Sazerac October 2026

Sazerac

Sazerac October 2026

History 101

From October 25 to November 1, Greensboro streets will turn blue and gold as North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University celebrates its 100th homecoming, popularly known as GHOE, the Greatest Homecoming on Earth.

Founded in 1891 and recently ranked by Forbes as the No. 1 public HBCU (Historically Black College and University) in the United States, A&T is one of the country’s top producers of STEM graduates and is marching steadily toward the prestigious Research-1 status, the highest and most coveted classification for doctoral universities in the U.S. So it’s no surprise that the nation’s largest HBCU is planning a centennial celebration like no other.

“This year is truly historic,” says Crystal Boyce, vice chancellor for alumni relations (class of ’07 and ’15), “and reaching this milestone is a testament to the generations of Aggies who built and sustained this tradition over a century.”

Boyce maintains that homecoming is “more than just a celebration,” noting her first homecoming felt like “a family reunion multiplied because it celebrates legacy. It celebrates history. It celebrates excellence, innovation and leadership.”

And A&T’s preparing for a legendary bash. In August, A&T hosted Aggies in the Ballpark at the Grasshoppers’ stadium. A month later, A&T headed south for an Aggies in Atlanta brunch, teaming up with one of its 41 alumni chapters to spread the word. Alumni have heard — and 200,000 Aggies are expected to answer — the call to come home. That’s almost two-thirds of the city’s population!

So, as the city welcomes record-breaking crowds, Boyce advises, “Pack your Aggie Pride and patience. Plan ahead and plan to arrive early. Wear comfortable shoes. Most importantly, come ready to celebrate.”

The week-long commemoration kicks off with a coronation. Attendees can dance to the beat of the Blue and Gold Marching Machine at the homecoming parade or wax nostalgic with traditions like the football game (this year versus Elon University), tailgating, the homecoming concert, and donor receptions. There’s something for every Aggie.

Folks who didn’t snag a ticket to the sold-out game can watch it at Aggies on Elm, catch the parade, host their own homecoming parties or pull up at GHOE events around “da ’Boro.” Want to join the festivities? Just look for the streets of blue and gold.

Follow the Centennial Homecoming website for info: www.ncat.edu/homecoming/100/index.php.

  — Gale Greenlee

1927 CIAA Football Championship Team Photo. Football Photos Collections. University Archives and Special Collections, F.D. Bluford Library, NC A&T State University

Photographs courtesy of North Carolina A&T State University

JOI DE VIVRE

Ratphobia: Amidst the Halloween preparations and spooky costumes that will soon be roaming the streets, I can’t help but think about the one fear I have yet to overcome: my fear of mascots. Specifically, rat mascots. It all started on my sixth birthday, when my mama decided to throw my party at Chuck E. Cheese. If you’ve been under a rodent-free rock for the last five decades — was your childhood even fun? — let me set the scene. Imagine a rat-themed play place for kids complete with pizza, games, a jungle gym and, of course, a person in a giant rat costume who comes out every hour to dance with the birthday kid. This giant rat, who was at least three times my size and wore a devious smile that never moved, shook its rat-tailed booty my way — did I mention this was supposed to be a kids’ play place? For 6-year-old Joi, there was nothing scarier. So, for the next few years, whenever I was faced with Chuck, whether at a pal’s party or when he made a surprise elementary school appearance, I would immediately find the nearest table and curl up into a ball. Now, at 23 years old, I still haven’t outgrown my fear of rat costumes. In fact, I’ve somehow managed to develop a second fear: real rats. Let’s just say it’s probably best to keep me far away from all play places, sewers and anywhere else that might contain a surprise visit from a long-tailed rodent.

— Joi Floyd

Window on the Past

Image courtesy of the Blandwood Museum Collection

The Blandwood Mansion is a true staple of Greensboro’s architectural scene, known for its striking Italianate Tuscan Villa design and, of course, its historic windows. Tucked away in the east parlor, this window is one of many that need restoration to make the place really shine. You can help Preservation Greensboro do a little window shopping by sponsoring the museum’s window restoration, giving others a chance to look through history instead of looking past it. Info: preservationgreensboro.org/general-6.

Capturing the Spirit

The Emerald Isle has no shortage of spooky stories and Greensboro artist Paul Nixon is bringing some of them home. Born in Ireland and now a Greensboro resident, Nixon is showcasing Within the Realm of Shadows: Whispers from the White Mountain, a high-contrast, monochrome photographic investigation of the rugged landscapes of County Sligo, Ireland.

The exhibit is a journey through the folklore Nixon grew up hearing from his grandmother, Margaret, whose stories helped shape his fascination with Éire’s mysterious landscapes. “There’s a little bit of magic to Ireland and these photographs take them closer to that magic,” he says. That magic is deeply connected to his homeland’s history and folklore. Halloween itself, notes Nixon, traces back to Samhain, an ancient Celtic festival marking the transition into fall. “It goes back to the early Celts. Each and every time that I would travel back to Ireland, I would seek out places that had that essence to it,” says Nixon, who’s been building this collection for over 20 years. “I found my purpose in life through the arts and how I can inspire people.”

And through this exhibit, he hopes to inspire visitors to see Ireland as well as its ghosts, fairies and stories in a new light. Visit his exhibit all month long at The Marshall Muse Gallery. Info: themarshallmusegallery.com

Unsolicited Advice

All Hallow’s Eve is creepin’ around the corner and we have a feeling you’ve yet to pick a costume. Though it may be too late to find a good ’fit at your local Halloween store, we’ve got some ideas up our batwings that you can make in your own home. After all, there’s nothing scarier than being costume-less on Oct. 31. So don’t fret, just pull out your trusty scissors and duct tape and craft away.

Sometimes, you just can’t beat a classic. A ghost is the ultimate last-minute costume and the perfect way to satisfy your boo bug. All you need is an old, white sheet and a pair of scissors to cut out two eye holes. Throw it over your head and, voilà — you’ll feel like the most beautiful ghoul in the world. Bonus, there’s lots of room under that sheet for stashin’ treats.

You may not know your way around the kitchen but with an apron and a chef’s hat, who’s going to know what’s not cooking? A chef costume is quick, easy and convincing enough to make everyone believe you can actually whip up a five-course meal. Add a wooden spoon or spatula for the finishing touch. Just try not to get caught when someone asks you to make dinner. Yes, chef!

If you’re looking for something with a little more fright, then spin yourself into a mummy with materials you probably already have at home. Grab some old white sheets, toilet paper or gauze and start wrapping. Leave a little room to see and walk — and maybe go to the bathroom — because stumbling blindly around the party may be scary but explaining the hospital bill afterward is even more frightening. For an extra creepy touch, add some smudged makeup or fake dirt to give your costume that freshly escaped-from-the-tomb look.

Omnivorous Reader

Omnivorous Reader

Madcap Mayhem

In a zany debut novel

By Anne Blythe

Remember Best in Show, that quirky Christopher Guest mockumentary that pokes fun at eccentric dog owners and the competitive world of breeding and showing purebreds? Fast forward 25 years.

Mimi Montgomery, a Washington-based Axios reporter who hails from Gaston County, has taken that same chaotic culture, given it a modern twist, dropped in a body count, and delivered a wacky spoof of millennial dog culture in her debut mystery, Murder Bites.

In this suburban satire, Montgomery takes us to the fictitious Glenville, South Carolina, where protagonist Margot Cartwright stands out like a sore thumb. Margot is thrust into a sea of cliquey moms when her husband inherits his childhood home and moves her and their two children into an unfamiliar culture, a world away from the life they knew and liked in the nation’s capital.

She detests her new life. And when we first encounter the willing outcast, she is preoccupied with the whole town’s seeming obsession with a TV reality show called Pawsh and the lengths to which her neighbors will go to get their bougie pups a chance at prime time.

Margot’s mutt, Sid Vicious, did not measure up to the show’s standards, but even if he had, she would not have subjected her lovable companion to such drama.

This was a town where Quinn Chandler and her Lhasa Apso wore matching pelts. Tippi Hayburn carried her pug in a pink BabyBjörn on her chest. And Sally-Claire Foster, Hattie O’Connor and Weezie Whiteagle wrangled their dogs into matching floral rompers, “making them dead ringers for the von Trapp children’s curtain wear.” With a Pawsh camera crew in town from Los Angeles, dogs romp across the center green in their “jaunty, tartan, smoking jackets” and “custom-fitted shearling booties.”

Margot is a woman who considers “public disruption an art form,” and she counts herself among the masters of her craft, just as Leonardo da Vinci was in his artistic world. That might mean strapping a homemade sandwich board onto Sid Vicious calling for an end to designer puppy mills and keeping Pawsh out of Glenville. She had no qualms about sneaking around in the cloak of darkness to yank “Everything is Pawsh-ible” signs — planted by members of the “Mommy Mafia” —  out of her Stepford-esque neighborhood.

“The Mafiosas,” Montgomery writes, “had swiftly shunned Margot upon her arrival to town, and so she studied them with the fringe fascination of Jane Goodall perched under a jungle leaf in Tanzania, watching as they carpooled their children around in $80,000 luxury SUVs, ginormous wedding rings sparkling, or as they carried out the kind of hobby-jobs well-off women dabble in when bored — professional organizing, assembling charcuterie boards, mid-level marketing schemes.”

What Margot found “perhaps most integral to the Mommy Mafiosos,” Montgomery continued, “were the companions perpetually nestled in the cradle of their sculpted biceps, the kind of squirrel-dog hybrids that weighed about the same as a head of lettuce while also costing about the same as a year of in-state tuition.”

When signs go missing, protests become disruptive or one of the more insufferable dog moms receives weekly orders of unsolicited Lord Farquaad bob wigs to match her hairstyle, Margot usually is behind the antics.

So when Boomer, the local dog walker, is found dead in a front yard Halloween display with Home Depot skeletons, Margot, persona non grata in the neighborhood, quickly becomes suspect number one. Only this time, she didn’t do it.

Margot sets out to clear her name, but she can’t do it alone. Two unlikely neighbors band together to help her with the sleuthing — Anne, the stylish, 70-something widow who relishes reigning over the neighborhood HOA with an iron fist, and Sally-Claire, who sours on the Mommy Mafia and their judgey ways.

Madcap investigations ensue. Twists and turns occur, keeping readers guessing.

Montgomery’s debut novel is zany, laugh-out loud funny in places, and a complete joyride, packed with entertaining characters and cultural caricatures deftly planted throughout the pages.  OH

Anne Blythe has been a reporter in North Carolina for more than three decades covering city halls, higher education, the courts, crime, hurricanes, ice storms, droughts, floods, college sports, health care and the many wonderful characters who make this state such an interesting place.

Learning as We Grow

Learning as We Grow

Learning as We Grow​

At Peacehaven, the future is fertile

By Billy Ingram

Photographs by Bert VanderVeen

Welcome to Peacehaven Community Farm, an 89-acre campus near Whitsett where people of all abilities come together to live, learn, work and play. Five adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities currently live at Susan’s View, the first home in Peacehaven’s growing vision for an integrated residential community.

Today is a community workday. Staff members, volunteers and residents spread out across the property, pulling weeds from vegetable gardens, trimming branches beneath shade trees and tackling repair projects.

Despite having little to offer in the way of farming expertise, I quickly find my footing in conversation. There are new people to meet and familiar faces from around Greensboro, including volunteers from Freeman’s Grub & Pub on Spring Garden Street.

Before long I’m talking with Jeff, a Peacehaven resident and an O.Henry fan as it turns out. He’s a take-charge kind of guy who appreciates “being with the community. Letting the community know that, hey, there is stuff going on here every day of the week.”

Jeff gestures toward Adam, another resident, who is immersed in sketching chalk murals that stretch across the sidewalk. “Whether it’s Adam’s drawings or whether it’s just meeting people,” he says, “that’s the best part of living here.”

Nearby, a couple of Grimsley High School students are installing mailboxes as part of the morning’s work.

Just beyond where our group of volunteers is working, Peacehaven’s new community center is taking shape. The 23,000-square-foot building will serve as a shared gathering place for people of all abilities, with spaces for working, learning, exercising, creating and spending time together.

Jeff, who recently celebrated his 37th birthday by jamming onstage with roots-rock musician Hunter McBride at Freeman’s, is especially excited about one feature: the planned podcast studio.

“That feature of the community center was actually inspired by Jeff, who has his own podcast,” Peacehaven CEO Phelps Sprinkle says. (Find The Jeff Show on Spotify.) “He also helped drive its development, figuring out that Elon University, a long-standing partner of ours, had a school of communications and connecting with them to get all of us a tour of their facilities. At the end of the tour, their leaders told us they’d be happy to help us however they could.”

Jeff’s parents describe what Peacehaven means to their family in a recent newsletter: “The future we’ve all hoped for is coming alive.”

Peacehaven’s first community workday was held in 2009. Like today’s gathering, it gave people a chance to discover the farm’s mission? through working side by side.

“What we’re building is for everybody, not just for people with disabilities,” says Cory Phillips, Peacehaven’s senior director of brand and experience. “Look at us now. We’re digging in the dirt, you and me, folks over there. We’re all pulling stuff out that nourishes everybody.”

The vision began with two couples, Buck and Cathy Cochran, plus Tim and Susan Elliott, who were each raising children with intellectual and developmental disabilities (I/DD). They shared a concern familiar to many families in the same boat: What happens when a young person with I/DD turns 22 and loses access to school-based services?

Families often call it “falling off the cliff.”

“That’s when they age out of government and local systems,” Phillips says. Too often, the available choices are limited to a group home or a return to the family home, leaving parents to wonder how they can provide lifelong support when their children will likely outlive them.

Over time, that founding idea has grown into a broader vision: an integrated community where people of all abilities can live alongside one another and find opportunities for friendship, meaningful work and greater independence.

For the past four-and-a-half years, Sprinkle has helped guide Peacehaven into its next chapter. He first met Buck Cochran in the summer of 2013, when Peacehaven was preparing to break ground on Susan’s View, the farmhouse was named for cofounder Susan Elliott, who died of cancer before Peacehaven’s first home was completed in 2014.

“Buck was talking about this community where people with and without disabilities would be living together,” Sprinkle says. “This really spoke to me because my oldest daughter, Roxie, has disabilities.”

Today, Roxie is 23, just beyond the age when many young adults with I/DD lose access to school-based services.

Phelps and his wife, Kate, also have two younger adult children. Like many parents, they have had to think about how Roxie will build a full life as she grows older and who will support her after they are gone.

“And you don’t want to put that responsibility on your other children,” Sprinkle says. “At the same time, you want your child to remain safe while also having a full, meaningful life, with relationships where people learn and grow from one another. That’s what Peacehaven is striving for.”

Isolation affects more than the person with I/DD. It also weighs heavily on parents, siblings and caregivers.

“If someone is isolated, that person and their parent or caregiver are going to have poorer mental and physical health outcomes as a result,” Sprinkle says. “If we can create community for those families, that’s preventative health care.”

Communal living has been central to Peacehaven from the beginning.

“We’ve got five folks living with us now at Susan’s View, and they’ve been the most gracious, amazing people you can imagine,” Phillips says. For most, he adds, Peacehaven is the first place they have lived away from their parents.

Parents and staff members have seen residents gain confidence and independence and while building stronger relationships through the experience of living at Peacehaven.

Plans for the completed Peacehaven community call for about 250 residents. Approximately 40% will be residents with I/DD, the majority made up of folks with conventional abilities and backgrounds who’ll be renting apartments just like anywhere else.

The goal is to create a neighborhood where people whose paths might not otherwise cross can live alongside one another, form relationships and experience what it means to belong.

“Knowing that my child is safe and engaged. If something happens to me, I have set them up for success,” Sprinkle says. “That’s what really hooked me.”

As Cochran told him when they first met, Peacehaven could be just as consequential for people without disabilities as it is for people with disabilities.

Accepting the CEO position came with a measure of trepidation. “It is daunting to put a big vision out there and raise the capital necessary to do it,” Sprinkle says. “But it’s like anything else. If you are authentic and surround yourself with the right team, you can accomplish a lot.” 

In 2023, the state awarded Greensboro $1.5 million to extend utilities to the Peacehaven property. “When that happened, it made our vision even more realistic and led to real fundraising success from both the private and public sectors,” Sprinkle says.

Not long afterward, the leadership team from Trillium Health Resources visited Peacehaven. Trillium is a local management entity/managed care organization that manages a Medicaid provider network and connects people with I/DD to organizations that provide services.

“That visit was the start of a wonderful partnership, with shared goals of providing more resources for people with I/DD through Peacehaven’s innovative integrated model,” Sprinkle says.

Peacehaven’s work extends beyond housing. Families also want to know what a meaningful day can look like for an adult with I/DD. Will there be opportunities to learn? To contribute? To develop skills and find paid work?

Peacehaven’s RISE and SHINE programs help answer those questions.

RISE, or Reaching Interdependence, Skills and Employment, and SHINE, Sharing in New Experiences, offer personal and professional development for adults with I/DD. Participants set individual goals and work alongside direct support professionals who help them practice skills and remove obstacles.

“Whether it’s practicing eye contact or developing the skills to be hired at a local coffee shop, they’re setting those goals,” Phillips says. “They’ve got a cheerleader and a paid employee on our end helping them remove obstacles.”

Plus, the farm itself provides practical ways to develop those skills. “We’re a fully operational farm growing produce,” Phillips says. “That gives RISE and SHINE participants specific tasks where they can track their progress, work on production and understand the whole process of getting something to market.”

Every other Thursday, RISE and SHINE participants bring the literal fruits of their labor to a pop-up market and coffee gathering at Greensboro’s First Baptist Church on Friendly Avenue.

Leaving the garden and volunteers behind for a bit, Phillips and I climb aboard a Utility Vehicle and head a short distance up the a hill, where Peacehaven’s 23,000-square-foot community center is under construction.

The complex is designed as a place where people of all abilities can cross paths naturally and often. Plans include a coffee shop and café, coworking and maker spaces, therapy areas, adaptive and traditional fitness facilities, classrooms, a pottery studio and a library.

A banquet hall and commercial kitchen can host weddings, conferences and instruction. The building will also include a patio, administrative offices and a multisensory room that can provide both calming and stimulating experiences.

And, thanks in part to Jeff, residents will be able to pop on headphones and record whatever they like in the new podcast studio. “More intersections for folks to hang out, make a friend and be a friend,” Phillips says.

The community center will bring Peacehaven’s larger vision into focus. Integrated living depends on more than building homes next to one another. People need shared places where relationships can develop through ordinary encounters: drinking coffee, taking a class, working, exercising or stopping to talk with a neighbor.

Peacehaven’s annual Harvest Celebration offers a glimpse into that kind of community. Last fall, the music and fellowship festival brought about 600 people to the farm. This year’s celebration, planned for Sunday, October 25, will mark the completion of Peacehaven’s current capital campaign and look toward the next phase of development.

Just a month after last year’s Harvest Celebration, Peacehaven hosted a Thanksgiving observance. A story from that event was highlighted in one of their digital newsletters:

A young man named Johnny and his mother, Elizabeth, were attending a Thanksgiving gathering when Sprinkle shared drawings of the future Community Center and residential neighborhood.

Johnny studied the plans, paused and asked, “Is that where I’ll be living?” It wasn’t a passing comment. It was hope spoken out loud. “Johnny has so many people who love him,” Elizabeth says, “but at Peacehaven he gets to build the social bonds and familiarity that he craves.”

That hope is visible throughout Peacehaven: in Jeff’s plans for the podcast studio, in Adam’s chalk drawings, in students installing mailboxes and in volunteers pulling weeds alongside the people who live here. “This is all new territory,” Phillips says. “We don’t yet know every answer, but we want to find out. If anything, we’re going to fail forward, which is pretty exciting.”

On this workday, the concept feels less abstract. Community is growing here in ordinary and extraordinary ways, through shared work, conversation and chances to get to know one another.

Side by side.  OH

Animal Tale

Animal Tale

What Happens When the Bucks Stop Here?

Gardening to support wildlife is complicated

By Ross Howell Jr.

It was an epiphany.

On an autumn morning, I stood at the kitchen sink at our house in Blowing Rock, rinsing dishes, gazing absently out the kitchen window. Then, in single file just feet from the window — one, two, three, four, five, six whitetail bucks ambled past!

Their summer red coats were sleek, their thick racks wide and covered in velvet. At the corner of the house, each buck turned downhill to follow the N.C. native plant garden I’d been working on for years. And yes, I guess it was now officially a wildlife corridor.

I’d never seen a party of bachelor bucks so numerous, yet here they were, not more than the length of a football field from Main Street. What validation for a project! 

Season upon season, I’d hacked away at non-native invasive plants such as stiltgrass, Japanese knotweed, creeping Charlie, English ivy and other menaces. My intent was to make space along a shaded woods’ edge, thanks to a magnificent white oak, for natives such as marginal wood ferns, Christmas ferns, Jack-in-the-pulpits, wood asters and snakeroot.

I’d also planted Fraser firs, redbuds, hybrid chestnut trees, winterberries, oakleaf hydrangeas, rhododendrons and fire azaleas. Plus, I had nourished goldenrods and planted cone flowers. My beds of mountain mint were flourishing.

There’d been setbacks, of course. The deer had gobbled every black-eyed Susan I’d planted down to the ground. Likewise for Solomon’s seal. They’d treated the purple asters and Stoke’s asters like a salad bar. They’d virtually extinguished the big patch of jewelweed that had been the foundation of the native garden. And they browsed the lower branches of the chestnuts and winterberries at every opportunity.

Still, I felt successful. Over time, birds and pollinators began to grow more plentiful and varied. Red squirrels, bluejays and crows feasted on white oak acorns. A black bear decided to dig up and dine on a yellow jackets’ nest in my bed of cranesbill. From our back deck overlooking the corridor, I’d watched a mother raccoon lumber by — two kits in tow.

Previously, I’d never seen more than a pair of bachelor bucks hanging together in our neighborhood. Now I was hosting a party of six.

Even wildlife biologists are a little hazy in explaining why buck deer gather in groups prior to the mating season.

But what happens is clear. While the bucks’ antlers are sheathed in velvet and before their hormones start to rage, they work out a hierarchy among themselves through minor scuffles and intimidation, establishing who’s alpha buck — and who’s not.

That’s a real survival advantage. Because when those hormones churn and the bucks’ aggressions rise, they scrub off the antler velvet to expose hardened, sharp points that can inflict serious, even fatal injuries in a fight.

If you’re an experienced gardener or if you’ve seen any one of the après bachelor party films in The Hangover movie trilogy, you know what happens next.

For a bachelor buck deer, there is no better antler scrubber or faux jousting partner than a lithe, healthy sapling. And my six bachelors threw quite the party. Thankfully, Mike Tyson’s tiger wasn’t invited.

I returned to the house a week later to find that one chestnut’s trunk was girdled. Two redbuds had broken limbs and deep gashes in their trunks. A third redbud looked like it had been run through a wood chipper.

So, belatedly, I bought metal posts and chicken wire to make baskets that would protect all the saplings. The girdled chestnut and the shattered redbud I sawed off nearly at ground level, below the damaged bark. Redbuds are tough. I expect they’ll sprout and I’m hopeful the chestnut will, too. I was sorry to lose all that growth, though. The chestnut had stood a good 10 feet tall.

Now all the saplings and stumps are nestled securely behind wire.

What happens at a Vegas bachelor party stays at a Vegas bachelor party.

And I certainly can’t blame the bucks.

Another gardening lesson learned.  OH

Ross Howell Jr. is a contributing writer.

State of Mind

State of Mind

Fair Is Fair

Games of chance and deep-fried everything

By Tommy Tomlinson

We used to meet at the sow.

That was our gathering spot every year at the Cleveland County Fair in Shelby. For years, my wife and I and some of our friends would go to the fair every fall. Every year they’d have a sow that either had just given birth or was about to. So we knew we’d have a place to meet, and maybe some cute piglets to fawn over. It was a lovely way to start a lovely night.

This is the time of year for county fairs all over North Carolina, plus the big state fair in Raleigh. The fair in Shelby is officially called the Cleveland County Agricultural Fair. The timing has long been tied to the harvest — by now most all the crops are in, and farmers can show off their bounty. Most county fairs have “agricultural” or “industrial” somewhere in the title. In Brunswick County they call it the Agricultural Fair and Expo, just to get a little fancy.

There are no smells quite like fair smells. Back in the ag area, it’s a blend of cowflop and fresh hay and horse shampoo. You can always tell the city kids who wander back to the animal sheds. They’re in sensory overload. Their noses and ears and eyes don’t know what the hell is going on. It’s one thing to see a goat on TV. It’s a whole other thing to hear them bleat in stereo, or to look close enough to see that their pupils are not only rectangular but horizontal. No wonder goats show up in horror movies.

I think some farmers hope the fair will lead others to be drawn to the farming life. But I do wonder if some folks come out of there thinking: Nope, don’t need to see that again, get me to someplace with concrete.

You don’t have to wander far until the smells change. Pretty soon you’ll catch the scent of batter dipped in cooking oil, and you are likely to float that way like a cartoon bear drifting toward a honeycomb. When you get there, Lord knows what you’ll find in the deep fryer. Every year fair food looks and tastes more and more like Guy Fieri’s dreams.

When I was a kid, county fair food was mostly corn dogs and funnel cakes. Now, at the state fair, the corn dogs are Korean and you can get them in flavors ranging from cinnamon mozzarella to Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. The funnel cake at the Beaver Concessions booth was the Food Network’s choice for the best item at last year’s state fair. That particular funnel cake is infused with Cheerwine — both in the batter and the icing. Just writing that sentence made me diabetic.

Every county fair worth its grease now has fried Oreos, fried Snickers, fried corn, fried pickles, fried cookie dough, fried burgers, fried turnip greens and fried banana pudding. (I thought I made up those last two. Then I went and checked. They have fried banana pudding at the Texas state fair. America continues to be a land of innovation.)

One pro tip for the fair: Do not scarf down too many fried whatevers before going on the rides. Rides at the fair are designed to flip your insides upside down.

There’s always some sort of ride named after mountains — the Matterhorn or the Himalayas or some such — that runs backward around an oval at speeds that don’t look scary until you’re actually on the thing. There’s always some sort of Flying Dutchman thing that pendulums from side to side while you sit in a replica of a boat and make out your will. There’s always some sort of Gravitron cylinder that spins so fast it pins your back against the wall, which is a good place to be when the bottom drops out. That last one is a perfect example of centrifugal force, which can be explained by Newtonian mechanics. While you are on it, you will pray that Newton got the formulas right.

I will confess that I have never been much of a ride guy. I’m not getting on anything that rotates my body in three dimensions at the same time. I’d much rather spend my money on games I have almost no chance of winning. The good news is that every fair is full of those, too.

The problem is, you only have to win once to think you’re a winner. Thirty-some years ago, I took a date to the state fair and played one of those games where you toss dimes into dishes. Normally, even if you’re a good shot, the dimes bounce out and land harmlessly on the ground. But this time I got a lucky carom and my dime landed in a tiny cup. The prize was a giant stuffed bear. My date and I had to haul that thing around for the rest of the night. Another pro tip, I guess: Wait to play for the big stuffed bear until you’re done with everything else.

There were two prizes I won as a kid that I kept for a long time. I think I won them both in that game where you throw darts at balloons. One was a belt buckle with the logo of the band Kansas — they were famous in the ’70s for “Carry On Wayward Son” and “Dust in the Wind.” In the Jeopardy! category of Bands Named For Places, they rank behind Boston and Chicago but ahead of Asia.

The other prize was the Farrah Fawcett swimsuit poster that was such a sensation back in 1976. I’ll admit, 62-year-old me feels a little cringy that I once had that on my bedroom wall. But 12-year-old me? He was sure glad he went to the fair. OH

Tommy Tomlinson is the author of two books, The Elephant in the Room and Dogland. He was a longtime columnist for the Charlotte Observer and has written for Esquire, The Atlantic, ESPN the Magazine and many other publications. His online newsletter is called The Writing Shed. He lives in Charlotte with his wife, Alix Felsing.

Simple Life

Simple Life

My October Surprise

To be like Blue (and maybe Lao Tzu, too)

By Jim Dodson

At the start of every summer, I vow to my wife, Wendy, that this will be the year I finally make peace with the heat and humidity of my least favorite season.

And every year, I fail miserably.

By Wendy’s birthday in mid-July, I’ve turned into a grumpy gardener who prays for rain that never arrives and shakes his fist at broiling, sunny skies. Even my golf game wilts.

This summer, however, I took a different approach.

I decided to be like Blue. And maybe Lao Tzu, too.

Blue is my dog, a big, black, super-friendly, 65-pound flat-coated retriever with golden eyes, a thoroughly laid-back disposition and a blue-tipped tongue. A friend steeped in Native American lore insists that his golden eyes and blue tongue mean that he is probably descended from wolves and is a true spirit-animal guide. American Indians apparently revered their dogs for just this reason. 

Lao Tzu, of course, is the legendary 6th-century Chinese philosopher credited with writing the Tao Te Ching, the foundational text of Taoism. In college a million years ago, I took a course in Eastern religions and developed a shine to the old guy’s wise sayings, as have philosophers and spiritual teachers across the ages. It was Lao Tzu who pointed out that “a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step,” a catchphrase appropriated by every tourism flack since the Middle Ages.

My favorite Lao Tzu aphorism advises, “Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.”

Blue seems to embody these words like no other four-legged creature I’ve ever known except one — my late dog Mulligan. I fondly called her “Miss Mully.”

Three years ago, at the end of another blazing hot summer, Wendy and I said a tearful goodbye to Mully, our soulful flat-coated retriever. She was 17 and failing fast. Our hearts ached  as we watched her take one last slow circuit around the back garden she’d watched me build before lying down at my feet and placing her noble head on my shoe. Putting her down was maybe the toughest thing I’ve ever had to do. She truly was this man’s best friend.

As that October arrived, a month that typically brings cool relief and nice surprises, I was still deep in grief. Wendy and I were having a drink in the same back garden, watching the first golden leaves of autumn drift to the ground. She asked me how I was doing.

“Not great,” I admitted. “I hate to think I’ll never have another dog like Mully.”

We have other rescued critters in our home, including a sweet, old Staffordshire pit bull named Gracie, a spunky, young border collie-spaniel mix named Winnie, and a mischievous calico cat named Juno that Wendy found as a week-old kitten abandoned in the Walmart parking lot. I love them all — even if they seem to love Wendy more than me. 

As usual, like Lao Tzu, Wendy was one step ahead of me.

She tapped her smart phone and handed it to me. “How about this dog?”

It was a photograph of a young Mully from our adventuring days together. Or so I thought until Wendy shook her head.

“It’s not Mully. This is a young male from Tennessee. Last night I typed ‘flat-coated retriever’ into my search bar and he magically appeared. Can you believe it? He could be her twin brother.”

She explained that he was rescued by an all-volunteer group called Critter Cavalry based in Franklin, Tennessee. The resemblance to Miss Mully was truly incredible, almost spooky.

“As it happens,” Wendy casually added, “he’s going to be passing through Western Virginia two nights from now in case you would like to give this big fella a new home.”

I asked how she knew this.

“Because I got in touch with Critter Cavalry, paid the adoption fee and we’ve been cleared by our vet to get him.” She added that several times a month the organization transports rescued dogs to qualified new owners up and down the East Coast.

She smiled and added, “He’s your October surprise. I think Mully sent him to take care of you.”

•

We drove up to Fancy Gap, Virginia, that Friday evening and, as instructed to do for the rendezvous, parked behind a Wendy’s restaurant off the interstate to await the delivery. I joked that it felt like we were part of an undercover stakeout or waiting for an illicit drug delivery.

Other cars soon pulled in around us. Eventually, a tall, white van with big, purple dog paws on its side rolled up and folks began getting out of the automobiles and heading toward it. Every one of them was smiling with anticipation. We were, too.

There must have been two dozen dogs of every size and breed traveling in neatly stacked crates, all headed to forever homes. Our big, black fella was one of the last to exit the van.

He climbed out of the van and calmly looked at me with glimmering, golden eyes. I let him sniff my hand. He licked it.

“He has a blue-tipped tongue,” Wendy pointed out. So, we named him Blue.

The first thing Blue did in Wendy’s car was take a giant poop on her back seat. We joked that it was a long ride from Tennessee without bathroom breaks and gave him a drink of cool, bottled water during the clean-up stop.

We weren’t back on the road more than five minutes when Blue climbed forward onto the middle console and laid his head on my right thigh.

It stayed there all way all the way home.

Blue turned out to be an extraordinary dog. He leads our morning walks and sleeps on the floor directly beside me. Nothing rattles him. He remains cool and calm in every situation, happily responding with his golden eyes shining. He rarely barks except when he suddenly rolls joyfully around on the floor, yipping with childlike glee at finding his forever home. He loves big hugs and lets life flow past with the ease of an ancient Chinese philosopher.

Methinks Lao Tzu would love Blue — for he seems to realize nothing is lacking; the whole world belongs to him. Our artist friend, Harry Blair, was so taken with Blue’s aura, he decided to sketch him. He captured Blue’s “Tao” perfectly.   

As our journey of a thousand miles begins, Blue probably has no idea that he’s become both my best pal and my four-legged teacher. This past summer brought record drought and punishing heat waves, during which our air conditioning even went caput.

But, vowing to “Be like Blue,” I took it all in stride, better than ever, in fact.

I think Miss Mully would be pleased.  OH

You can learn more about Critter Cavalry’s important work at crittercavalry.com.

Jim Dodson is founding editor of O.Henry.

For the Love of Lindley Park

For the Love of Lindley Park

On his nursery acreage, J. Van Lindley planted the seeds of a beloved neighborhood that continues to blossom

By Jim Dodson

Photographs by Bert VanderVeen

On a warmly flaring afternoon in late August, Smith High School AP History teacher Nick Jordan, wife Macy and their young son, Rowan, are settling into their spacious new house on Northridge Street in the Lindley Park neighborhood. This is their second home in the neighborhood, having moved just two weeks ago from a much smaller two-bedroom bungalow just down the block. Renovation of their handsome Dutch Colonial with its sweeping front porch is well underway, but neighborhood history is on Jordan’s inquiring mind this day.

“Our house was known as the Dailey Retreat,” he explains during a break from clearing his overgrown yard for new shrubs and native plants. “Its previous owner operated it as a traditional bed and breakfast and cooking school for more than two decades. As we all know, houses don’t stay on the market for very long in Lindley Park. “That’s why we grabbed it. We wanted more room for my work and maybe a second child down the road.”

Two years ago, Jordan became the neighborhood’s official historian, researching and writing colorful vignettes about Lindley Park’s storied past for the seasonal newsletter. Though the historic neighborhood is relatively compact in size (it occupies roughly a mile between West Market Street and Spring Garden Street one way and Elam Avenue and Holden Road the other), its 1,200 homes present a remarkable array of 20th-century housing styles that range from quaint bungalows to Colonial revivals, stone mansions to mid-century ranches, charming cottages to Craftsman classics. 

Jordan’s own house was built in 1914 by a shoe salesman named A.E. Fordham, who reportedly had a shop on a corner near the site where the future 18-story Jefferson Standard Building (today Lincoln Financial Group) would rise in 1923. His brother, C.C. Fordham, was a prominent pharmacist on South Eugene whose son later became the dean of UNC-Chapel Hill’s School of Medicine. Fordham died after three years in the house but passed its ownership on to his wife, an unusual circumstance for that era of home ownership, Jordan notes.

The Jordans’ next-door neighbor’s house holds even greater interest to the historian. The Boren House was built by a man who worked as vice president of Pomona Terra Cotta Company, which was owned by John Van Lindley, a visionary Quaker who left the area to fight for the Union Army during the Civil War and returned to dramatically expand his father’s commercial nursery and florist business. By the late 19th century, J. Van Lindley Nurseries reportedly occupied 900 acres between Oakland Avenue and West Market Street. As biographer Joseph C. Carlin notes in J. Van Lindley: His Ancestors, Life, and Legacy, the Lindley operation was at one point, on its 1,130 acres in nearby Pomona, “likely the largest nursery operation in the then-known world with 1.5 million plants under cultivation.” In addition to founding Pomona Terra Cotta Company, Lindley also helped start Jefferson Pilot Insurance Company and built peach orchards in Southern Pines.

A young girl named Mary K. who grew up in the Boren house during the late 1920s, Jordan learned, was part of something called the “Northridge Gang,” a troupe of neighborhood kids that attended the new Lindley Elementary School. “These kids wrote and performed plays around the Lindley Park neighborhood to raise money for helping to feed the city’s hungry children,” he explains. “I also found a remarkable wedding notice from 18 years later that this same young woman grew up to become a Guilford County social worker working with the poor in the city.”

He sees a timeless message in her story. “I think this is why Lindley Park folks today are so keen to preserve the spirit of a neighborhood that echoes J. Van Lindley’s own love of nature, love of a community and our fellow human beings. We treat our neighbors accordingly. I believe almost everyone here carries that legacy with them.”

•

First, a brief history lesson. At the turn of the century, with an eye to Greensboro’s future, Lindley donated 60 acres of land along Spring Garden Street for the establishment of an amusement park with a manmade lake designed to showcase the beautiful forest and landscape of the city’s western boundary.

The park’s grand opening in June 1902 coincided with the inauguration of the Greensboro Electric Company’s new streetcar service from downtown to the park entrance and serves as the birthdate of the neighborhood that would carry its benefactor’s name. 

The amusement park featured a Vaudeville show, dining casino, bowling alley, dancing pavilion, miniature railroad, movie theater and recreational lake for boating. Lindley’s gift also included 17 undisturbed acres for an arboretum. As Greensboro writer Tim Cole notes in a 2015 remembrance of the park, “The Greensboro Patriot recorded that the new park was visited by thousands on a single Sunday in June 1902.”

When the amusement park closed in 1917, a year before Lindley’s passing, the lake was filled in and the city hired a Charlotte city planner and landscaper named Earle Sumner Draper to design a planned neighborhood development that would be named in Lindley’s honor. In time, Draper’s name would become associated with some of the finest subdivisions in the South including Charlotte’s Myers Park, High Point’s Emerywood and Druid Hills Historic District in Hendersonville.

Distinctive stone entrances were created to establish Lindley Park’s neighborhood presence on an expanding Spring Garden Street in hopes of attracting the growing city’s middleclass families. It was also Draper who reportedly coined the term “urban sprawl” to describe how the quality of otherwise attractive neighborhoods could be threatened by encroaching commercial development — a cause still close to the hearts of many Lindley Park residents today.

Following Lindley’s death, son Paul C. Lindley, also a prominent nurseryman, was elected to the city council and became a passionate advocate for an expanding Greensboro’s parks system. His vision included a large meandering public park that would link Lindley and Lake Daniel parks via North Buffalo Creek. But the plan never became a reality. Upon becoming Greensboro’s mayor in 1931, however, Paul was instrumental in the creation of Country Park during the early days of the Great Depression, probably using Federal WPA money to hire unemployed workers to do the job. Sadly, Lindley drowned in a tragic boat accident on the property in 1933.

It wasn’t until the city adopted a formal Master Plan for Recreation by Charles M. Graves in 1951 that playgrounds, ball fields and a recreation center with an Olympic-sized swimming pool were created for the Lindley Park neighborhood. In 1957, about the same time legal efforts by six African American golfers to desegregate Gillespie Golf Course were working their way to the U.S. Supreme Court, Lindley Park’s swimming pool became the focus of a historic effort to desegregate the all-whites facility by a pair of African American women. To avoid opening to all races, the city chose to sell the pool to a private operator but repurchased the facility in 1967, opening it to everyone. Both events have been cited as moments that jump-started America’s Civil Rights movement, prelude to the historic sit-in protest at Greensboro’s Woolworth’s Department Store in February 1960. The popular pool is scheduled to open in 2027 after much needed repairs are completed.

•

The year 1968 was one that Lindley Park residents would never forget, especially Marygrace Llewellyn.

She and her parents, Don and Rose, had just moved from suburban Boston to Greensboro and purchased a pretty, yellow bungalow with green shutters on Masonic Drive, overlooking Lindley Park. They moved in on a Saturday morning in May.

“My father thought he’d moved to Paradise,” Marygrace remembers with a laugh. “And I did, too. When you stood in our yard and look out at the park all you saw were the beautiful trees and meadows of Lindley Park.”

She woke the next morning to start school, however, to the sound of heavy machinery.

“I looked out my bedroom window and saw bulldozers knocking down the park’s trees. My mother was horrified. Our beautiful park was being destroyed to build a road through the middle of the park!” 

That road was Wendover Avenue, bisecting the heart of the Gate City from east to west, isolating Lindley Park’s playgrounds and ballfields in the process. That same year, however, Greensboro Beautiful was created as a partnership between the City of Greensboro, civic organizations, local gardeners, private citizens and businesses to develop and fund beautification projects throughout the city. 

It wasn’t until the mid-1980s, however, that Greensboro Beautiful broke ground on a 17-acre tract of land off Ashland Street then called the Anniversary Garden. The Greensboro Arboretum — long a vision of one J. Van Lindley — was finally completed and dedicated to the city in 1991.

•

Ron and Theresa Miller moved into a small house on Sherwood Avenue in 1987. Ron worked for the editorial board of the News & Record and Theresa taught composition at UNCG. Five years later, with three small children and a house that no longer fit their needs, they purchased a larger Dutch Colonial on Willowbrook Drive, which sits where the amusement park’s lake was drained to become a park with attractive stone bridges. “The house was kind of a disaster because it hadn’t been fixed up in years,” Ron remembers. “There was plaster falling off the walls, ugly, blue shag carpeting on the floor and only one bathroom upstairs with no shower and only a toilet and small bathtub.”      

“I cried when we moved there,” Theresa chips in with a laugh. “There was no air conditioning and the kitchen was tiny and dated.” Moreover, they add, the neighborhood around them had visibly declined, due in part to a 1971 redistricting plan that bussed children from their part of Lindley Park to other schools in the county, fueling an exodus of young families from the neighborhood. In 1993, however, a retired officer named Jack Almon and his wife, Nita, started the Lindley Park Association to lobby for change and improvement. Within a decade, thanks to the association’s persistent work, a revised and more sensible redistricting plan sent all of Lindley Park’s school kids to nearby Lindley Elementary, Kiser Middle and Grimsley High School. “That had a positive impact on the neighborhood,” says Ron. “Young families began to moving back to the neighborhood, sending it in a very good direction.”

As News & Record staffer (and former O.Henry contributor) Jim Schlosser reported during the park’s 2002 centennial anniversary year, the civic mindedness of Lindley residents prompted the “city to spend $216,000 for repairing bridges and gates, planting shrubs and making improvements” that set Lindley Park on an upward trajectory. 

“One of the many good results of that time is that our children learned the valuable lesson of civic engagement,” Ron adds. Today, the Millers’ Dutch Colonial is a fully restored showplace overlooking the park where numerous annual events like Spring Fling and the popular fall chili cook-off competition take place.

•

“We were part of a wave of those young couples who moved here and started families about then,” says Joyce Eury, finishing her third term as chair of a Lindley Park Neighborhood Association that’s more active than ever. Eury and husband Steve reside on Howard Street in a charmingly expanded cottage-style house built in 1927. They purchased it two decades ago, having first owned a smaller house on Scott Avenue before moving to the western suburbs followed by a stint abroad due to Steve’s work.

“Like many others, we eventually came back to Lindley Park because this is such a special neighborhood. We missed its friendly sidewalks and not having to drive everywhere for a grocery store or a good restaurant.” She points to popular restaurants only a block away on Spring Garden Street and singles out the revitalization of the “four corners” at Elam and Walker with its eclectic restaurants and hip Bestway Market that “are all within walking distance of anywhere in the neighborhood.” The cultural diversity of the neighborhood also appeals to the Eurys, a cosmopolitan mix that includes faculty and students from nearby UNCG, multiple artists, neighborhood entrepreneurs, cottage industry designers and what demographers call urban homesteaders.

“This gives our neighborhood a cross section of life that is both genuine and important,” Steve adds. “We’re like a small town where everyone knows their neighbor and cares about them. Lindley Park has undergone a renaissance for years and I believe we are starting a new one.”

•

Not far away (for nowhere is far away in Lindley Park), Michelle and Bill Schneider couldn’t agree more. They own a handsome 1927 bungalow on Longview. “Joyce is right. The latest renaissance is well underway,” agrees Michelle, chief philanthropy officer for Cone Health. She points out that, thanks to strong input from residents, local businesses and key support from former council member Nancy Hoffman, a new Spring Garden Corridor plan is scheduled to be unveiled this autumn by the city, addressing neighborhood concerns about the traffic and congestion on Spring Garden Street from Holden Road to Josephine Boyd.

“We started to informally organize several years ago to protect the future of Lindley Park,” she explains. “It began with a concerned group of us just walking around the neighborhood looking at our unique houses and talking about the city’s growth and what could be coming our way. One Sunday afternoon, we gathered to have clam chowder and asked ourselves, ‘What do we want from the change that’s coming?’ My argument was that change happens. You can either fight it or define it.”

Ninety residents, she reports, showed up last October for the city’s first open house on the Spring Garden corridor project, eager to share their thoughts.

She notes husband Bill’s former co-ownership of the popular Spring Garden Bakery as an example of how neighborhood residents are invested in its well-being and points to the community’s enthusiastic support of the Corner Farmers Market that began in the parking lot of Sticks and Stones restaurant before outgrowing its spot and moving to a much larger space beside St. Andrews Episcopal Church on Market Street. “It’s technically in Sunset Hills,” she adds with a laugh. “But its story belongs to Lindley Park.”

A recent sign of the neighborhood’s continued vitality was the groundbreaking this past August for the new Lindley Elementary School, scheduled to open on 17 acres between Camden Street and West Market in early 2028 — exactly 100 years after its original. Sons Wil and Dennis both attended the old Lindley Elementary and are excited about the new school. Dennis still lives in the neighborhood and runs a custom fence and construction company with brother Wil. “And to think it started with them shoveling snow in the neighborhood,” Michelle quips.

Like others in Lindley Park whose children have flown the nest, the Schneiders concede that someday they may consider downsizing to a smaller house in the neighborhood. “We love Lindley Park way too much to think of ever leaving it,” she adds with a laugh. “But I like the idea of giving our house another life after us.”

•

The Littles, Carrie and Randy, are on their third house in Lindley Park, a stately 1915 manor house at the corner of Scott and Sherwood built of locally quarried stone. Likewise, their daughters, Ellie and Georgia, have grown up and moved on, but the Littles’ love affair with Lindley Park goes on. They, too, are investing in the neighborhood’s future with plans to open Smallscapes in early 2027, a specialty plant store on Spring Garden between Scott and Elam Avenue.

Carrie is a former science teacher, veteran gardener and floral designer, who made a name for herself by growing dahlias and other exotic flowers for Abba Design. Smallscapes will specialize in unique flowers and native plants, small landscaping projects, gardening-related goods and maybe even teas and specialty foods from the Corner Farmers Market.

As a former secretary of the Neighborhood Association, she thinks Lindley Park’s best days are still ahead. “There’s a new energy here from young people who are discovering the neighborhood. They’re restoring houses, planting gardens, bringing new life to this wonderful old neighborhood. You see it happening on every block.”

•

Just down the block on Scott, Charlie and Debra Hertlein are celebrating their 44th wedding anniversary. They’ve lived in their handsome Sears-style house for 42 years and have no intention of going anywhere else. “When we got married,” Charlie remembers, “Debra saw this house and we both fell in love with it. It’s been a great place to raise our two sons and five grandchildren. They love it as much as we do. This is home.”

Charlie is a highly respected collector of American political memorabilia and armchair historian of Lindley Park. Patriotic artifacts and presidential campaign posters fill almost every room. Even family pets have patriotic names including Abby, the dog — “short for Abigail Adams” — and cats Harry Truman, Teddy Roosevelt and Betsy Ross.

But it’s Lindley Park memories that matter most to Charlie. He grew up attending Lindley Elementary and Lindley Junior High roaming the neighborhood on his bicycle. Neighborhood stories pour out of him. Best to just sit back and listen.

“It was totally safe. You knew everyone and they knew you. My mother and another lady owned a beauty shop called the Modernistic between Sno-White Cleaners and what today is Wahoo’s Tavern. That was Bocher’s Grocery store in those days. Next to that was the famous Pickwick, a bar that was popular with newspaper reporters. I knew Marvin the bartender. He’d let me come in and eat hot dogs and listen to the reporters talk about whatever was going on in town. I was just a kid. Next door, where Suds & Duds is today, was a drugstore that held yo-yo competitions for kids in the neighborhood. Across the street was the A&P, but it didn’t stay long. Now we have the Bestway. There were two full-service gas stations on Walker back then, both of which became great places to eat, The Lindley Park Filling Station and Sticks and Stones, which first was called The Wild Magnolia and had live Mardi Gras music. The Tic Toc Clock shop on the corner became Fishbones, my friend Neil Reitzel’s place. It’s crowded every weekend . . .”

He interrupts his own narrative flow and smiles. “I could go on and on. Point is, Lindley Park has had its ups and downs but is better than ever. Everyone sits on their porch and waves when you pass. That’s why we all love this neighborhood. It’s been home for more than a hundred years.”  OH

Life’s Funny

Life's Funny

The Fruit of the Spirit

The legacies of two nature-loving families intertwine

By Maria Johnson

The idea sprouted last year with a text sent in a fit of arboreal passion.

“Hey Ro-Ro,” the message said. “I need to talk to you about trees.”

Ro-Ro, aka Rosemary Kenerly, the communications manager at Greensboro College, was not surprised to hear from her friend and neighbor, David Craft.

She knew him as a devoted naturalist and one who shuns formality, a guy who likes to make things happen, especially when those things involve planting trees.

David’s dad, the late Bill Craft, was the Johnny Appleseed of Greensboro. He planted hundreds of trees across the community. David, the sixth of nine kids, followed in his father’s muddy footsteps, helping to run the family’s insurance agency while staying close to spade and earth.

Now 63, he supports land conservation efforts and rolls up his sleeves with a band of volunteers, sometimes playfully known as the Green Hill Billies, who help to maintain Green Hill Cemetery, a city-owned graveyard on the northern edge of downtown.

David’s pushing to have the 150-year-old cemetery, a jewel box of specimen trees and one of his dad’s favorite planting grounds, certified as an arboretum.

Knowing David’s love of latching onto leafy projects, Kenerly replied to his text with cautious curiosity. She invited him to her office.

There, David, who often turns out in Carhartt work clothes and Merrell boots, unfurled a story about a long-ago Greensboro College professor named Robert Dunstan.

He explained that Dunstan taught Romance languages at GC for more than 30 years, from the late 1920s to the early ’60s. A spry and dapper little man, he was a respected teacher who ambled about campus in a bow tie and beret. But, like Craft’s father, his greatest public legacy came from what he did outside of his official career.

Eaten up with horticulture, especially the cultivation of fruits and nuts, Dunstan pursued his hobby at his then-rural home off Pinecroft Road. Today that land is covered by a mall and convention center.

He tinkered, grafted, pollinated his way to becoming a legend among nursery folk. He came up with a disease-resistant hybrid grape that basically saved the French wine industry. He also developed a chestnut tree that was resistant to a blight that nearly wiped the tree — an important source of shade, food and lumber — from the Eastern U.S. in the early 20th century. The near-extinction is widely considered to be the biggest ecological disaster in this country’s history.

Dunstan’s breakthrough was to cross American chestnut trees that were genetically resistant to the blight, thanks to natural mutations, with Chinese chestnuts — also unruffled by blight — to form a new, hardier variety.

After retiring, Dunstan and his wife, Katherine, sold their hobby farm and relocated to northern Florida to be near their daughter and her plant-geneticist husband. Dunstan passed his secrets and his saplings on to his grandson, Robert “Bob” Wallace, and nudged him to turn the trees into a business, which he did.

Today, Bob Wallace’s sons, Iain and Robert II, run Chestnut Hill Nursery, which sells patented Dunstan Chestnut trees across the country, chiefly to hunters who rely on the nuts to attract deer. In the last 40 years, the nursery has sold enough trees to cover a quarter-million acres, according to Bob Wallace.

A couple of years ago, an ad for the nursery popped up on David Craft’s Facebook page. He remembered a 2016 O.Henry story about Dunstan (ohenrymag.com/the-nutty-professor/). He looked up the piece, refreshed his memory and mail-ordered four small Dunstan trees as a novelty for his Randolph County farm.

The following year, David learned that some Walmart garden centers stocked Dunstan trees seasonly. To save shipping costs and land bigger trees, he drove to Sanford and stuffed his wife’s Audi hatchback with four more Dunstan trees, this time 8-footers.

“They barely fit,” he says of the rolling forest.

He planted some of his Dunstan trees on his farm and some in Green Hill Cemetery. He persuaded a friend in Fisher Park to tuck in three trees around his home.

Now, sitting in Kenerly’s office, David appealed to GC to give Dunstan his due by planting his trees on campus and remembering him with a ceremony and plaque.

“It wasn’t really a hard sell,” remembers David, ever the insurance salesman. “They came back and said, ‘Yeah, we like this idea.’”

So, on Nov. 7, a home game and senior day for The Pride football team, the college will honor Dunstan. That morning, GC officials will oversee the planting of four Dunstan Chestnuts on campus: two in front of the admissions house at the corner of West Market and College Place and two more at the southwest corner of campus along McGee Street, skirting the newly opened Downtown Greenway.

Another pair of Dunstan trees will go in the Fisher Park front yard of the college president’s home on Bessemer Avenue.

For the occasion, Chestnut Hill Nursery will donate young trees to the college.

Planted in pairs for pollination, the trees should bear nuts in three to five years. At maturity, in 15 to 20 years, the trees could reach 50 to 70 feet tall with a spread of 40 feet — big enough to provide sustenance, shade, swings and stories for decades to come. A chestnut tree can live to be 100 years old.

The public is invited to witness the plantings and to dig their own holes. Homeowners can order Dunstan Chestnuts online from the locally-owned Guilford Garden Center.

Bob Wallace says his grandfather would be happy about the recognition and happier yet that his trees are being put in the ground generations after he developed them.

Professor Dunstan foresaw that his discovery would help to repopulate the country with chestnuts, which accounted for a quarter of all hardwoods before the blight. Born in 1901, he witnessed the die-off while visiting the North Carolina mountains as a young man, and he grieved the loss of beauty.

“The mountains were white with chestnut blossoms,” he told his grandson. David never met Dunstan, but he’s confident that his dad’s mom, Eva Phelps Craft, a local public health officer and well-connected naturalist, would have known Dunstan and his wife.

His grandmother would be proud, David says, that he carries on the family’s activist bent and their Earth-loving labors.

Bob Wallace says the same of Dunstan. Like his grandfather — and everyone who plants a tree that likely will outlive them— Wallace sees a day beyond his own horizon.

He trusts the fruit.

“The apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree,” the 70-year-old Wallace notes.

Or in this case, the chestnut.  OH

Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry. Email her at ohenrymaria@gmail.com.

Trains, Trails, Technology

Trains, Trails, Technology

Trains, Trails, Technology​

A Day Out in Hickory

By Danielle Rotella Guerrieri

Photographs by Liz Nemeth

When you think of an energetic cultural hub, Hickory may not be at the top of your list, but maybe it should be. Nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and a straight shot west from Greensboro is the small city that National Geographic named one of the country’s best in 2018 for its “hipster-friendly” vibe. Today, it remains a true hidden gem that spans far beyond its logging and furniture roots, having strategically transformed itself into a community of creators and innovators.

Curious about the city that calls itself “Life Well Crafted,” I, along with my husband, Tom, hopped on the highway to experience for ourselves the farm-to-table restaurants and breweries coupled with distinctive cultural and outdoor offerings that have been enticing troves of unexpected-destination seekers.

Taste Full Beans is our first stop in Hickory, a large, funky space buzzing with energy as bustling folks gather on a cloudy Saturday morning to fuel up on caffeine and local cuisine made from — as written on the front chalkboard — “ingredients sourced from local farmers we know by name!” After gulping down a couple sips of a French press java made with Einstein Dark beans for me, and a latte for Tom, we trek the 2.5-mile City Walk, a section of the Hickory Trail.

Hickory Trail, an 11-mile paved trail that connects downtown Hickory Lake, educational campuses, cultural venues and the Hickory Regional Airport, can be picked up from Union Square. Four of the Trail’s five sections are now open – City Walk, Riverwalk, Aviation Walk and Historic Ridgeview Walk. The last segment, the OLLE Art Walk, will open sometime in 2027, providing a midway connection along the path. Named after the OLLE Arts District, for “Old” and “Lenoir,” many artisans have relocated to this area, and the city is adding public art to transform the corridor, much like Greensboro’s Downtown Greenway. The Aviation Walk, in the opposite direction of where we are headed, is named such because it connects to Hickory’s Aviation Museum, located at the Hickory Regional Airport. The museum is chock-full of artifacts and memorabilia ranging from WWI to the present day, including ejection seats and flight suits from the 1940s — a can’t-miss visit for any plane aficionado.

After reaching Lenoir-Rhyne University, we power back to downtown, but first stop for buttery, melt-in-your-mouth chicken biscuits at Main Chick Jammin’ Biscuits, a Cranford Hospitality property. Cranford Hospitality co-owner and Hickory native Zack Cranford worked as a youngster in his parents’ original restaurant, Granny’s Country Kitchen. After graduating from N.C. State, he moved back to Hickory and opened several restaurants with his parents and brother before acquiring 205 Main Ave., home to City Walk Brewing & Distillery, Cranford Brother’s BBQ and Main Chick, all facing City Walk. As a child, Cranford saw Hickory as a booming manufacturing hub, only to witness its gradual decline. Since then, he says, “I’ve seen Hickory transform into what it is today.”

Passing signs for SALT Block on the Trail — short for Science, the Arts and Literature Together, a nonprofit that supports Arts Culture Catawba, Catawba Science Center, Hickory Choral Society, Hickory Museum of Art and Western Piedmont Symphony — piques our interest in the artistic fervor of a city that is home to just over 45,000 residents.

At the downtown Hickory Farmers Market, that creative spirit shines. We scope out goods from stained glass artists, mushroom farmers, knife sharpeners, you name it, as the sweet fragrance of homemade sourdough bread and fresh-cut flowers permeates throughout the walkway. With an ambitious mission statement — “contributing to the well-being, education and vitality of the community and local food economy for our residents, farmers and artisans” — the market is open until 1 p.m. Wednesdays and Saturdays from April through October, beginning at 10 a.m. on Wednesdays and 8 a.m. on Saturdays, then only on Saturdays from November to mid-April.

Union Square, where the market is located, has been around since 1913, when a street ran in front of the shops before being redeveloped as a pedestrian mall in 2012. Sails on the Square, gigantic overhead canvases resembling a ship’s sails, offer sun and rain protection for the farmers market and Sails Original Music Series, a free flagship event every Friday night in May, June and September.

Just off Union Square, Trade Alley Art is our next stop, a bright gallery where we meet dimensional artist Barbara Haeme and fused-glass artist Tyrone Powell. One of Powell’s glassworks catches my eye — a miniature white guitar that features horizontal and vertical black lines with punches of primary colors, emulating the early-1920s Modern abstract style of Dutch painter Piet Mondrian. Haeme’s mixed-media collages are equally captivating, made from repurposed clock, piano and camera parts and assembled into striking, sculptural pieces.

Around the corner, The Front Stoop’s antique-chic atmosphere and old-world ambiance draw us in. Owner Madison Chapman is the new kid on the block, opening her doors this past April. “We just got back from the Round Top Antiques Fair in Texas,” says Chapman, explaining how she maneuvered through 11 miles — a similar length to the completed Hickory Trail — of antiques along State Highway 237 in Carmine, Texas, hauling home one-of-a-kind items for the store. Among shelves of ornate copper bowls and richly-aged, patinaed mirrors, I spy a funky wood-inlay vase, perfect for my living room bookshelf.

After some solo shopping at Bottega, Thistle Dew Nicely, Ella Blu and Aqua B Downtown boutiques, I meet back up with Tom, who’s been doing his own Union Square window shopping. We meander inside The Natural Olive, a gourmet olive oil and balsamic vinegar store with a Mediterranean-inspired vibe owned by Revi and Daniel Bar, who bought the store from its previous owner last year. We taste-test several savory blends before Tom buys a half-dozen bottles, including a cilantro-and-onion blend, a Tuscan herb EVOO and an 18-year-aged balsamic. You can never have too much olive oil or balsamic vinegar, can you?

We continue to DASH Home + Kitchen, a warm, welcoming space filled with natural light, stocked with exquisite kitchenware and signature gifts. Owner Holly Woodward, interior designer by trade, and her husband, Mark, moved to Hickory from High Point almost a decade ago for Mark’s furniture company job. They changed career paths after the pandemic and couldn’t imagine opening a small business anywhere else. “The talent is abundant, and the city does everything to be progressive,” says Holly. Their inspiration took shape again this summer, with the soft opening of yet another business, The Downbeat, an intimate jazz cocktail lounge on Union Square. Featuring live performances and carefully curated vinyl, bespoke cocktails and an elevated small-plate menu, The Downbeat collaborates with talented musicians, such as Kass Blount & The Burners, and local farmers, including farmers market regular Hedge Family Farm.

The Hickory Wine Shoppe, a sophisticated watering hole with a dozen or so tables next to a tall mahogany bar, catches our attention next. Smoked oysters, local artisan bread and other tasty bites are offered from the “tiny but mighty” kitchen, and natural wines from small producers who use sustainable farming practices can be sipped either inside or outside along Union Square’s social district, where folks 21 and older can enjoy alcoholic beverages on the street.

Deciding our appetites are more mighty than tiny, we head across the railroad tracks to Olde Hickory Station, a historic 1912 railway depot that was repurposed in 2013 into a bustling restaurant and market. Outdoor tables with umbrellas line the dog- and kid-friendly patio that sits parallel to the train tracks. Inside, a skinny bar, where a gaggle of hungry customers sits for lunch, lines the interior corridor of the main dining area. Behind 20 or 30 beer taps is a vibrant mural depicting the building from the 1900s. Excited to sample Hickory’s local craft beer, I order a flight of lagers and ales, declaring Olde Hickory Brewing’s Fresh Hop my favorite, while we hungrily snack on chicken wings and roasted beet salad.

Before hitting the highway back toward home, we digest while doing a little historic sightseeing from the comfort of our car. We cruise past several landmarks, including the Piedmont Wagon and Manufacturing Company, a series of brick buildings at the junction of two railroads. From the 1880s–1940s, up to 1,000 horse-drawn wooden wagons a month were produced within the walls of those historic, industrial buildings.

We pass by Maple Grove, an impressively tall Italianate-style farmhouse with round columns and green trim built in 1883 for Mary Adelaide Lindsay Shuford and her husband, Adolphus Lafayette Shuford, who founded Hickory Tavern, the village that later became the city of Hickory in 1873. Adolphus bought multiple lots, imported the first Jersey cattle herd to North Carolina, and developed a 70-acre dairy farm shortly before his 1885 death at the age of 53. Shuford descendants founded and own Century Furniture, one of the remaining furniture makers in Hickory. Preserved by the Hickory Landmarks Society, which also maintains Propst House and Houk’s Chapel, Maple Grove offers free tours.

National Geographic got it right eight years ago. Between the walkability, music scene and array of independently owned shops and restaurants, Hickory has evolved — while still honoring its roots — into a place that makes a perfect full-day pit stop on the way to the mountains. But it’s completely worthy of its own dedicated day trip, too.  OH

Poem September 2026

Poem September 2026

Proto-Indo-European Speakers

Ross White

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 is the director of Bull City Press, an independent publisher of poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. He is the author of Charm Offensive, winner of the Sexton Prize for Poetry. He teaches creative writing at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and co-hosts The Chapbook, a podcast devoted to tiny, delightful collections.