hosting comes naturally to her. “My goal was always to make our house the house everyone comes to,” says Tumberg. As a military spouse, she knows how important community is, and moving often means searching for it again and again. To her, a dinner party is a golden ticket. “It’s the easiest way to make friends. Who doesn’t want to go to a cute dinner party?”

Tumberg thrives on Southern hospitality. “I find smaller events give you more freedom with the choices you make,” she says. “But for me, just being around the people you love most and having a good meal makes it a great time.”

Every plan of hers begins with a mood board. Tumberg uses a lot of color when she’s decorating for a party, no matter the season. She says unexpected elements, patterns and textures tie everything together. “I love to be creative; I get that from my grandma.”

Must Have: Patterns, whether it’s the plate, the cup or the napkin — something should pop. Substance-wise? Wine.

Tip: If you’re on a budget but still want things to feel special, you can find plenty of rentals for things like linens and glassware in the area.

Setting: If the weather permits, always host outside. Nothing matches the beauty of the outdoors.

Maribeth Tumberg owns Party with MB, an event planning and design business for anything from a two-person dinner to small weddings. Originally from Greenville, South Carolina, Tumberg has been soaking up life in Southern Pines for the last 2 1/2 years, until her next move.

***Grandeur,* *Simply Served***

Capel Brendel believes a house is happy when it’s full. When she hosts, her goal is to make the atmosphere seem effortless. “People want it to feel easy and comfortable. It’s less intimidating to reciprocate if you’ve gone to someone’s house and it’s not quite perfect.”

Brendel fondly recalls her parents’ dinner parties, and now, as a frequent hostess herself, she strives to create those memories for others. “To me, that’s the best gift to give,” she says. Her place settings often consist of borrowed items like napkins or plates from her mother and grandmother, giving each table spread a sense of character she cherishes.

If you have an extra set of hands, Brendel recommends dividing the responsibilities: Have one person greet guests, chat and mix drinks, while another handles the behind-the-scenes work like cooking and cleanup.

Games are an underrated tool to get folks talking and laughing. “You can linger around a table in someone’s home longer than you would in a restaurant.” Use that to your advantage.

Tip: Don’t wait to take a shower; you always run out of time at the end.

Drinks: Greeting guests with a sparkling rosé or ending the evening with a port gives the occasion a nice touch.

Must Have: Local flowers from the farmers market

Capel Brendel was born and raised in Southern Pines. A mother of four, she lives in Southern Pines and works remotely with Laforce, a communications firm in New York City. She considers the Sandhills the definition of a hidden gem, and you’ll often find her at the farmers market

2026 Feature

Poem September 2026

POEM

Proto-Indo-European Speakers

Those steppe-dwellers had words for apple

and bee, so we can guess at where they were

and weren’t, can guess at the wheeled wagons

and lactose-tolerant mutations and skills

on horseback that helped them spread the tongue.

I love learning how thick forests kept languages

isolated, how textiles weren’t possible until sheep

ascended mountainous terrain in western Asia

and evolved longer wool, and all these factors

led to a family of shared sounds reaching

across continents, across time. Our words

for mouse and mead and star and new

aren’t so different from theirs, and I can’t help

thinking that they looked drunkenly

at the night sky and felt the same wonder

and renewal that I do when I stumble

into the darkness and am swallowed by a night

whose constellations form the same shapes

those nomadic herders would have seen —

bear, serpent, warring god — each a light

from someone else’s sun, so distant

it might as well be eternity. And someday,

my human descendant may reach

one of those planets and may have on the journey

a record of the words I spoke during this time

of ignorance, and he may see in his own words

some parallel to mine: remember or solace or joy.

— Ross White

2026 Feature Poem

Dracula Diana

DRACULA DIANA

Dracula Diana

A lunar eclipse in bloom

By Jason Harpster • Photograph by Jeremy Losaw

The Ides of August marked the Festival of Torches, a three-day Roman celebration to honor the goddess Diana. More than two thousand years later, Diana remains closely associated with the moon, from classic mythology to modern spiritual traditions. Southern Pines now has its own connection to that legacy with Dracula diana f. xanthina ‘Southern Pines Lunar Eclipse ‘ AM/AOS, awarded on June 15, 2024.

Dracula diana is a species from western Colombia that grows in cloud forests at elevations around 4,000 feet to 5,250 feet where temperatures rarely exceed 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Arguably the most attractive species in the genus, Dracula diana is typically recognized for its creamy white flowers accented with golden-yellow overlays and maroon markings. The xanthina (yellow) form replaces the usual creamy palette with glowing yellows and oranges that make the flowers look like they are ablaze.

Horticultural color forms of different orchid species are inherently exciting as they allow you to re-imagine what’s possible. Some varieties can also be very hard to find or rare. Although ‘Southern Pines Deity’ remains the highest-scored award ever granted to the species, ‘Southern Pines Lunar Eclipse’ stands apart for an entirely different reason; its exceptionally rare xanthina color form. Alba forms lack anthocyanin pigments, while xanthinic flowers retain carotenoids that produce yellow and orange coloration. Regardless of the science and vocabulary, these flowers are absolutely spectacular. In addition to being visually striking with stripes and spots, the flowers invite a gentle touch with their soft, fuzzy texture.

Sometimes the rarest of flowers don’t redefine a species, they simply reveal another side of its beauty.

2026 Feature

That ’70s House

THAT '70S HOUSE

By Jenna Biter

Photographs by John Gessner

The day’s waning light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows to illuminate a houseful of delightful curiosities. Joseph Smith recovered the whale vertebra on the coffee table in an Army dive, and the Matisse knockoff was hanging in Allison Smith’s Raleigh apartment when the couple first met. A European motorcycle helmet is a marriage of opposites: red and green, old and modern. “It’s like a spirit animal,” Joseph says. The helmet is the anchor in the home’s sea of personality.

“We love the hunt for thrifted things, but we also just love keeping our money local,” says Allison from a clay-colored couch.

“That actually is a point of pride,” Joseph says, beaming at his wife as their 10-month-old daughter, Imeleta Kimbrell, named for both grandmothers and “Lettie” for short, babbles and squeals from the floor.

The Smiths moved into the 2,000-square-foot, mid-century modern fixer-upper in the spring of 2023. They swapped the walkability of a downtown rental for family life a few minutes outside Southern Pines where neighbors deliver brownies at move-in and gifts when a baby is born. “We were ready for a little bit more space,” says Allison.

The one-story brick build lounges on a smidge less than an acre in the shade of mature pines. Built in 1974, it has had numerous owners, and like a whisper loses shape in a game of telephone, its history has morphed into myths that can’t be confirmed but are fun to believe. One thing is certain: Before previous owners painted the house black, it was referred to as “the dentist’s office.” The house on Horseshoe Road is the rare instance where Allison is happy that the original brick had been painted.

Past the house number, set in a silver script that hints of diners and the Jetsons, lipstick red double doors welcome visitors into a curated space. The furniture and décor were inherited or purchased secondhand from estate sales, Community Thrift, Sandhills Coalition, Habitat for Humanity and Facebook Marketplace. “My favorite piece is probably that — what would you call that? Dresser? Chest? — the Asian chest,” Allison says, pointing to the black and gilt chinoiserie in the dining room. “That belonged to my grandparents. Ever since I was 5, I was like, “One day . . .’”

Beside the chest hangs a pair of portraits of girls who could fit in with the Brady Bunch. “We have no idea who they are,” says Joseph. The Smiths bought the paintings at a sale for something nearing $5 apiece and, in trying to identify the subjects, discovered their first Realtor had been the previous owner of the paintings, also bought them at a sale, and doesn’t know who the girls are either.

Potatoes fill a prized brown ceramic bowl displayed prominently on the kitchen island. “For me, my favorite thing is that bowl because Allison made it in a pottery class, and I love it,” says Joseph, with a wide grin. “I love that thing.”

Allison laughs. “He’s like, ‘If there’s a fire, other than you and Lettie, I’m taking that bowl,’” she says.

Smith House has two bedrooms for now, but soon there will be three. The room conversion is the last project in a series that started when they purchased the home serendipitously.

“We love mid-century modern homes,” Joseph says. “We were looking and looking. We really wanted to find a house that was us, or close enough to us that we could make it us. And we found a house.”

It was in Fayetteville. It had imported cypress panels and Japanese joinery. It was a mid-century modern dream, and for the Smiths, a Faustian bargain. “Are we going to go to Fayetteville and live in our dream house where we’re just far enough from her family to be too far?” Joseph says. Allison grew up in West End, a descendant of families who have been in the Sandhills for centuries. The Shaws — a many-times-great-grandmother was born in Shaw House. The Aumans of Auman Lake on her father’s side and the Pages of Aberdeen on her mother’s.

“The day that we’re going to sign the papers, our Realtor says, ‘Hey, you know there’s this other house. It’s the last day on the market on Horseshoe Road over by Pine Needles if you want to at least give it a look,’” Joseph recalls. They were last to tour the property for best-and-final offers.

“We walked in. We saw the parquet floors. The big floor-to-ceiling windows. The big doors.” They were sold. Within the first two years, Joseph and Allison had replaced the ceiling; opened the floor plan for dining, living and kitchen to mingle three-in-one; added birch paneling to the bedrooms; and remodeled the bathroom with upgrades that included a bidet after a trip to Italy. As DIYers, they did it all, from ceiling insulation to kitchen cabinets constructed of walnut plywood that complement the mid-century modern architecture.

“We both liked it before we got together,” Allison says of their mutual love for the aesthetic. “Neither of us took convincing to be into the style, thank goodness.”

“This might be, after the fact, why I think I like it,” says Joseph. “When I grew up, all of Las Vegas was mid-century homes like Palm Springs, kind of Eichler, single story, flat roof, palm tree.” (Joseph Eichler was an American real estate developer known for building mid-century modern houses priced for middle-class Californians.)

For Allison, relationships fed her appetite for good design. Her aunt and uncle worked at the architectural firm Hayes-Howell and Associates, and her grandmother “just had a love of beautiful things.” Allison jokes that her mom is the original Pinterest-er. To this day, Mom tears pages from home magazines and bestows them on whomever she thinks could be inspired to dive down a Facebook Marketplace rabbit hole.

“The age of good furniture is gone,” Joseph says, matter-of-factly, “and if it’s not gone, you’re going to pay $48,000, but you can get it secondhand and cheaper, and somebody locally benefits.”

It’s already out there. Somebody might as well add it to their collection of delightful curiosities.

2026 Feature House

Matchless

MATCHLESS

Matchless

The duel at CCNC

By Dale Moegling

By the end of the 1960s, professional golf had settled into a rhythm that made sense to everyone watching it. Four days. Seventy-two holes. Numbers gathered patiently and arranged on a leaderboard that revealed in orderly fashion who had played best. Arnold Palmer could hitch his pants for his army; Gary Player could fist-pump to the four corners of the earth; Jack Nicklaus could drive the ball vast distances and achieve the career grand slam in just seven years.

It was a system that worked. It was easy on the eyes — television’s eyes. It was also a system that had lost something. For Joseph C. Dey Jr., who after a 34-year career as the executive director of the USGA, became the first commissioner of the newly created PGA Tournament Players Division (soon to be the PGA Tour) in 1969, the game was missing something that had once defined it: match play, the mano a mano format abandoned by the PGA Championship after 1957.

Dey’s demeaner was as formal as a Windsor knot. “He never removed his jacket in the office, and was of the unshakable conviction that 9 to 5 meant exactly that, and not 9 until 4:50,” wrote another lion of the USGA, Frank Hannigan. Dey would resign as PGA Tour commissioner in 1974, handing the reins to Deane Beman. Among the things he accomplished in five years included two tournaments, one with a lasting impact and one whose fame was rather more fleeting.

Dey instituted the Tour’s stand-alone event now known as The Players Championship. A less enduring mark was left behind by the short-lived reintroduction of match play in professional golf known as the U.S. Professional Match Play Championship that debuted in 1971, followed by the Liggett & Myers Open U.S. Match Play Championship in 1972. Both were played in the late August heat on the highly regarded Dogwood Course of the Country Club of North Carolina, itself less than a decade old. The back-to-back years marked the return to Moore County of the best players in the world after Richard Tufts canceled the North and South Open following the 1951 season. The experiment in match play would last one additional year, played at MacGregor Downs Country Club in Cary, before it came to a merciful end.

As much of a button-downed traditionalist as Dey was, he was also willing to push the envelope. He once proposed that the U.S. Open be contested for three weeks over 216 holes on three different courses in three different parts of the United States. It was a concept that, to put it charitably, found no purchase with the USGA’s executive committee.

With visions of the grandeur of match play drama, the help of CCNC club president Richard A. Urquhart Jr., the influence of club member William M. Jennings (president of the New York Rangers and a member of the NHL Hall of Fame) and the financial backing of Milton E. Harrington, the president of Liggett & Myers, Dey’s dream of the psychological drama of one-on-one golf became a reality.

The field in 1971 was to comprise the 64 top names on the points list. All the usual suspects would be there. Lee Trevino. Palmer. Player. Nicklaus. And local favorite Julius Boros who had ties to Mid Pines Club. Rather than a traditional win-a-hole, halve-a-hole, lose-a-hole format, the matches would be contested at stroke play over 18 holes — pleasing for television in the days when only the last few holes could be broadcast.

A celebrity-rich field showed up for the Tuesday pro-am: singer Glen Campbell, the astronaut Gene Cernan, New York Yankees great Mickey Mantle, the jockey Eddie Arcaro and, probably the best known of all, Mayberry’s slapstick deputy Barney Fife, née Don Knotts.

The tweaking of the scoring, however, did nothing to alter the vagaries of match play. Nicklaus went out early. Player came undone in extra holes. Palmer didn’t fare any better. The finals produced DeWitt Weaver, whose previous best finish had been a third place in the ’71 Hawaiian Open, against San Diego’s Phil Rodgers, destined to become something of a short game guru in later years. Weaver’s one-under 71 was good for a 6-shot victory. The consolation match for third was won by Ken Still over Bruce Crampton. If match play was to survive on the professional tour, the “names” needed to survive to the weekend. Changes needed to be made. And made they were.

The 1972 version grafted the L&M Open at stroke play onto the U.S. Professional Match Play Championship, producing the world’s longest name for a single event. It would be dubbed, and redubbed, golf’s first doubleheader. The match play would involve 16 players. The first seven — Nicklaus, Trevino, Palmer, George Archer, Miller Barber, Frank Beard and Jerry Heard — came off the money list, joined by Weaver as the defender. The second eight would be determined by the first 36 holes of the L&M. “Billed by contestants themselves as ‘The Forgotten Open,’ or ‘The World’s Richest Qualifier,’ or merely, the satellite,” wrote Golf World magazine’s Dick Taylor.

The week began much as the inaugural had, with a wealth of celebrities playing in the Amateur-Celebrity Pinehurst Invitational on course No. 2. Glen Campbell was back, as was Cernan. They were joined by Robert Stack, television’s Eliot Ness. Bob Hope said he hadn’t seen that much sand since his last USO tour.

There was a remunerative benefit to being promoted from the L&M to the match play. First place was $40,000 compared to $20,000 in the stroke play. After the first 36 holes on CCNC’s Cardinal, there was a three-way playoff for the last two match play slots. Don Bies and Paul Moran got in, Jerry McGee didn’t. The weekend schedule looked like this: Saturday opened with the first round of matches, followed by the third round of the L&M and concluding with the second round of matches; Sunday began with the semifinal matches, followed by the final 18 of the L&M, finishing the day with the final match. What’s the old saying, a camel is a horse designed by a committee?

In the end, television got what it wanted: Jack Nicklaus in the final. He beat Frank Beard 2 and 1. The television coverage by CBS actually broke away after Nicklaus’ victory and before the four-man playoff for the L&M between Lou Graham, Hale Irwin, Larry Zeigler and David Graham, won by Lou Graham with a birdie on the third extra hole.

As Sports Illustrated’s Dan Jenkins wrote, “The format was different, but the result was the same. Jack Nicklaus won again.”

2026 Feature

With Love and Appreciation…

WITH LOVE AND APPRECIATION...

With Love and Appreciation...

By

Clyde Edgerton

Daniel Wallace

Joseph Bathanti

Jill McCorkle

Jaki Shelton Green

Michael Parker

Shannon Ravenel

Illustrations by Campbell Pringle

The 2026 induction ceremony for the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame takes place in October at the Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities. Could there be a better time to devote our Summer Reading issue to the current and soon-to-be members of that exclusive club than now? We’ve asked three members of the class of 2026 to write a letter to one of their favorite fictional characters and, to round out the field, we’ve surrounded them with four current enshrinees. The rules were simple: Pick a character you love, or hate, or even love to hate, and go from there. And we think you’ll agree, the places they went are extraordinary.

From: Clyde Edgerton

To: Manley Pointer, the Bible salesman in “Good Country People,” by Flannery O’Connor

Dear Manley (if I may),

I got your penitentiary address from Henry Dampier, a character of mine who also sells Bibles. He knows you and I assume you know him.

A few days ago, Henry told me about your recent criminal activities, including getting caught again — stealing boxes of Gideon Bibles and then razoring out the title page (referencing “Gideon”).

I’ve not read the story “Good Country People” in a good while but I remember being drawn to your cleverness in that story, and also, aspects of your appearance — especially your yellow socks rolled down “to your ankles” or something like that. Images get stuck in your head, you know?

I am sending you this letter to let you know that you have been an inspiration to me in at least a couple of ways:

1. I sometimes go to bed at night happily anticipating the next morning’s completion of a scene I’m writing. On the second or third reading of “Good Country People,” when I was still a young writer, I came to realize that heaven for me would be the opportunity to write the last half or so of “Good Country People” — the part that would include your second visit to Hulga’s mother’s house. I realized that to know you were going back to visit again, and that I could write out what then happened, would be a kind of delightful heaven on earth for me. All this (including reading about your relationship to Hulga) fell onto me as I was learning to write fiction.

2. A couple of writers got in touch with me early in this century, saying they were hoping to publish a book-length tribute to Flannery O’Connor, written by different writers — would I contribute?

Of course.

I decided to contribute a short story that included my character, a Bible salesman who was not you (but who knew you). I also wanted to include a “misfit” in my story — one who knew Miss O’Connor’s famous character, The Misfit. I wondered if the writers hoping to publish the O’Connor tribute book would accept a story rather than an essay. I was afraid they’d say no, so I didn’t ask, I just wrote the story, and I liked it so much I eventually made it into a novel: The Bible Salesman. I never heard from the writer/editors again, but was very happy, of course, that they — and you — helped me write a novel.

Thank you for your inspirations and best of luck in your post-prison endeavours. I wish for you the very best in all things. I read that you recently said that you were “going straight” now.

Have you ever thought about entering politics?

Please write back.

Sincerely,

From: Daniel Wallace

To: Neddy Merrill in “The Swimmer,” by John Cheever

Dear Ned Merrill,

This is the last time I’ll write to you. All the other letters have been returned to me, the sole response stamped on the unopened envelope by some heartless machine: OCCUPANT UNKNOWN. MOVED. VACANT. NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. Why do I keep hoping that somehow you will have returned to the house in Bullet Park, and that you will get my letter (the 5th? 6th?) and write back with an upbeat apology, explaining where you’ve been and what happened to you? I wonder if you even know.

I’m a fan, Ned. Maybe not a fan of yours but a fan of your incredible plan — to swim that Sunday morning the eight miles from the Westerhazy’s pool to your own home, realizing you could make it almost the entire way pool to backyard pool. You were not a young man, either, when the idea came to you, and perhaps that’s why you did it: a younger man would not have felt the need to prove to himself (and to all the lesser mortals) that something so incidental could be done, and certainly not with the same heedless and drunken joie de vivre. Only a man who had nothing to lose would do it, precisely because (whether he knew it or not) he had lost everything already. The old man’s still got it I can hear you telling yourself, over and over again, in those pools before the rains came.

You remind me of my father. You were more his generation than mine. I think you would have liked him. So many of the poolside scenes you swim through remind me of those “midsummer Sundays” at our own home, the kind when everyone sits around saying, “I drank too much last night.” I didn’t drink — I was just a kid — but my parents did. This is after we moved from Homewood to Mountain Brook, when my father started making real money and we had the pool in our backyard; in Homewood, we just had grass.

Those were the Sunday mornings the Hurleys would come over. Jack and Mary. They brought the V8 juice and the celery; my parents supplied the vodka, Worcestershire sauce, and Tabasco. By the pool they would shine themselves up with Baby Oil and sip on their Bloody Marys well into the afternoon, as the Alabama sun beat down on them. The Wallaces and the Hurleys drank, laughed, smoked, swam, all at the same time, too, sometimes, ashtrays and glasses balanced on a long yellow float.

As it was with you (there’s a bar beside almost every pool you swim through on your journey home) those Sunday mornings were just as much about drinking as the party the night before may have been. Drinking was assumed. An expectation. No matter how many Sunday morning Bloody Marys they had though (and it was impossible to say how many, because they came to the poolside in a gigantic pitcher) they were never drunken, or even tipsy. They were relaxed. “This is so relaxing,” they said, eyes closed behind their porthole-sized sunglasses. And the sun baked them lobster red.

They all seemed so old to me then, years beyond counting. But no: in 1970 I was 11 and my father was a mere 40 years old. The hair on his arms was going gray though and he wasn’t in the best of shape. Still, he would race me in the pool and win going away. And, like you, Neddy, he had a “simple contempt” for people who did not hurl themselves into pools, and pull themselves out of them by the curb — no ladder for him. He still had it! At 40 he was at the top of his game. That’s what it looked like anyway.

I imagine you were about 40, too, when your story takes place, when you almost seem to figure out how lost you were, and how much you’d lost.

Which brings me to why I’ve been writing to you.

My father died in 1997. He was 67, same age as I am now. And I can’t ask him, obviously, so I’m writing you to ask: When you swam back home, through almost a dozen pools, having a drink at as many of them as you possibly could, and when you made it back home and found that everything you had taken for granted wasn’t there anymore, when you caught up with yourself and the reality of your world — what did you do next? I can ask you that, right? Just because one story ends doesn’t mean they all do. When you finally don’t have it anymore, what do you have? How long can you keep on swimming? That’s what I want to know. That’s what I need to know. Sooner the better too, because summer is almost over. That’s how it feels, anyway.

Thanks, and I hope all is well,

From: Joseph Bathanti

To: Colin Smith, the main character and narrator in “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner,” by Alan Sillitoe

Dear Smith (Colin, if I may):

I recently reread Alan Sillitoe’s brilliant novella, The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, in which you, the inimitable first-person narrator, claim to have authored the tale. Thus, the novella becomes a pedigree of metafiction. Most interesting — and I wish I had Sillitoe to consult on the matter. Is it he who brings you to life? Or are you the agent of that feat? And please stop me, if this gets to sounding like some puffed-up, egghead scholarly treatise.

Your voice is unforgettable. I’ve always had a soft spot for the cheeky and you have a gift for smartassery that would have been cherished in the working-class Little Italy of Pittsburgh in which I grew up, where the art of biting off your nose to spite your face has been empirically perfected. Tough kids with El Dorado-sized, Marxist chips on their shoulders and a viral antipathy for authority to match yours — and not a scrap of remorse among them. In truth, Colin, you’re a revolutionary; the authorities like to keep your sort in stir. You scare the bloody hell out of them. You even allude to Hungary and what I presume is the Hungarian Revolution of 1956; and there’s also the mention of “a big boot . . . likely to smash any nice picnic [you] might . . . make for [yourself].” It seems you’ve studied your fellow Englishman, Orwell: “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.” You are a prole, one of the fellaheen, among those the “whip-hand” aims to force to their knees.

But you can take a punch as well as deal one. You throw the big race — the Blue-Ribbon Prize Cup for Long Distance Cross Country Running — so coveted by the “governor,” the borstal warden, a “pot-bellied pop-eyed, bastard” as you dub him — even though you’re meters and meters ahead of your closest competitor and the finish line’s in sight. Like a convict, mere hours from parole, who jumps the fence. Rather than curry favor, you symbolically spit in the governor’s eye, which fetches you his outrage and a goodly dollop of additional hardship in borstal. More than anything, you exemplify so gloriously Albert Camus’ famous injunction from “The Myth of Sisyphus”: “There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn.” It’s the gesture, the gorgeous immemorable flourish, that seems precious, near sacramental, to you — that piss-on-everything mentality. It recalls Marlon Brando as he dies in Last Tango in Paris: removing the chewing gum from his mouth and fixing it to the underside of the balcony railing before collapsing. How I admire your flare for self-immolation — Bravo! — though I don’t possess your threshold nor stamina for Purgatory.

But, of course, there’s more to it than that. Isn’t there always? You hail from a withered home where the only things in abundance are neglect, ennui and not enough dollars — and let’s not even broach the subject of love, though it’s there, but in the guise of yearning and desperation; nor should we mention your philandering mam; and your dad, whom you find dead, “ . . . like a skinned rabbit . . . lino and carpet” soaked in his blood. A tram-load of dysfunction. Trauma. Post traumatic stress.

You’ve a heart, Colin Smith, and a capacious one, though you purposefully secrete it beneath the bilious Eiderdown of regret

and cynicism. After all, you’ve been — what we call here in North Carolina — state-raised, first in Remand Homes, now in borstal — one joint after another — plotting your next lame caper and committed to the life of a lammist. You’re only seventeen, already “institutionalized.” Your name, Colin, means “whelp” or “young hound.” There it is: the childhood state in which you’re forever immured. Of course, all that’s left to you is scorn. Blessed searing scorn.

I actually have run from the “coppers” a few times and have found myself, along with a gaggle of my mates, in the backseat of a police car — but, just to be clear, for the most innocuous empty-headed schoolboy pranks, and we were released with barked threats of juvie and the legendary rubber hose designed to put would-be juvenile delinquents on the straight. Nothing even close to robbing a bakery and stashing the lolly in a drainpipe where it flows from the spout in a downpour and damningly presents itself at the feet of the suspicious copper at your door. I’ve not the sand for a life of crime and I had the tireless love and guidance of hard-working parents. They dreamt a better life for me long before I figured out how to dream that dream myself — and I continually remind myself of the advice dispended to Nick Carraway from his father in the second sentence of The Great Gatsby: “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone . . . just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages you’ve had.” Again, there it is. More to the point, I’ve never been incarcerated — Grace of God, and all that — though, over the years, I’ve spent considerable time in prisons as a writing teacher. I’ve also been a long-distance runner, though with nary a jot of your virtuoso clout.

Thus, I’ve now twigged you coming and going; and, make no mistake, I strangely love you and your ilk, taking my place in the cellblock, shackled to a prison cot. And I know enough to declare you a poet and contemplative. You offer not only a lyric tutorial on running — I’ve never read a more convincing account of the fabled “runner’s high” — but your metaphysical riff on being the first and last man on earth simultaneously, as you run the dawn “frozen fields,” is the stuff of magic, clearly rooted in holy writ.

So, my iconoclastic falling-down funny brother-comrade, I look forward to your next book, and I pray you’re on the free side of concertina when you pen it. Please: never stop running; that’s how I imagine you — and weeping, perhaps as Jesus wept at the death of Lazarus.

Fingers crossed this missive makes it to you. Penitentiary mail is notoriously unreliable, and I hope this passes the grubby-handed censors.

In peace and solidarity,

From: Jill McCorkle

To: Charlotte, the barn spider in Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White

Dear Charlotte,

Salutations! I have loved and admired you for 60 years and never glimpse the shining threads of a web that I don’t think of you. For almost 75 years, you have taught children — young and old — about friendship and the seasons and cycle of life. You have shown us the best and the worst of humanity, from fat greedy rats to innocent humble souls like Wilbur, forever loyal in his love and devotion. Your voice is one of reality and acceptance of life’s journey — a wise observation of grief — and what an individual leaves behind for future generations.

Here in the state of North Carolina, there are 8.2 million of Wilbur’s kind, not counting the additional wild ones roaming and rooting. Imagine the many webs it would take to save them! And especially at a time when there is so much talk about bacon products — soda, toothpaste, lollipops and cologne! — to name a few. I suspect the desire some have for bacon is not unlike what you felt about the many flies you devoured. But still, it is always hard not to think of Wilbur when pork products are discussed. And he was Some Pig; he was Terrific, in fact! And what a lucky guy he was to have you and Fern and your many descendants in his life.

We could use your wisdom these days, Charlotte. You said: People are very gullible. They’ll believe anything they see in print. And oh, what an understatement that is. You would not even believe what people are believing! And it goes beyond print — made-up photos and videos, manufactured voices. There is a widespread struggle for truth. And there are those who make Templeton the fat rat look like Gandhi. Some even tried to use your name as code for a cruel, coldblooded operation designed to harm innocent people. You will be pleased to know that there was great public outrage over the use of your good name. After all, you taught the opposite. When Wilbur asked why you had been so kind to him, you said: By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.

Are there enough webs? Enough words? I like to believe that wisdom such as yours will always be repeated and if said and seen enough, will continue to hatch and grow. Your words to Wilbur are always worth repeating and you, dear Charlotte, are my reason for allowing discrete cobwebs in corners and the eaves of the porch (thank you), and you remain a reminder to stop and admire the intricate and beautiful artwork of nature and declare it a miracle and rightly so.

Sometimes your voice comes to me in the cadence of an elementary school teacher’s voice, reminiscent of all those times after lunch we were told we could rest our heads on our desks and just close our eyes and listen while chapter by chapter, the teacher’s voice would lull us into your world and your final day with Wilbur: These autumn days will shorten and grow cold. . . . Winter will pass, the days will lengthen, the ice will melt in the pasture pond. The song sparrow will return and sing, the frogs will awake, the warm wind will blow again. All these sights and sounds and smells will be yours to enjoy, Wilbur — this lovely world, these precious days . . .

Your story left me crying and grieving too many times to count, Charlotte. I didn’t want Fern to grow up and choose time with a boy over time with Wilbur. And I didn’t want you to die. How could you die?! But then I learned something incredibly valuable. I could read your book all over again, and suddenly there you were — salutations! — and even knowing what was coming, I could once again get lost as I feared for Wilbur’s safety, marveled at your messages and hoped that Templeton — fat rat that he is — might have a change of heart. In addition to all else, you taught me the power of words on the page.

Thank you for all you have given to millions of readers (no exaggeration), and may your book always grace the shelves of schools and libraries as it finds its way into young hands and changes their lives in wonderful ways.

With sincere love and appreciation,

From: Jaki Shelton Green

To: Celie, the protagonist and narrator in The Color Purple, by Alice Walker

Dear Celie,

My mother taught me that the color purple was associated with royalty, luxury, power, spirituality, mystery and creativity, but your story taught me that purple was often a bruise, a dictionary version of a common contusion that happens when blood vessels under the skin break from an impact, leaking blood into the surrounding tissue. I became obsessed with the color purple in the 1970s and curated my second wedding in 1979 around shades of lavender, violet, grape, lilac, wisteria, magenta, fuchsia, mauve and plum . . . all juicy luxurious colors not knowing that within a year those lush sensual shades would be prickly stains on my broken heart.

When I met you in 1982 after my “royal purple marriage” withered away, your definition of purple seemed to make so much more sense to me. Thank you for daring me to turn all the wounded flower petals upside down and crawl inside them to explore the other side of breaking skin and ruptured voice.

Thank you for your lessons about reclamation, fulfillment and independence. In the 1980s your presence in the world became a map for many women who were struggling with granting themselves the urgent and necessary permissions they needed in order to begin unraveling the expectations enforced and placed upon us by society, whether it originates from our gender or race.

Our Southern lives are not too far apart. We both grew up in a time period with gender inequality and racial division. We both grappled with expectations placed upon us by male authority figures in our lives, taking on the responsibilities which come with expectations, while our own dreams and desires are muted, invisible, and erased.

Like you, Celie, I broke the bonds of betrayal, emotional impoverishment, self-hate, and began carving a pathway for the self that remembered to remember who she is and who she truly belongs to while re-embracing the color purple inside my gardens. Tiny purple blooms run rampant as groundcover almost choking out the other plants and my thoughts return to your words, “I don’t know how to fight. All I know how to do is stay alive.” So I allow them to make their own choices about survival and the other plants manage to keep on living.

And like the purple groundcover, you reminded us that we were never the bruises or the myths that someone tried to convince us that we were. Thank you, Celie, for demonstrating how you transformed from a silenced, abused victim to an independent, self-actualized woman. Thank you for demonstrating that female solidarity and “womanist” love are essential for overcoming both racial and patriarchal oppression.

Dearest Celie, you taught so many of us to sing out loud in fields of lavender declaring that we are a full embodiment of spiritual wholeness . . . celebrating how our relationships with other women can heal us and help us embrace the power to reject male supremacy, find our voices, reclaim our bodies, sexuality and cultural identity.

Celie, you may not remember, but my mother and my teenage daughter met you at the same time I met you. One paperback copy of Alice Walker’s The Color Purple was passed back and forth between the three of us. We were three generations in a matriarchal household daily discussing your identity search, racism, sexism and sensitive, often contrasting, generational perceptions about self-worth and double consciousness.

Thank you for being the character that my mother cheered on knowing you would not perish. Thank you for all the questions your character served nightly at our dinner table.

Thank you, Celie, for the uplifting lessons that my daughter and I taught each other about the power of intuitiveness, the power of utterance, the power of silence and witness, and all the grace that we granted each other in order to agree to disagree about your journey to liberation.

I am truly grateful for you allowing the ink’s breath to dream you awake.

With deep respect and admiration,

From: Michael Parker

To: Darl Bundren, a character in As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner

Darl Bundren

Mississippi State Asylum

Jackson, Mississippi

Alright now, Darl,

I thought of you the other day. I went for a long drive, trying to find some open country. I had to pass by all sorts of places you never, thank God, got to see: storage units, used car dealers, Korean barbecue, nails, nails, nails. I was in search of a landscape you would have encountered on the way to Jefferson with your family. On a backroad that dipped through a stand of pine down to a sudsy river I pulled over and felt, suddenly, your presence. I remembered how, when I first met you many years ago, in college, I didn’t understand you because the professor said I had to. He wanted me to understand his version of you. He wrote on the board some of the things you said: “The hallway looks like a searchlight turned into rain.” He said what the hallway represented and the searchlight and the rain. All of a sudden it was Psych 101.

He barely mentioned the passage that spoke to me the most, the one that, if I had to sum you up (and why should I, how could I, though that’s the sort of thing we did in classes back then, pick a line and slim you down to fit it): “In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if I am or not.”

It wasn’t just because I had a hard time sleeping, then and now, or because, around the time when everyone else’s mind shuts down, mine ramps up. The way that second sentence ended in a period instead of a question mark opened something up for me: how a little squiggle of punctuation makes a question more desperate than the way you wrote it, which is just as much statement. But not. That’s what I liked. It is, but not. I didn’t know what I was, I didn’t even know if I was or not. Most days that is still the half-statement, half-question, Darl. See, you stuck with me, even though it’s been forty years now.

This kid who sat beside me in class said, “This mess is harder to understand than calculus if you ask me.” I had not asked him and had no idea how to even spell calculus, but I wanted to say, it’s not that bad if you listen hard and also maybe it’s just hard in a different way.

I do get that some of the things you said took a while to hear, though. You said you heard teeth in your brother Jewel’s breath. And, “In sunset we fall into furious attitudes, dead gesture of dolls.” That one went right over my head. But in that same chapter you said, “If we could just ravel out into time. That would be nice. It would be nice if you could just ravel out in time.” I never heard anyone say “ravel,” always “unravel,” and I too wanted to untwist into time. If I could just. Instead, I got more twisted up. I never forgot to wonder how nice it would be to ravel out. You taught me that also, Darl.

I wrote a term paper on you. I compared you to Hamlet, because, see, I don’t think you were as crazy as everyone claimed. I believe you were faking it sometimes, because faking crazy is a way out of just going along. You never did just go along. The people in Jefferson called you “queer.” They meant odd. I read up on you recently and found a few professors saying you liked men. They said you were queer, as in “a queer,” like people used to say back in high school. Queer was a slur, but over time it has become an umbrella term classifying all kinds of sexual configurations. I like how that word has changed meaning, how it went from the worst thing you might get called in high school to a word people nowadays use with pride. I get a kick out of the professors who don’t understand the original meaning of the word. He’s a queer one, I heard people say about some fellow when I was growing up, but the next time they would say he was peculiar. The professors seemed to believe you were confused about everything; therefore, you must be confused about what you like and who you like to do it with. “I don’t know if I am or not” does not mean you are confused. It means you know way more than the rest of us and are too smart to claim that such things can be figured out one way or another.

A hillbilly Hamlet! Wrote the professor at the end of my term paper. He gave me a B minus. To get an A on any term paper about you (as if our connection had any kind of term limit; as if I didn’t believe you when you said, “it is as though time, running straight before us in a diminutive line, now runs parallel between us like a looping string, the distance being the doubling accretion of the thread and not the interval between”) would have bummed me out big time. I’d as soon my GPA suffer than agree with the professor and confine you to what struck me as another life sentence in the state asylum up in Jackson, where they shamefully sent you.

I ran into the kid who said he preferred calculus on the quad one day. Fuck a bunch of Faulkner, he said. I’m going to see if I can’t take that class pass/fail. I was reminded of what you said about your brother: “Jewel knows who he is because he does not know that he does not know whether he is or not.” Though I liked that kid. I like people like him, for they make me question how they know what I don’t know and whether I even know it.

You don’t have to write back. I like writing to you, Darl. I feel myself raveling right out.

Signed,

From: Shannon Ravenel

To: Johnny, a character in “Boy and Dog,” from Facing the Music, Stories, by Larry Brown

Dear Johnny —

There are many reasons to ponder this story about the death of your beloved dog, Bozo. You loved him so much. He was eleven and you are only eight. He must have seemed almost like your big brother. It is very, very sad to think of you finding his dead body run over by a 1965 Mustang driven by a guy who returned to the place where he’d hit Bozo, not to see if Bozo was OK, but to find his car’s hubcap. He didn’t care about having killed your dog. And so you killed him, with a yellow brick. And all hell broke loose after that, which you describe in your unusual literary format (293 one-sentence paragraphs, each sentence in five words), obviously a story emerging from the terrible grief of losing a beloved pet dog.

The double viewpoint — the boy’s and the author’s — captures my attention and makes me wonder. Could an eight-year-old really throw a brick hard enough to kill a grown man in his car? Could a boy that age really cause the hugely explosive scene, observe it, and outwait its end in order to retrieve his beloved dog’s body?

Or could that boy have had an extraordinary imagination? Could he have grown up to be an author? I think I know the answers.

Love,

Clyde Edgerton was inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2016. He is the author of 10 novels, a book of advice, a memoir, short stories and essays. He has received a Guggenheim Fellowship and, most recently, a 2025 O. Henry short story award. He lives in Wilmington, N.C.

Jill McCorkle was inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2018. Her first two novels were published simultaneously in 1984 by the newly launched Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill. The author of seven novels and five short-story collections, her many accolades include the John Dos Passos Prize for Excellence in Literature and the North Carolina Award for Literature.

Daniel Wallace will be inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2026. He is the author of six novels, a memoir, a short story collection and a children’s book. Wallace is the J. Ross MacDonald Distinguished Professor of English at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, his alma mater.

Michael Parker will be inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2026. He is the author of eight novels and three collections of short stories. He has received fellowships in fiction from the North Carolina Arts Council and the National Endowment for the Arts, as well as the Hobson Award for Arts and Letters, the North Carolina Award for Literature, and the 2020 Thomas Wolfe Prize.

Joseph Bathanti was inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2024. Among his many awards are the Sam Ragan Fine Arts Award, the Sherwood Anderson Award and the North Carolina Award for Literature. He is the author of over 20 books, including poetry, novels, short stories and nonfiction. He was North Carolina’s poet laureate from 2012-14 and joined the faculty of Appalachian State University in 2001.

Jaki Shelton Green was inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2014 and is the ninth and current poet laureate of North Carolina. Her honors include receiving the North Carolina Award for Literature in 2003 and the North Carolina State University 2026 Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters. Author of 10 books of poetry, an LP and two audio collections, she serves as poetry editor for Walter magazine and is a professor of Documentary Poetry at Duke University.

Shannon Ravenel will be inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame in 2026. Born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina, she was editor of the Best American Short Stories series for 13 years and one of the founders of Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill. In 1986 she introduced the annual anthology New Stories from the South. During her time at Algonquin, Ravenel nurtured and advanced the work of numerous writers from the American South, including Clyde Edgerton and Jill McCorkle. PS

2026 Feature

Tag: Feature

FALLING IN LOVE

Falling in Love

And planting in abundance

A STITCH IN TIME

A Stitch in Time

Every quilt tells a story

POINT OF VIEW

Point of View

Lakeside living in the Sandhills

CHALK TALK

Chalk Talk

Are you ready for some football?

SAME PLAYS, DIFFERENT LANGUAGES

BEND, DON’T BREAK VS.THE ATTACK DEFENSE

PLAYMAKERS VS. STEADY PLAYERS

FIRST NFL START

DON’T BE A HERO!

BUILDING AN OFFENSIVE LINE

TRANSITION FROM STARTER TO BACKUP

JOHN TEERLINCK

EMBRACE THE ‘NO ONE’ ROLES

BROKEN NOSE

UNBREAKABLE RECORDS

AUTOGRAPH REQUESTS

TABLES OF TOGETHERNESS

Tables of Togetherness

A guide to stylish spreads

Harvesting Hospitality

Grandeur, Simply Served

POEM

Proto-Indo-European Speakers

DRACULA DIANA

Dracula Diana

A lunar eclipse in bloom

THAT '70S HOUSE

MATCHLESS

Matchless

The duel at CCNC

WITH LOVE AND APPRECIATION...

With Love and Appreciation...

Darl Bundren

Mississippi State Asylum

Jackson, Mississippi

***Harvesting* *Hospitality***

***Grandeur,* *Simply Served***