The Creators of N.C.

Salt of the Earth

Building a business together

 

By Wiley Cash    Photographs by Mallory Cash

The interior of the building is warm and smells like the ocean. The walls and ceiling are constructed of white corrugated plastic sheets, all of them glowing beneath the bright noonday sun. Nets hang from the ceiling above tables that hold large wooden trays, their bottoms lined with thick, restaurant-grade plastic.

Jason Zombron looks down into one of the trays of white crystals that seem to have arranged themselves in haphazard patterns. If you stare long enough, it appears that the ocean is in each tray, dozens of tides frozen in time, doing their best to return to their previous form. After all, just a few days ago, this salt was floating somewhere in the Atlantic, but now it has made its way here to a piece of land in Burgaw, North Carolina, where Jason and his wife, Jeanette Philips, own and operate Sea Love Sea Salt.

Jason picks up a small shovel and scoops up a load of crystals, which have hardened into countless geometric shapes, from squares to pyramids. Jeanette stands nearby. “I never get tired of this,” she says, her voice quiet as if she’s whispering a prayer. “Every time I witness it happen, it takes my breath away. It sits here with the sun and the heat until it’s ready to be harvested. We’re not doing anything to make this happen.”

While heat and evaporation are the final steps in creating salt, Jeanette and Jason actually do a lot to make it happen before it gets to that point. The venture begins in Wrightsville Beach, where, in a process and at a location that Jason and Jeanette are wisely hesitant to disclose, water is extracted from the ocean and pumped into a 275-gallon tank on the back of a trailer. From there, the water is transported to rural Burgaw and the 3-acre farm that Jason and Jeanette own. The water is then pumped from the trailer to a second tank, where gravity takes over and the real work begins. Jason and Jeanette fill tray after tray with water, kinking the hose to stop the flow while arranging the full trays on tables throughout the salt house. The trays will sit in the heat however long it takes for the water to evaporate, leaving nothing but the salt behind.

The labor can be taxing, and that’s before the harvesting and the blending of salt with other ingredients even begins, but Jeanette and Jason delight in the work. After all, the chance to spend as much time together as possible is what led them to step into the business of making salt.

“Whatever business we set out on, it had to get us together,” Jason says. “That was the most important thing.”

“It feels great because we’re passionate about this,” Jeanette adds. “And it’s the first time we’ve gotten to do something creative together.”

The two met on a blind date in Asheville. At the time, Jeanette worked in public health, and Jason was in sales for an outdoor provisions company. They both traveled a lot, and they wanted to spend more time together. Jeanette’s sister lived in Seattle, and so the young couple set their wagons west. They made a life in the Northwest, forging successful careers and raising two young children, and they soon realized that they were both interested in food, the growing of it, the preparing of it, and, of course, the eating of it. They also began experimenting with various ways of using different kinds of salts in their cooking.

While they loved living in the Northwest, they began to feel hemmed in by their careers and schedules and missed the sense of community they’d felt in the South. Jeanette was born and raised in Decatur, Georgia, and Jason just outside of Washington, D.C.

“We wanted to live close to the water,” Jason says. When they moved to Wilmington a couple of years ago, they began to look for a shared business opportunity they could devote themselves to. They learned that Amanda Jacobs, the founder of Sea Love Sea Salt, was looking to sell her growing business. When they met with Amanda, Jeanette brought along a salt recipe she had developed back in Seattle. While there were other suitors who wanted to purchase the business, “No one else brought Amanda a salt,” Jeanette says.

Since purchasing the company, Jeanette and Jason have worked to develop new salts to add to a lineup that already includes citrus, Sriracha, rosemary, dill pickle and others. Two flavors they brought with them from their experiences in Seattle are herb and fennel, and they regularly test various salts at local farmers   markets in Wilmington, tracking the responses of their customers. They also have a thriving connection with numerous local restaurants and breweries, most of whom pride themselves on sourcing local products, as do Jason and Jeanette. Almost all their salts are flavored with North Carolina-grown produce.

Aside from developing new salts, Jeanette and Jason are planning to develop the land where the business sits. While it contains the salt house and a warehouse, they are building a hoop house to double their capacity — important during the winter, when the time it takes for water to evaporate goes from 10 days in the summer to as long as three weeks in the colder months, when days are shorter. They are planning to host farm-to-table meals featuring local chefs and artists, and are thinking of other creative ways to invite the community to this wooded, quiet piece of land.

Jason pours scoops of salt into fine mesh bags that he hangs from the ceiling, salt that could have begun on the other side of the world, now suspended from the rafters in rural North Carolina.

“People come here for the ocean,” he says. “This is giving them the chance to taste it.” OH

Wiley Cash is the Alumni Author-in-Residence at the University of North Carolina-Asheville. His new novel, When Ghosts Come Home, is available wherever books are sold.

Life’s Funny

In the Cards

Silly, sappy and sometimes recycled birthday greetings

 

By Maria Johnson

I just returned from a hunting trip.

I bagged some nice ones: A bear. A chicken. A dog. A couple of old ladies. A handful of little kids.

Yep, if there’s anything more enjoyable than shopping for funny birthday cards, I’d like to know about it.

I buy en masse, hitting several of my favorite racks in a single afternoon and stockpiling the cards in my desk drawer. I hope to avoid the dilemma I’ve faced too many times: Thinking I have the perfect card stashed away, then running to my office before heading out to a birthday celebration, only to find out that — oh, yeah — I gave that card to someone else.

At that point, I have no choice but to bend the sentiments of whatever cards I happen to have, literally writing around the printed messages. “Thank You” for inviting me to your party. “Heartfelt Sympathy” for people who haven’t aged as well as you have. “There’s Nothing Like a Baby Girl,” which is what your parents must have thought on the day you were born.

Even Christmas cards will do. “For God So Loved the World that He Gave His Only Begotten Son,” and much, much later — like, after electricity, but not too much after — you.

Not every birthday requires a card, thank goodness. I usually call my faraway pals for a long chat or text them a GIF — a short, repeating video clip — of something meaningful, like the Seinfeld gang happy dancing or a hamster stuffing cake into its cheeks or Raven Simone chewing gum and shifting her eyes.

In-person gatherings, however, require a card. Especially among women. Showing up to a girlfriend’s birthday party without a card is worse than — showing up to a girlfriend’s birthday gathering without a card.

We like to pass our cards around, so everyone can read them and say, “That’s cute.” Trust me, a sticky note doesn’t cut it, no matter how many exclamation points you put after Happy Birthday!!!!!

So, shopping ahead for cards is smart hedge. If you go the humorous route, there are a few motifs to choose from:

• Young children wearing adult clothing

• Women drinking wine


Old women conversing in talk balloons about memory loss
(see above)

• Animals that appear to have eaten an entire pizza or cake

• Animals wearing adult clothing


And the most popular theme in card-dom: Animals wearing sunglasses.

Recently, I listened to a podcast interview with humorist David Sedaris. The host asked him if he thought any subject was not funny. He said dogs in sunglasses. Which is funny. Because they are. Every animal — except a human — is funnier with sunglasses on. If you don’t believe me, pose your pet with sunglasses on, take a picture and text it to someone in your family. They will text you right back.

I use this tactic to stay in touch with our sons, especially if I know they’re not feeling well. I can text them — “Do you have a fever?” “Should you go to a doctor?” “Hello?”— all-day long. Crickets. But let me send a picture of our long-eared hound in aviators. The response is immediate.

Awww. Haha. Hearts.

At least I know their thumbs are healthy.

Cards with animals in sunglasses — reading glasses and goggles work, too — are safe for everyone, even mothers, and that’s saying a lot because your mom really doesn’t want a card that makes her laugh. She wants a card that says somewhere, under that mountain of unanswered texts, you love her.

Ditto your spouse. Funny is OK. But sincere is better.

My dad got this. He spent a lot of time picking out serious birthday cards. You know, the ones plastered with flowers or sunsets and written in curly script. “On the day you were born …” “I don’t say it often enough …” “Time has a way of . . .” It was pretty sappy stuff, which didn’t mean it wasn’t funny — because my dad insisted that you read his cards aloud. “That’s really good,” he’d say, beaming when you finished.

Sometimes, after you’d read all of your cards, he’d shuffle through the pile, fish out the one he had given you and clear his throat. “Let’s hear this again,” he’d saying, pausing after each line to give it proper dramatic weight.

One year, he gave my mom a card. She read it. He performed the encore. Something sounded familiar.

“Wait,” I said. “Didn’t you give her that one last year?”

He nodded yes.

“You bought the same card again?”

“No,” he said with a slight wag of the head.

“You pocketed last year’s card and re-gifted it just now?”

He nodded again, clearly pleased with himself. “I didn’t think I could find one that said it better.”

He was grinning as he slid the card into his lap.  OH

Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry. Send comments — or images of animals wearing sunglasses — to ohenrymaria@gmail.com.

Tea Leaf Astrologer

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

If you agree to disagree with a Capricorn, you may never get the goat off your leg. But if you can learn to appreciate this stubborn Earth sign’s somewhat forceful nature — and, perhaps, let them think they’re right — then you quickly will discover that their hearts are usually in the right place. Driven by passion, Capricorns aren’t afraid to speak their minds. When life gets a little spicy in the wake of the full moon, don’t poke the fire-breathing goat.

 

Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you:

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

Bowie said it best: Turn and face the strange.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

Sure, martyrdom works. For now. But they’re onto you.

Aries (March 21 – April 19) 

Get your popcorn ready.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20) 

Easy, skipper. Smooth sailing entails the whole crew.   

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

Ready for a miracle? Try listening.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

You’re the ringleader of your own spectacular. Dress the part.

Leo (July 23 – August 22) 

Either road will take you there.

Virgo (August 23 – September 22) 

My sources say no.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

It’s OK to circle back. Not all journeys are linear.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

Use your words.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

The stars are in your favor this month. Mostly.   OH

Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla. 

Short Stories

Meet Veri Peri

Thinking about sprucing up your house? Hoping for a new look? Want to be way ahead of the curve for the spring High Point Furniture Market? The Pantone Color Institute can help. It recently created and introduced the Pantone Color of 2022, and — drum roll —it’s Veri Per (Pantone 17-3938), a dynamic periwinkle blue hue with a vivifying violet red undertone.

The institute’s director, Leatrice Eiseman, explains its importance in an unsettled time: “As we move into a world of unprecedented change, the selection of Very Peri brings a novel perspective and vision of the trusted and beloved blue color family. … [It] displays a spritely, joyous attitude and dynamic presence that encourages courageous creativity and imaginative expression.”

 

 

Star Power

This month, one of Broadway’s most celebrated actors kicks off this year’s UNCG Lecture and Concert Series. Kelli O’Hara takes the UNCG Auditorium stage Friday, January 14, to share her experiences on screen and stage.

The seven-time Tony Award nominee won the 2015 Tony Award for Best Actress in a Musical for her performance as Anna Leonowens in The King and I. Other Broadway highlights include Kiss Me Kate, The Bridges of Madison County, Nice Work If You Can Get It and South Pacific.

Television credits range from Sex & The City 2 and The Good Fight to Blue Bloods and N3mbers, to name a few.

 

 

Rise and ’Shine

Once nicknamed the “moonshine capital of the world,” Wilkes County is embracing — even celebrating — the ill-gotten gains of its past in North Wilkseboro Saturday, January 15, by hosting a free family-friendly event with food and beverages, local crafts, music — and of course — moonshine and stories. For more information visit
www.facebook.com/WilkesSpiritDay/

 

 

New at the Zoo

Photograph by Hannah Tulloch/North Carolina Zoo
Photograph by Hannah Tulloch/North Carolina Zoo

 

Ronan is not your average bear.

The 740-pound male grizzly is the newest resident of the North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro. Recently relocated from the Reid Park Zoo in Tucson, Arizona, the 9-year-old fellow seems to be adapting well to his new habitat in the North America continent area.

Since last summer, the grizzly bear habitat in Asheboro has remained empty, following the death of Tommo, a beloved, “amazing, goofy” dude that resided in the park for the 26 years.

“We are so excited to welcome Ronan to the zoo,” says Jay Stutz, the zoo’s curator of mammals. “He is settling in well and already building meaningful relationships with his keepers. We all look forward to the experiences that he will share with our guests and staff.”

Male grizzlies in the wild live about 22 years and weigh between 400 and 700 pounds.

Welcome to North Carolina, Ronan. We promise it’s cooler here than Tucson.

 

 

Return to Catfish Row

Photograph by EbruYildiz
Photograph by EbruYildiz

 

Grammy-winning songwriter and performer Rhiannon Giddens’ New Year’s gift to the Triad is bringing her musical talents home to the Greensboro Opera’s performance of Porgy and Bess. Composed by George Gershwin and his older brother, Ira, the opera revolves around Porgy, a poor, disabled Black man in Charleston, South Carolina, who desperately seeks to save Bess from a violent lover and a drug dealer. A love story, in other words, but the story is also about redemption and overcoming adversity. We can’t wait to hear Rhiannon and company’s take on such beloved songs as “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” “My Man’s Gone Now,” “Plenty o’ Nuttin’ ” and “Summertime.”

A native of Greensboro and an alumna of the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics, plus and a graduate of Oberlin Conservatory, Giddens is a founding member of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, a blues, country and old-time band in which she was lead singer and played the banjo and fiddle. In 2017, Giddens was awarded a MacArthur Fellow by the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation.

 

 

Take a Hike

What better way to observe the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday — and a Day of Service — than to help clean up the messes left by others. Greensboro Parks & Recreation is sponsoring a hike on Monday, January 17, to collect litter along a popular 6mile route. Participants should meet at the Piedmont Trail parking lot on Lake Brandt Road near the Lake Brandt Marina. (If you need directions, call the marina at (336) 373-3741). The stroll takes about three hours, so be sure to dress in layers and bring water to drink.

 

 

Ogi Sez

By Ogi Overman

OK, 2020 was a total bust, and 2021 didn’t come back to some semblance of life as we once knew it until around August. So, let’s pray to the gods of music or the deity of your choice that 2022 brings a full return to vaccinated and maskless normalcy. And for me, that means full concert venues, clubs, bars, restaurants, street fairs and music festivals. January was always a bit slow for major touring acts in the Before Times, and that seems to be the case now, but there still are plenty of quality shows to go around. So, let ’er rip.

• January 7, Blind Tiger: Like so many others, the pandemic wreaked havoc on the Camel City Yacht Club’s launch and touring plans. But they’ve set sail again hoping for smooth seas and sunny skies. Fronted by local legend Clay Howard, this is a cruise you don’t want to miss.

• January 21, Ramkat: Remember when country music stars actually dressed for gigs, wearing flamboyant, one-of-a-kind Nudie Rodeo suits and (thank you, Warren Zevon) perfect hair? Marty Stuart, bless his heart, is single-handedly keeping those days alive, both with his Fabulous Superlatives (don’t you love that name?) and his Nashville museum. Authentic twang at its most excellentest.

• January 22, Carolina Theatre: Bluegrass and Americana royalty right here, in the persons of Sam Bush, Mike Marshall and Edgar Meyer. They got together for one superb album, Short Trip Home, years ago and still occasionally tour together. And now they’ve turned the terrific trio into a quality quartet, adding Edgar’s son George on fiddle. The phrase “genre-bending” was invented to describe these guys.

• January 22, High Point Theatre: You get three shows in one when you go see Ben Vereen. He broke in on Broadway, starring in Jesus Christ Superstar and Pippin, for which he won a Tony. He is an exceptional tap dancer, hence the title of his tour, Steppin’ Out. But his voice is what most folks come for. Expect some of his many show tunes, as well as nods to Sinatra and his old pal Sammy Davis Jr.

• January 30, Carolina Theatre: As a sort of pseudo-musicologist, I fell in love some years ago with the music that preceded my birth. Being a boomer, that meant, of course, the Glenn Miller Orchestra. Oh yes, there were dozens of wonderful bands, but the indisputable leader was Glenn Miller. Thankfully, this incarnation of top-shelf players is keeping that era alive. I know I’ll be in the mood.

From The Editor

A Homeward Tail

 

Guilford entered my world unexpectedly. Unassumingly. The vulnerable, scraggly puppy needed a home as much as I did.

Nine years ago, I lived in South Carolina, desperately wanting to return to Greensboro.

A Guilford County native, I knew I needed to walk familiar ground, complain about the diabolical traffic on Battleground, rekindle friendships. The yearning consumed me. I vowed that if I ever moved back, I would never venture across the county line with more than, give or take, a 12-ounce bottle of water, a gallon of gas and $7 in change — all of which I probably already had in the bowels of my Honda.

But a seemingly unsurmountable obstacle stood my way. No one wanted to buy my house, which had been on the market for months. Ants weren’t even interested.

To worsen my homesickness, my sweet dog had just passed away.

So, when someone mentioned that a tragic fate awaited a litter of orphaned pups, I adopted a tiny, sickly ball of fur that barely could open his eyes. His pedigree was undetermined, but I’m pretty sure his mom was a mutt and dad — MIA.

I named him Guilford after the Guilford College area where the Friends had settled in the 1750s. I grew up in that neck of the woods. I wrecked my bicycle on New Garden Road, ate ice cream sundaes at Quaker Village and waded in Horse Pen Creek.

I hoped naming him after the first Baron of Guilford would signal to the universe I needed to return home.

Less than two weeks after Guilford’s adoption, I sold my house — and my new buddy and I headed north.

But Guilford didn’t mature into the prince of peace I had anticipated. What began as a quest for the salvation of an innocent 5-week-old dog dissolved into an exercise in abnormal psych. As his personality emerged, he grew more petulant than a 3-year-old determined to cross oncoming traffic. He frightened anyone within earshot with his bark. Acquaintances ranked him somewhere between Joseph Stalin and Al Capone. Minus their charming smiles.

If Guilford were human, he would refuse to use turn signals as some act of civil disobedience and brandish a weapon. (Thankfully, the rascal isn’t equipped with opposable thumbs. But he does have a healthy set of canines. See below.) The innocent soul I once was able to cradle in my hand had matured into a delinquent, though one that people wanted to pet because of his disproportionally large, perky ears and his seemingly sunny demeanor.

Because of his antisocial disposition, folks declared him a canine non grata — and justifiably.

Months ago, a friend stopped by while I was pet-sitting my brother’s dog. Guilford wasn’t happy with either interloper so, he bit my friend. On the thumb. Stitches. Infection. Repeat. In Guilford’s defense . . . never mind.

Under mandatory county quarantine and without a shred of remorse, Guilford was sentenced to doggie detention.

However contrary this seems, though, that 18-pound cauldron of sweetness and venom is my best friend. His temperament has cooled as his redemptive qualities emerged, and his companionship has remained constant.

Guilford and my friend brokered a peace, and the four-legged assailant now squeals with delight when he sees him.

Guilford loves exploring Greensboro, pulling at the end of his leash in search of mischief and his next victim. As for me, I have begun my dream job as editor of O.Henry. Guilford sits contentedly in my lap as I’m typing this column, and we are both happy to be home. 

 

Illustration by Jimmydog Design Group

Area Independent Schools

Our area has a wonderful selection of independent schools with a variety of educational models. Look at what these schools have to offer and see what’s right for your child.

O.Henry Ending

Listening with Your Heart

What my dad — and my dog — taught me

 

By James Colasanti Jr.

Christmas is my favorite time of the year, largely because of my childhood memories involving dogs.

I have always slept with dogs, my unconditional loving companions. From a few days after my birth, I slept with Butchy, the dog who taught me to have empathy for all. And now, 71 years later, with a 21-year-old Chihuahua named Minnie. It all began with my father, James Sr.

In 1949, my pregnant mother was busy preparing the evening meal when my father entered the room holding a small black-white-and-tan terrier in his big Italian hands. Of course, she heard the sharp, high-pitched yipping before she saw him.

“Look, Mary, look!” he exclaimed, holding out the frisky, wriggling pup he would name Butchy. “She is just too feisty to have a girl’s name. Butchy will make a great companion for our son.” (Although gender reveal was a thing of the future, my father knew in his heart that my mother was having a boy.) Following my birth, my parents put Butchy in my cradle every night to keep me warm and to alert them to my needs.

When I graduated from my crib, guess who snuggled in the bed with me? Well into my teenage years, Butchy slept alongside me. And every night, one of my parents would visit my room to check on me.

I recall one particular Yuletide evening being very special. I was 15. As the hall light cast its glow into my bedroom, Butchy looked up toward the door as my father entered. As dad sat on the edge of my bed, Butchy raised her head from my chest. He patted her head as he spoke.

My father — who was 50 when I was born — was a gentle man, a philosopher and an animal whisperer in the truest sense. If he were to sit on a tree stump in the middle of the woods with an ear of dried corn, a deer would be eating out of his hands within minutes. He was the one who taught me my understanding of dogs and the meaning of Christmas.

“James,” he began, “the best gifts I can give you this Christmas are the little lessons I have learned over the years.” What followed was the wisdom of a man who barely got past the eighth grade. I can still hear the cadence of his voice. “The love of a dog is the magic that binds you together,” he told me. “And it only takes one dog to change your life forever.” (For me, that was Butchy.) “When I come into your room at night, she always has her head on your chest. It’s her way of making sure you’re OK. And because she loves you, she also listens to you with her heart when you talk to her.”

My dad had a lot more to say about the heart. “Your heart is the center of your life. It is the source from which all of your love flows. Whenever someone is speaking to you, you will never go wrong if you listen with your heart.” And then he shared something that his father — my grandfather — once told him. “Remember, son, that you were loved by a man who loved dogs — who loved dogs more than he loved people. And do you know why he told me this?”

“Why?” I asked, yawning.

“Because he knew that — unlike people — the only time a dog will break your heart is when it dies.”

As the hall light faded, I heard my father whisper, as he had so many times before, “Son, if you follow your heart, you can make every day feel like Christmas.”  OH

James Colasanti Jr. is a Maxwell Medallion award-winning author and member of the Dog Writers Association of America. A past president of the Animal Rescue & Foster Program of Greensboro, he shares his home with four rescue dogs.

Quirky Holidays

At the Harwood home, more is more

By Cynthia Adams     Photographs By Amy Freeman

 

Before the first hint of the holiday season — and yes, even before Thanksgiving — collector and antique reseller Brooke Harwood’s condo begins shimmering and shining for what will be a protracted and festive season, with trinkets and valuables she has acquired over 30 years. Soon, the space transforms, as if a fairy godmother waved a magic wand, indulging a child’s most whimsical winter fantasies.

Perhaps you recall meeting Harwood inside her French-inspired condo in the pages of this magazine in July 2016. But you’ve never seen her home like this.

Eight trees — two full-sized and six tabletops, all festooned with sparkles, twinkling lights, baubles and plumes — consume the 1,300-square-foot space. The tallest sweep the ceiling.

With visions of sugarplums, decorative cakes — and even potato-chip cookies — dancing in her head, Harwood fluffs her nest. She pulls boxes of vintage treasures from storage. These include ornaments, toys, signage, plumage in all colors, crèches and tabletop ceramic trees, her favorites? White and studded with aqua. (“I have so many ceramic trees — maybe one hundred.”) Snugly they nestle among eclectic accents, artwork, porcelains and furniture.   

“I have a full attic,” she notes, “and it is filled with Christmas decorations.” She jokes. Is her unbridled passion: hoarding or collecting?

Harwood has a special weakness for Asian-inspired art (chinoiserie in design-speak) and knows from years of reselling vintage and antique pieces that the quirky is equally prized. Often, there is an initial color theme — or themes. Remember, she reminds me, “I love aqua.”

Harwood’s exuberant holiday décor is completely unrestrained and a showcase for her eclectic Christmas collectibles, mostly tinged with silver and gold, sparkle, shine and chic. Once sprung out of attic storage, it matters little if a chosen object is valuable or not; she isn’t pretending to do anything so much as to dazzle and have a wink-wink-nod-nod bit of fun, indulging her love of color, twinkle and panache.

Her style channels Iris Apfel, the NYC design maven who famously said, “more is more and less is a bore.”  Like Apfel, Harwood also resists packing up the sparkly bits until after the New Year has dawned, but it isn’t practical to resist. (Apfel, however, keeps her holiday décor up year-round in her Palm Beach condo.) 

A frenzy of annual effort is inversely timed with a longstanding Harwood family tradition. Her decorating kicks off in mid-November as college football winds down. 

“I always have people over for the last weekend of college football for turkey chili and have all my Christmas up by then.” 

When she’s done, kitschy collectibles mix and mingle with finery, keeping the décor light and jolly. 

Antique pickers like Harwood with an eye for the quirky, exceptional and valuable, understand the deft mix of high- and low-style. 

In the end, Harwood’s home radiates like a kaleidoscope (“I love those vintage color wheels!”). 

Some rooms are kept mostly traditional, like the den, where she decorated a tree in red-and-green (with pops of blue accents.)  Other trees feature nontraditional colors, especially jolts of pink and aqua. Aqua? As mentioned, it’s a personal favorite — and what a cheerful and unexpected holiday touch. Gourmet cakes by DeeDee Williams are freewheeling, too, and Harwood cannot stop at merely one. “They are just so visual and fun!” she says.

Vintage collectibles, however, usually dominate: Signage and toys and religious figures find a place on every shelf, table and nook, spilling outside to the porch and balcony.

“How did the Christmas vintage collecting happen?” Harwood wonders aloud. She surveys the living room, where silver trays are topped with antique figurines and a corner cupboard is filled with antique toys. 

“Well, the love of vintage carolers, the japanned things I collect, for instance? I got that from my grandmother.”

Sentimental favorites always make the cut. Her grandmother’s collection of Christmas decorations and ceramic trees are dear to her.

Make no mistake, she does not focus on Christmas décor exclusively. Harwood prizes Herend china, porcelain figurines, antique boxes (she owns more than 100), artwork of every ilk, antique papier mâché pieces and widely varied curiosities.

She is driven to search out finds, all part of “the thrill of the hunt.”

Even as a college student, Harwood scoured for treasures. (She still uses a desk she bought for $100 as a UNC-Chapel Hill coed. For Christmas, the desk features a vintage crèche.)

Following graduation from Carolina, Harwood entered the corporate world in Columbia, South Carolina. 

In early 2000, she returned to Greensboro, where parents, Rocky and Brenda Harwood, live in Starmount Forest. She “left her corporate self behind” and went to work for Anne Carlson at Carlson Antiques. Here she educated herself further. 

Harwood now considers it the highest compliment when praised for her buying skills, “for her eye.”

In 2002, she moved into Kings Arms in New Irving Park. For a short while, her grandmother also kept a home in the quaintly brick-walled community with its own French crest. 

Former resident Harvey Lineberry wrote about businessman and congressman Eugene “Gene” Johnston building the French-inspired units (designed by A.D. Woodruff Jr.) in 1965 as luxury apartments, which were later converted to condos. The Kings Arms project was Johnston’s first real estate endeavor. 

The design may have been a nod to Montbéliard, Greensboro’s sister city in France. 

According to Guilford College’s Guilfordian, President Eisenhower created the sister cities program in 1956. In addition to Montbéliard, Greensboro has two others: Buiucani in Moldova, and Yingkou in China. Montbéliard happened to be home to the Lorillard family, who owned Lorillard Tobacco in Greensboro. 

Although Harwood agrees that the interior design at Kings Arms should probably bear this French influence in mind, she is not constricted by that idea.

Her style is far more freewheeling.

She often drives as far as Charleston for auctions and estate sales, and Christmas is always in her thoughts, even in the heat of summer, while on the hunt in the Low Country. If she spies it and loves it, then Harwood snags it. “Vintage Christmas things are very hot,” she says. “Even things like vintage calendars.” 

Toys, pastel and metallic ornaments, vintage Santas and signage, porcelain créches and figurines all go into her black SUV. Some are destined for resale. Others? She’ll make room in the condo.

Her collecting enthusiasm never dims, even after many years. Harwood still requests a Herend porcelain every Christmas. 

“I’m bad,” she grimaces, pausing to open — what else? — a crisp French Chenin Blanc to toast the holidays. “I’m still addicted.”

But the porcelains do seem right at home. 

 

 

 

 

Brooke Harwood Christmas Décor and Entertaining Tips

Harwood allows décor to spill out from the indoors to the outdoors balcony, which is fully furnished with vintage iron furniture, foo dogs, Chinese stools and lamps. Toy mice are poised in a gazebo.  (The mice were once displayed in the now defunct Thalhimer’s Department Store in downtown Greensboro.)

She advises:

“Group vintage Christmas figurines together on large silver or faux bamboo trays.”

“Entertain with a vintage twist, too!  Serve eggnog — the real deal — not imitations!”

“Serve trays of old-school cookies and treats. Think pecan tassies, cheese straws and potato-chip cookies with a Christmas twist!”

“Stock coolers of sodas and beers in red and green cans — ginger ale, Coca Cola, hard cider in green bottles, Budweiser, etc.”

“I’ve used local baker DeeDee Williams at My Sweet Little Bake Shop for Christmas cakes, and placed them throughout the house for parties.  One favorite of mine is on the balcony outside, a cheery penguin cake! I placed four cakes in various rooms — some topped with Christmas trees, and another is a candy cane tree.”

“Vintage ceramic Christmas trees can be grouped together on a sideboard in a dining room or console table in a foyer, which really adds a ‘wow’ factor to a room. I particularly look for ones that are unique colors and ones of different sizes.”

“Antique and vintage toys are great to decorate under the tree with.  And don’t save Christmas presents for under the tree.  Stacks of presents on chairs, or in corners or on shelves around the house add color and interest.”

“Vintage advent calendars make great conversation pieces.
My favorites are handcrafted felt ones, and wooden ones
with little drawers.”

“If you must go artificial, like me, I do love an artificial flocked tree!  But nothing says vintage like a white or even pink tabletop tree from the ’50s or ’60s. And vintage color wheels are a must.