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May 2025 FEATURES 51 Erosion Control Poem by Clint Bowman 52 Farm Small, Think Big
By Ross Howell Jr. Innovative niche farmers are making our lives better every day
62 Growing Season
By Dawn DeCwikiel Kane Under the Bertrand family, a 42-year-old flower farm continues to flourish
68 Best Laid Plans
By Cynthia Adams Natural burials are making a mark in Greensboro
72 Healing Lands
By Cassie Bustamante A once tired farmland is now a thriving home to family and flock
81 May Almanac
By Ashley Walshe
DEPARTMENTS 11 Chaos Theory By Cassie Bustamante 15 Simple Life By Jim Dodson 18 Sazerac 23 Tea Leaf Astrologer By Zora Stellanova 25 Life’s Funny By Maria Johnson 28 The Omnivorous Reader By Stephen E. Smith 30 In Good Taste By Jasmine Comer 33 NC Surround Sound By Tom Maxwell 36 Essay Contest Winner By Dianne Hayter 39 Home Grown By Cynthia Adams 41 Birdwatch By Susan Campbell 43 Wandering Billy By Billy Ingram 98 Events Calendar 108 GreenScene 112 O.Henry Ending By Woodson E. Faulkner
Cover Photograph by Amy freeman Photograph this page by Becky VanderVeen
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Jack Andrews, Frank Daniels III, David Woronoff In memoriam Frank Daniels Jr. © Copyright 2025. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. O.Henry Magazine is published by The Pilot LLC
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chaos theory
Pirou-what? Toeing my way into ballet
By Cassie Bustamante
For the last year
and a half, my youngest, Wilder, has been learning how to bop with the beat in a weekly dance class. I signed him up for Dance Project’s “Little Rhythms” after a friend casually mentioned that her son had been going and enjoyed it. My own glory days of ballet and tap, which I took until I hit middle school, twirled around in my head. No, I wasn’t the most graceful, but dance is about so much more than that. Plus, to be honest, when I learned that there was no commitment to a recital — you could opt in or opt out — I was stoked. I’d sashayed down that path once before with my daughter and had zero desire to be a “Dance Mom.” And yet, here I am among other parents, sitting on a bench just outside a mirrored studio while our kiddos move and groove, doing their best to follow their instructor’s lead. Occasionally, I peer in and catch a glimpse of my kindergartener. Is he doing the correct moves? No. But is he having fun? One hundred percent, yes. His cobalt Nikes are flying off the beat and he’s struggling to get the steps right, but his blue eyes reflect the absolute joy he’s finding in movement. As class progresses week after week and the recital approaches, the question of the performance arrises. “I just want to watch,” he replies assuredly. Then, with just a couple of weeks until curtain call, costumes arrive. I haven’t ordered one for Wilder, but, as it turns out, one happens to be there with his name on it. It could be, perhaps, that he just wants the thrill of dressing up in something fun, but I can see a thought flicker across his little face — he is reconsidering. If we are going to commit to this The Art & Soul of Greensboro
show, I want utter certainty. “You know, it means you’ll be dancing on stage in front of the audience. I’ve seen your moves and I know you are a fantastic dancer,” I say, “but I want you to do it because you want to. Are you sure?” He is. The day arrives and he seems to have absolutely zero pre-show jitters. Frankly, I am in awe. My own heart races as I recall my own dance recital nerves. Backstage, I kiss him good-bye and leave him in the capable hands of a dance parent volunteer. I take my seat in the audience, surrounded by my parents, my husband, Chris, and my daughter, Emmy. Finally, Wilder’s class enters from stage right as the backdrop glows in Aladdin-blue. A beat drops as the song starts: You know it’s Will Smith and DJ Khaled! With a little guidance from their teacher, the kids spend the next minute and 20 seconds strutting their stuff to “Friend Like Me.” As the crowd erupts in cheers, I wipe a tear from my eye because seeing my child doing something he loves has made me so uncontainably happy. As the show comes to an end and all performers return to stage for their final bows, Wilder leads his class out and continues to freestyle until the very end. I know, with certainty, that we’ll be back for dance class in the fall. So once again, I find myself on that bench, peering in the window of that studio space. Just next to it is a blackboard with neon chalk writing that catches my eye: “Sign up for adult classes!” I glance back through the window. Wilder’s elbows and feet are all over, but his smile stays put. And I think, Why not me? Back at home, I log onto my computer and register for “Absolute Beginner Adult Ballet.” Sure, I’ve got experience, but that was 40 years ago. At my very first class, I slide peachy-pink ballet slippers onto my feet and find my place along the barre with several other women of all ages. At 46, I still lack grace and coordination, but, as I’ve learned from Wilder, talent is not a prerequisite for enjoyment. The music starts — a piano cover of ABBA’s “Super Trouper” — and I plié, tendu and jeté. Turns out, I am not a dance mom. I am a dancing mom. OH Cassie Bustamante is a ballerina and editor of O.Henry magazine. O.Henry 11
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simple life
Gone But Not Forgotten
The legendary newspaper woman who changed my life
By Jim Dodson
According to
ILLUSTRATION BY GERRY O'NEILL
latest government projections, a record 3.7 million high school kids and 4.11 million college students will graduate this spring. In a world turned upside down by partisan politics and unpredictable economics, worries about the future are understandable.
Once upon a time, I was there myself, waiting for the direction of my life to present itself. In late spring 1976, America’s Bicentennial year, I was enrolled in a new M.F.A. writing program at UNCG and working part-time for my dad in advertising until I could figure out what to do with my life. America was slowly coming out of a powerful recession and job prospects were thin on the ground. Sadly — or maybe not — I turned out to be a lousy ad salesman. I could talk up a storm with my old man’s clients but never quite close the deal. I also had an alternative plan of caddying for a year on the PGA tour, which proved to be a bust when I was assigned a tubby, wisecracking CBS TV star for the Wednesday Celebrity Pro-Am who’d never played the game. He told vulgar jokes to young women in the crowd and roguishly passed gas loudly to amuse the gallery. After a long and humiliating afternoon fetching my client’s lost golf balls from creeks, backyards and thorny bushes, he handed me a $2 tip and advised with a wink, “Don’t spend all that in one place, Sonny.” I hurried straight to the Sedgefield Country Club bar with just that in mind. At that early hour of the evening, the bar was empty save for The Art & Soul of Greensboro
an elderly gentleman sitting around the corner of the bar, nursing a cocktail. As I drank my beer, to my shock and delight, I realized the gentleman at the end of the bar was none other than Henry Longhurst, the celebrated Sunday Times golf writer and CBS commentator — one of my
literary heroes. “Young man,” he spoke up with his charming grumble, “you look like I feel most mornings when confronting myself in the bathroom mirror.” When I mentioned my horrible afternoon of caddying for a farting buffoon who killed my dream of caddying on the Tour, Henry “Longthirst” simply smiled. He asked what other options I had in mind. Confessing that my heart wasn’t into my graduate studies, I boldly commented that my real goal was to someday become a golf writer. The great man nodded and slowly rose, placing a fiver on the counter. As he headed to the door, he placed his hand on my shoulder and said quietly, “Well, young man, if you do decide to write about this ancient game, you will find no shortage of rogues, bounders and peculiar characters, but also inspiring champions and some of the finest people on Earth. Good luck to you, then!” I was thrilled by this encounter, taking it as a sign that the universe would deliver something good down the fairway of life. A few days later, I received a phone call from Juanita Weekley, the managing editor of the city’s beloved afternoon newspaper, where I’d interned for two summers. She invited me to drop by for an interview. “Be here at 5:30 sharp,” she said. “But don’t get your hopes up. You have lots of competition.” I found her alone in her office the next afternoon. “Come in and close the door,” she said in her famous no-nonsense way.
O.Henry 15
simple life Mrs. Weekley was a newspaper pioneer, the first woman to edit a major newspaper in the state, a tough, plainspoken redhead who reminded me of Lou Grant, the crusty editor from The Mary Tyler Moore Show. As I sat down, she pointed to a stack of folders on her desk. “These are applications from half a dozen outstanding candidates for this job. They are all female from top journalism schools. I’ve been instructed by personnel to hire a female. My question to you is, why should I even consider a skinny white kid from the west side of Greensboro?” I understood her point. But I also had nothing to lose. I was still buzzing from meeting one of my sports journalism heroes. Brazenly, I replied, “Because I’ll write circles around them all.” Madam Weekley did not appear amused. Instead, she reached over her desk, picked up the wickedest-looking letter opener I’d ever seen and tapped it slowly
on her desk. “OK,” she said after a long pause. “I’m going to take a chance on you. But listen closely. If you’re not the best damn writer in this newspaper in a year, I’ll chase you out of the building with this thing.” I spent the next year writing like mad to avoid being run off by her evil, sharp tongue and even sharper letter opener. At one point, however, Mrs. Weekley called me into her office and handed me the keys to a wheezing, 1970 day-glow orange AMC Pacer staff car and instructed me to drive a 75-mile circumference around the Gate City, searching for “good stories about country life” for the Sunday paper’s Tar Heel Living section. “Think of it this way,” she said. “You’ll be our version of Charles Kuralt, writing about rural life and colorful characters you meet along the way. It’s right up your alley.” She wasn’t wrong. Over the next six weeks, roaming the backroads of the western Piedmont and the Blue Ridge foothill country, I found
an assortment of fascinating small-town stories and colorful folks to write about, including several homegrown artists, a brilliant Yale-educated physician running a clinic in an impoverished mountain town, an award-winning poet, a famous moonshiner, the biggest Bluegrass festival in history, and the winner of a Bear Creek talent show, whose mom invited me to marry her daughter after she graduated from high school. I politely declined. Looking back, it was the best job any rookie reporter ever had — one that shaped my life. My “country” tales won a major newspaper award and landed me a staff job at the Sunday Magazine of the Atlanta JournalConstitution, where I was the youngest writer of the oldest Sunday magazine in the South. Two decades later, I was back in my hometown on a national book tour for my bestselling memoir, Final Rounds. I stopped off to say hello to Juanita Weekley, the pioneering woman who took a chance on me way back when, and bring her a signed copy of my book. She was in declining health. But her face lit up when she opened the door. We hugged and sat for an hour, and I thanked her for not running me off with her letter opener. As she walked me to the door, she took my hand. “I knew you were going to be a superb writer,” she said, holding back tears. “I just didn’t want you to know that! I couldn’t be prouder of you, dear. Hiring you was one of the best things I ever did in my career.” I kissed her cheek and thanked her. “It would never have happened,” I said, “without you.” Juanita Weekley passed away in 2003. Gone but never forgotten. OH Jim Dodson is the founding editor of O.Henry. His 17th book, The Road That Made America: A Modern Pilgrim Travels the Great Wagon Road, will be published by Avid Reader Press and is available for pre-order on Amazon. Find his weekly writings and musings at jwdauthor.substack.com.
16 O.Henry
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"A spirited forum of Gate City food, drink, history, art, events, rumors and eccentrics worthy of our famous namesake"
May 25 Unsolicited Advice
Celena Amburgey, Blue Ridge Venus, 2024. Oil Paint, vines, mason jar rings, cardboard, love letter from the artist’s father (paper), and a childhood bedsheet (fabric) on burlap, 30 x 38 x 1 ½ in.
Just One Thing
For Celena Amburgey, home is where the art is. “By intertwining paint, mixed media and deeply personal items like my daddy’s bed sheets, my work becomes a vessel for layered narratives,” says the creator of Blue Ridge Venus, which combines oil paint, vines, Mason jar rings, love letters from her father and a childhood bedsheet. “These intimate objects carry the weight of my heritage,” says the artist, who hails from Jefferson, N.C. Utilizing both personally precious as well as oft-discarded items such as plastic bags and grocery sacks, she says, “I craft a powerful dialogue on the tension between what is cherished and what is disregarded, drawing attention to how we assign worth and value in our lives.” Amburgey’s works, along with art by two other M.F.A. candidates, Paul Stanley Mensah and Nill Smith, will be on exhibit through May 25 at Weatherspoon Art Museum. Meet the artists on Thursday, May 8, from 5:30 until 7:30 p.m. Info: weatherspoonart.org/exhibitions/ current-exhibitions.
18 O.Henry
If, like the rest of us, you’re trying — but struggling — to break up with your smartphone, this one’s for you. Those little buggers are full of dopamine hit after hit, lighting up our brain in a way that screams, “More, more, more!” When we find ourselves in a moment of quiet inaction, our fingers wander to that tempting touchscreen, desperate to fill the void. Well, we’ve come up with some digital-free ways to occupy those digits while taking a note from Depeche Mode: “Enjoy the Silence.” Get hooked on something new: Learn to crochet. If you start now, you’ll have an entire collection of colorful hats to gift friends and family during the holidays. Play solitaire. And not on an app, but with a real, tactile deck of cards. Best part? No one will ever know if you cheat — not that we’re endorsing that behavior. We just have the luck of the draw. Try your hand at building. Scandinavians are consistently ranked among the happiest in the world and it’s probably because they’re constantly creating with Legos, which originated in Denmark, or putting together Swedish-made Ikea furniture. We certainly smile — through gritted teeth while cursing — when we assemble a Kallax shelf. Read. As the proverb goes, “A book in the hand is worth two in your library queue.” Or something like that.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Window on the Past Though much of Greensboro has changed over the years, the charming facade of this Irving Park Dutch Colonial, the historic R.J. Mebane House, remains very much the same since its circa 1912– 13 construction. Wondering about the interiors? See for yourself as this and many other Irving Park abodes throw open their doors, welcoming guests of Preservation Greensboro’s Historic Tour of Homes, May 17 and 18. History, architecture and design come together to help you reach your step goal. What more could you want? Tickets and info: preservationgreensbo.org/events.
Must Love Books
Reading, writing and arithmetic? No, thanks on that last part of the equation. The Greensboro Bound Festival is where reading, writing and book fanatics create a buzz of all-day literary activity descending upon the cultural epicenter of downtown Greensboro. But first, at 7 p.m. on May 15, how ’bout a little pre-fest fun with . . . (if this were an audiobook, you’d hear a drumroll right now) . . . Percival Everett, The New York Times-bestselling author of several novels, including the 2024 National Book Award for Fiction winner, James? A reimagining of Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, James is told through the eyes of the runaway, enslaved Jim. Everett is sure to draw a huge crowd, filling up UNCG’s Elliott University Center Auditorium. Registration is required — and is now waitlist only — by May 12 and can be found via the Greensboro Bound website. Now, hold onto your pen caps and block out May 17 in your planner because this year’s one-day festival is, well, one for the books. Dreaming up your own manuscript? Learn every trick in the book at the Greensboro Public Library. Three O.Henry magazine contributors, plus a few local notables, help you sharpen your skills — and pencils. Our founding editor, Jim Dodson, teaches “The Art of Memoir” — something he knows a little something about after writing Final Rounds, a New York Times-bestselling memoir. Maria Johnson hones your humor and Ross Howell Jr. shows you how to easily slip between fiction and nonfiction writing. Poets Ashley Lumpkin and Elly Bookman, plus Chapel Hill-based cookbook author Sheri Castle know how to measure for success. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
In the Greensboro Cultural Center’s Van Dyke Performance Space, take a page from several authors in conversation. O.Henry editor Cassie Bustamante, yours truly, interviews WinstonSalem’s New York Times-bestselling author, Sarah McCoy, and Reidsville’s Sir Walter Raleigh Award winner, Valerie Nieman, about making herstory with historical fiction. Former Wall Street Journal writer Lee Hawkins, whose 2022 nonfiction book, I Am Nobody’s Slave: How Uncovering My Family’s History Set Me Free, was a Pulitzer Prize finalist, chats with Aran Shetterly, author of the harrowing account of the KKK vs. Civil-Rights demonstrators, Morningside: The 1979 Greensboro Massacre and the Struggle for an American City’s Soul. Andy Corren, whose Dirtbag Queen: A Memoir of My Mother was born out of the obituary he wrote for her that went viral, chats with Cassie. Finally, wrap up your evening with a conversation between Christopher A. Cooper, author of Anatomy of a Purple State, and spiritual writer, preacher and community cultivator Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, moderated by Raw Story investigative reporter Jordan Green. Beyond the Greensboro History Museum’s doors, Kristie Frederick Daugherty, known for her book of Taylor Swift-inspired poetry, and UNCG M.F.A. alum Elly Bookman, plus local high school poet laureates read and discuss their modern take on the ancient art form. Known for her New York Times bestsellers Wench and Take My Hand, NAACP Image Award-winning author Dolen Perkins-Valdez chats about her latest book, Happy Land, which hit the shelves last month. And what’s a festival without something for the littlest readers and aspiring writers? The second floor of the cultural center is chock full of children’s authors including Kamal Eugene Bell, Natasha Tarpley and Patrice Gopo. O.Henry 19
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Sage Gardener “Wait,” says our hiking companion at the head of our group. “You’re saying that bees are not native?” “Honey bees,” our citizen-scientist hiker responds. “It’s honey bees that are not native to the Americas. But there are hundreds of species of native bees.” (More than 500 in North Carolina alone, in fact.) “How about honey,” the disbeliever shoots back. “Are you telling me that the honey I put on my toast in the morning is a non-native species?” “The bees that gathered and regurgitated it are originally from Europe, brought over here to pollinate the Colonists’ crops in the 1600s,” says our apiculturist. “Yeah, I read that the Virginia Company brought hives over when they established Jamestown,” pipes up the group’s historian. “So, yes,” says our honey bee detractor, “the honey comes from the U.S.A. — unless it’s imported from India, Argentina or Brazil, like a lot of cheap honey is.” To say that our trail discussions are often lively is a gross understatement. At least it’s not politics this time around, I think to myself.
“I’m going to look that up,” our lead hiker says, an all too common refrain on these hikes. Moments later, Siri chirps, “Here’s an answer from gardenmyths.com: ‘The honey bee is a nonnative import into North America and most other countries.” “But honey bees pollinate our crops,” our dissenter insists. “Without them we would starve!” Citizen scientist says, “A lot of crops are now engineered to be self-pollinating or even wind-pollinated. I’ve grown tomatoes in my living room with no bees and I still had tomatoes,” she counters. “Besides, a big hive of honey bees can outcompete native bees, sometimes the sole pollinators for certain native plants. Without that bee, the plant can go extinct.” You can read all about it in our Raleigh sister publication, Walter (waltermagazine.com/home/the-buzz-north-carolina-coolest-native-bees) in a piece by Mike Dunn, a Chapel Hill naturalist and educator. “Our native bees are truly bee-autiful and beezarre,” he writes. Plus, he points out, practically no one ever gets stung by native bees. Or dive into the N.C. State Extension Service’s The Bees of North Carolina: An Identification Guide, available online (content.ces.ncsu.edu/the-bees-of-north-carolina-identification-guide), where you can see stunning photos of wood carder bees, rotund resin bees, cuckoo leaf cutter bees, zebra cuckoo bees, along with scintillating anatomical diagrams.
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20 O.Henry
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A whole ’nother subject is plants that nurture and support native pollinators. In March of last year, the Greensboro City Council adopted an official policy to promote native plants and eliminate invasive plants at city-owned facilities. “Native plants help maintain, restore and protect the health and biodiversity of local ecosystems, supporting native pollinators, birds and other wildlife,” the City proclaimed. The Guilford County Extension Master Gardener volunteers couldn’t be more enthusiastic about those plants our native bees love, sponsoring periodic workshops on them. On Saturday, August 23, from 10
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
a.m. until 1 p.m. (guilford.ces.ncsu.edu/2025/02/2025-greatsoutheast-pollinator-census), they plan a count’em-if-you-got-them session as part of the the Great Southeast Pollinator Census. Meanwhile, detractors of honey bees — especially lovers of native wildflowers like our citizen-scientist hiker — continue to blast Apis mellifera, that European intruder to our shores. One enthusiast at ncwildflower.org/honey-bees-friend-or-foe suggests, “Do not buy honey. Kill any wild hives you encounter. And discourage the use of domesticated hives transported to pollinate crops.” Y’all bee careful out there, now. — David Claude Bailey
O.Henry 21
tea leaf astrologer
Taurus (April 20 - May 20)
Whoever said that small minds discuss people surely wasn’t calling out a Taurus. When Mercury enters your sign on May 10, however, remember that the tea won’t spill itself. On May 12, the full moon in Scorpio will illuminate an opportunity for you to get crystal clear on what really matters. Lastly, if things are feeling a bit awkward in the romance department, you can expect that to continue until Venus glides back into your sign on June 6. In other words, hang tight.
Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you: Gemini (May 21 – June 20) Follow the care instructions.
Cancer (June 21 – July 22) Stir until fragrant.
Leo (July 23 – August 22)
Don’t be afraid of your own roar.
Virgo (August 23 – September 22) Polish the mirror.
Libra (September 23 – October 22) Dare you to take a “Me Day.”
Scorpio (October 23 – November 21) Start writing things down.
Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21) Cancel your ego trip.
Capricorn (December 22 – January 19) Relax your neck and jaw.
Aquarius (January 20 – February 18) Hint: Slow and steady.
Pisces (February 19 – March 20) Try using a different soap.
Aries (March 21 – April 19)
You might want to pack a snack 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. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 23
Marisa Faircloth, PA-C 40+ Years Experience
Marisa Faircloth, PA-C 40+ Years Experience
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life's funny
Type Cast How Greensboro’s Nich Graham rocks his Royal Safari By Maria Johnson
Tangerine, soul, gossip, smoke.
It’s an odd foursome of words, but Nich Graham has invited me to bring prompts to our coffee-shop interview to spark the free verse that he pounds out on his old-school mechanical keyboard. It’s his schtick and his bliss. Back for the second year in a row, Nich will bring his Typewriter Poetry, a form of performance art, to the Greensboro Bound book festival this month. Clack-clack, clack-clack. He’s a forefinger typist, even though his 1960s manual typewriter — Royal brand, beige Safari model, complete with Williamsburg-blue, hard-shell case — harks to an era when legions of students, mostly women, learned touch-typing to prepare them for futures as secretaries. At 31, Nich knows nothing about quick brown foxes jumping over lazy dogs. Sporting a smattering of tattoos and a cotton tee repping Osees, a psych-rock band formed in San Francisco, he’s a lank and bright-eyed creature of his time. He recalls a brush with keyboarding instruction in fifth grade. “We didn’t do it, so the teacher gave up,” he says. He jabs the chunky keys with his index fingers. Clack-clack, clack-clack. He hammers out the four words, which appear at the top of a notecard curled around the typewriter’s heavy roller. He closes his eyes to find the flow. His verse shows up in jagged lines. Her soul glowed a citrus petrichor that billowed out in smoke A perfume scented in the same color * tangerine
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
*
Just for the record, I’m not wearing perfume; neither one of us is smoking; the asterisks are a part of the poem; and petrichor means the earthy smell that arises when rain hits the ground. I mean, he never said he was writing about me, but still. I discreetly sniff my pits while taking notes. Wait. Is citrus petrichor a candle scent? Do I smell like a candle? Clack-clack, clack-clack He uses the word “trouble” to describe himself as a young man growing up in Newark, California, on the lower lip of San Francisco Bay. His mom, a single parent whom Nich describes as loving and tough, laid down the law when he dropped out of high school. “You gotta figure something else out, kid, because this isn’t working,” she said. With her blessing, Nich, who pronounces his name “Nick,” moved to the High Sierra mountains where he lived with his maternal grandmother, a “mestiza” of mixed Native American and Spanish heritage. Together, they tended her flowers, vegetables, trees and cacti. Pulling a red wagon loaded with his grandmother’s gardening supplies, Nich absorbed lessons about time, patience and setting the right conditions for growth. He also discovered that he learned best when he was outdoors and when he worked with his hands. A seed rooted in his teenage brain. He still hung with trouble, but, after a near-death experience, the seed sprouted. He enrolled in a community college, where he excelled at horticulture and art. An associate’s degree later, he headed to Humboldt State College. Outside of class, he worked odd jobs and busked spoken-word poetry for donations. A descendant of storytellers on his mother’s Southwestern side and his father’s Iranian side, Nich was a veteran of open mic competitions and poetry slams. Spitting words came easily. The sidewalk crowds did not. “I couldn’t compete by yelling poetry,” he says. O.Henry 25
life's funny A friend suggested that Nich get an old typewriter as a prop and start channeling his verse via keys. He did and added a sign: “Free-Range, Organic, Non-GMO Poetry.” Onlookers, many of whom were too young to remember the days before computer keyboards, stepped closer, curious about the chattering machine. If they wanted to try it, Nich let them take the beast for a spin so they could feel the bouncing action of keys under their fingertips, see the thin metal arms embossed with backwards letters striking the ribbon before dropping back into line, and hear magical rat-a-tat-tat of letters turning into words turning into thoughts. The general reaction? “Stoked,” Nich says. “Just stoked.” Clack-clack, clack-clack. Nich’s poem takes shape. Citrus petrichor wafts into another idea. Where chisma was brought around professional gossip too obtuse a term I have to look it up. “Chisma” means rumor in Spanish. Is “professional gossip” an obtuse term? I think not. But let me tell you who in this business is obtuse. Later. Did Nich and I dish on work? Not really, unless you count a conversation about how writers absorb, digest and express their experiences differently. Hmm. Maybe I don’t smell like a candle. Clack-clack, clack-clack Nich came to Greensboro in early 2019, intending to do a residency at Elsewhere, Greensboro’s museum of offbeat collections. Then came a virus. And cancellations. With no money and no way to get home, Nich repaired to the mountains of Southwest Virginia to help a woman start a goat farm. Word of mouth brought more agri-gigs, eventually leading to Greensboro’s private Canterbury School, where he still works as a garden educator, tilling, planting, weeding, watering, mulching, harvesting and composting with K-8 students. Recently, he guided two eighth-grade girls in fixing a broken tiller. “We sat down without YouTube and figured out how to get that thing running again,” says Nich. “It was literally the proudest moment of my teaching career. Anytime I see them I’m like, ‘Yeah!’ ” The younger students call him Mr. Diggy. “I’m like, ‘Whatever you want to call me is OK, little humans,’” he says. “I like seeing them grow and develop, too.” Now working toward a master’s degree in experiential and outdoor education at Western Carolina University, Nich also does
26 O.Henry
permaculture projects for private clients. In June and July, he will be working for the Creative Aging Network of Greensboro, leading gardening sessions for grandparents and their grandchildren, as well as caregivers and their charges. He’s stuck on growth. Swiss chard. Lettuce. Watermelon. Understanding. Connections. He hopes to move his mother and grandmother here from California. “I said, ‘Just come out here. I’ll take care of you,’” he says. He sees a home, a few acres, a family-run orchard, maybe a cider press. Clack-clack, clack-clack. A dozen times a year, he gets paid for doing Typewriter Poetry at literary events, parties and fundraisers. On May 17, the day of the book festival, he will pop up his word shop from 1–5 p.m in the Greensboro Cultural Center. People will feed him a few words at a time. He will type them at the top of a note card printed with his artwork, close his eyes, sway like a musician until he catches a melody of meaning, then start typing. He can tell a lot about people, he says, by the words they toss him. About a half give him greeting-card words: love, hope, promise — what they think they should say. Another quarter supply words borne of turmoil. One woman started crying when she read Nich’s interpretation. “I get the privilege of helping them process whatever they’re going through,” he says. Another quarter hand him playthings. Nich slaps the carriage return, a chrome lever, with confidence. His poem is coming in for a soft landing.
aspiring to share stories that captured more than essence seeping down in a river formation a journey around ink & noise & heart OH Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry magazine. Email her at ohenrymaria@gmail.com.
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omnivorous reader
Duck and Cover How to keep your personal information safe
By Stephen E. Smith
When my mother was a teenager,
she was the only all-night operator in a town of about 2,000 souls. The hours were long, so she eavesdropped on private conversations. When she got home, she shared the latest gossip with my grandmother, and within a few hours, everyone in town knew everyone else’s business.
In theory, it still works that way, except, of course, that our personal data is managed by computers — our iPhones, laptops, tablets and the clandestine eavesdropping monsters that lurk in the mystical ether — which speed up and amplify the collection process while disseminating our confidential information globally. The result, however, is the same: There are no secrets, finally or ever. This is why Lawrence Cappello’s On Privacy: Twenty Lessons to Live By is a timely little book (151 pages) that’s surely worth the few minutes it takes to read it. It won’t be the most exciting book you’ve read, but it might be one of the most important. Cappello is a professor of U.S. legal and constitutional history at the University of Alabama. He’s the author of None of Your Damn Business: Privacy in the United States from the Gilded Age to the Digital Age, and he’s a certified information privacy professional. He’s on top of this data collection stuff, and his advice might help you sleep a little more soundly. We’re hammered daily by claims that the equity in our homes is being stolen, our bank accounts plundered, our reputations besmirched, and our children driven to suicide. And then there are the endless scams that pop up on our screens (I consider everything a scam until it proves itself otherwise, and then I know
28 O.Henry
for sure it is a scam). And now the government — who should be protecting us — has gotten into the info-distribution game via the unsupervised plundering of heretofore confidential databases. On Privacy is written for those who are fearful about the disclosure of their personal data but who are reluctant to toss out their electronic devices. Cappello cuts through the noise and confusion and enumerates in short, sensible steps the necessary safeguards we need to adopt to be secure in the digital age. He offers practical insights into why privacy matters, how it shapes free societies, and how it rules our lives in an increasingly interconnected electronic world. What Cappello doesn’t do is bombard his readers with terrifying stories about unfortunate fellow citizens who’ve suffered life-altering internet crimes. Horrifying examples only encourage despair. Instead, Cappello begins by addressing the requisite rationalization, “The Nothing-to-Hide Trap,” in which we maintain that if we are full-time do-gooders, we have nothing to fear from those who’d access our personal data. “Our personal information exists in snippets,” he writes. “When taken out of context, the private details of our lives . . . too often paint a picture of us that is skewed and not entirely true,” and thus we are often misrepresented. Since first impressions matter, we should focus on what computers collect and, more importantly, the distribution of our personal data. Cappello breaks down the threats to our privacy into easy-to-read chapters that present the problems and suggest solutions. After a brief discussion of “Privacy Is Essential to Mental Health,” he appends suggestions on “How to Talk About Privacy’s Mental Health Benefits,” followed by “How to Protect Your Mental Health Through Privacy.” It’s all very straightforward. He claims, for example, that we have the right to be forgiven our youthful transgressions. We make mistakes. “Unfortunately, The Art & Soul of Greensboro
omnivorous reader the mistakes we make in life will remain instantly accessible,” he writes, “to any stranger inclined to take thirty seconds for a quick online search.” Moreover, we are constantly under surveillance; our movements are tracked by our phones, computers and cameras on the street. If that’s not intrusive enough, outside sources can read your private electronic communications. He offers a solution: Secure your email with PGP encryption, a popular tool that scrambles your writing so that only the intended recipient can read it. The same is true for texts; encrypted text messaging apps are readily available and require only a quick download to your phone. These email and text apps also have an automatic delete option. And he recommends you buy a Faraday bag, a small pouch that blocks all signals; otherwise, you can be tracked by your phone even if you turn off your GPS. Not only are we surveilled by private entities, but the government has, for many years, been poking into our business. Surveillance is the enemy of free expression: It discourages people from participating in political movements by instilling the fear they’ll be arrested for speaking out against the powerful, which inhibits the right of free assemblage as guaranteed by the First Amendment. Cappello reminds us that the “belief that the surveillance powers of the state must be constantly kept in check is a
cornerstone of what it means to live in a free country.” Most of Cappello’s recommendations are simple and easily implemented: “When in doubt, log out,” delete apps you aren’t using and any accounts associated with them, tape off the camera on your computer, clear your browser history, get rid of caches and cookies, turn off and lock your computer when not in use, and purchase your own Virtual Private Networks (VPNs), which makes it difficult to track your online activity. And those are just a few of the suggestions that might save you money and safeguard your reputation. Of course, the obvious way to protect your future information — there’s little you can do about the past — is to disappear or “go dark,” as folks are wont to say. This would necessitate the destruction of all your electronics — computers, streaming devices, tablets, phones, smartwatches, etc., and all storage systems — thumbnail drives, hard drives, data stored in the cloud (the global network of remote servers that functions as a single ecosystem), old floppy disks, credit cards, etc. Everything. All of it. Then disappear. Forever. OH Stephen E. Smith’s most recent book, The Year We Danced: A Memoir, is the recipient of a 2025 Feathered Quill Book Award.
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O.Henry 29
in good taste
Look, Ma! No Buns! In a pickle? This burger bowl is the answer Story and Photograph by Jasmine Comer
About 16 years ago when I was 14, I
had a memorable cooking mishap involving an excessive amount of salt. My mom was making her famous burgers and fries one Friday when a too-close encounter with with the mandolin sent her to the emergency room. Left in charge of cooking supper while my dad took Mom to the hospital, I was determined to finish the burgers that she’d started. Having only prepared very basic meals before — think eggs and bacon — I unknowingly created the world’s saltiest burgers. That evening, my teenage enthusiasm embraced the motto on the Morton salt box: “When it rains, it pours.” 30 O.Henry
That night was a pivotal moment where I learned a hard truth: Over-salting food is almost always an irreversible error. And it’s so easy to do it. Just as quickly as a pinch can enhance a dish, too much can ruin it entirely. This experience is why many of my recipes suggest seasoning with salt and pepper to taste, acknowledging individual preferences and needs. There’s a lesson in biochemistry here, but I’ll leave that to Alton Brown. As for these burger bowls, rest assured . . . they are not overly seasoned. This is one of those meals that you can easily customize with protein and veggies of your choice. The magic is in the sauce. As a sauce enthusiast, I’ve always leaned toward homemade — dressings, too. They can completely transform a meal. This burger sauce is sweet and tangy, and it perfectly complements the heartiness of the beef and the crunchiness of the fresh vegetables. Do me a favor and learn from my mistakes — go easy on the salt? The Art & Soul of Greensboro
in good taste Burger Bowls Makes 4 servings Ingredients For the beef 1 pound ground beef 1/2 small yellow onion, diced 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce Salt and pepper to taste Burger sauce 1/2 cup mayo 1/2 tablespoon yellow mustard 2 tablespoons ketchup 2 tablespoons sweet or dill relish 1 teaspoon white vinegar 1/2 teaspoon sugar
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For the salad 1 large head romaine, chopped 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved 1/2 red onion, diced 1 cup cheddar cheese, shredded ½ cup pickle slices, chopped 1. Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add the ground beef, onions, garlic powder, Worcestershire, salt and pepper. Cook for 6–8 minutes or until beef is no longer pink, stirring occasionally. 2. While the beef is cooking, prepare the sauce: Whisk all the ingredients together. Place in the fridge until it is time to serve the salad. 3. Assemble the salad starting with the romaine, followed by the other toppings and the ground beef. Drizzle with burger sauce. OH Jasmine Comer is the creator of Lively Meals, a food blog where she shares delicious, everyday recipes. You can find her on Instagram @livelymeals.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 31
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Stepping Up Citizen Vinyl pressed into service
By Tom Maxwell
There’s a beautiful Art Deco building
at 14 O. Henry Avenue in Asheville, located on a particularly high spot in that already elevated mountain city. Completed in 1939, it was built to house owner Charles Webb’s two newspapers (the morning’s Asheville Citizen as well as the Asheville Times afternoon edition) in addition to his newly-acquired-but-already famous radio station WWNC-AM. For the last five years, Webb’s glass brick, black granite and limestone behemoth has been home to Citizen Vinyl, a unique combination of record pressing plant, recording/mastering studio, record store, art gallery and café. But in October 2024, the place served as an altogether different kind of community hub. “We were one of the few Asheville businesses that had both power and internet a couple of weeks after the hurricane,” Citizen Vinyl founder and CEO Garland (Gar) Ragland says, “so we immediately pivoted to becoming a community resource. We ran extension cords out of our space in the building and got the word out that we had internet available and power for people to charge their digital devices and cellphones. We had hundreds of people coming every day to power their phones and text or call their loved ones to let them know they were safe.” In September, Hurricane Helene wiped large swaths of Appalachia off the map. Entire towns in western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee in valleys near rivers or creeks were
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
washed away. Marshall, a small town north of Asheville, was destroyed. To the east, Swannanoa suffered a blow from which it has yet to recover. The recently established Arts District, nestled alongside the French Broad river in West Asheville, was suddenly under 12 feet of water. The big Art Deco building that houses Citizen Vinyl was quicker to recover than most other businesses, thanks to its elevation and its proximity to NOAA’s Federal Climate Complex, which houses both the National Climatic Data Center as well as the country’s Climate Archive. Soon, one of Citizen Vinyl’s food partners, Michelle Bailey, set up smokers and grills in their little parking lot and started preparing meals from food donated by far-flung friends and her regional farming network. “She started the weekend after the hurricane,” Ragland says, “and served about 1,500 hot meals every weekend for weeks. She had friends from Louisville, Kentucky, come over and bring hundreds of pounds of top-shelf smoked meats and barbecue. So, we pivoted — because we really didn’t have any other option than to just lean in and support our community in whatever way we could.” Ragland is quick to point out that he and his friends weren’t the only people who met the moment. “There were many, many, noble efforts,” he says, “and what was revelatory to me was how unique and special this community of people is, how readily and instinctively people showed up to help one another. There were people on street corners with signs saying ‘Free Water Here,’ or ‘Hot Food.’ I was really impressed and inspired and proud to be a member of this community because we showed up for each other.” Ragland, a native of Winston-Salem, started Citizen Vinyl in 2019. Inside Charles Webb’s three-story building, he established the pressing plant along with Sessions (the breezy bar and café) and Coda: Analog Art & Sound (a combination art gallery and record store). On the top floor, Ragland converted
O.Henry 33
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HERE TO EXPLORE Visit greensboroscience.org to plan your trip to our aquarium, museum, zoo, and treetop adventure park! 34 O.Henry
the hallowed space of WWNC into Citizen Studios, a recording and mastering facility. He can quote the building’s history, chapter and verse. “Charles Webb designed and dedicated the top floor of the Citizen-Times building to be the new home for his radio station,” Ragland says. “It was state-of-theart. He modeled it after the RCA Victor Studios in New York. By the time of the station’s construction, WWNC-AM had already become one of the most popular radio stations in the country. It was previously located a couple of blocks away in the Flatiron Building, and it was there that Jimmy Rodgers made his national radio premiere in 1927.” Immediately after the station reopened in its new location, bluegrass legends Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys debuted on February 2, 1939. The group played the daily afternoon “Mountain Music” slot until WWNC became a CBS affiliate. At the time, artists from all over the country were descending on Asheville because of WWNC’s reach. “It was the highest elevation radio station east of the Mississippi,” Ragland says. “That 570 kHz radio frequency could throw from downtown Asheville all the way to West Texas and up into southern Canada.” The amazing thing is, despite eastbound I-40 being washed out between Old Fort and Black Mountain — while half of its westbound lanes crumbled down into a gorge outside of Knoxville — Citizen Vinyl never stopped pressing records. “Our shipping and receiving did slow down,” Ragland notes, “and we had a couple slow months.” Not that big a deal, considering the town wouldn’t have potable water for 11 weeks. In the best of times, people tend to think of things like music and food as ephemera, as if they’re mere ornaments to the real work of producing wealth. But you’d be hard pressed to think of two things more deeply woven into the fabric of community than a mother singing a lullaby to her drowsy infant, or the connections made and deepened by a shared meal in a desperate moment. “Being part of this community and The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
May 11, 2:00 pm:
Chamber Sessions Series: Astralis Chamber Ensemble May 18, 2:00 pm:
«
Tom Maxwell is an author and musician. A member of Squirrel Nut Zippers in the late 1990s, he wrote their Top 20 hit “Hell.” His most recent book, A Really Strange and Wonderful Time: The Chapel Hill Music Scene 1989-1999, was published by Hachette Books.
May at Weymouth Center
«
serving as a cultural hub has been a really important part of our ethos and business,” Ragland says. “The hurricane, full disclosure, put into jeopardy our ability to sustain the café and the event space. But that said, the challenges only reinforced the values and the ethos that we’ve constructed this business to be, evidenced by our name.” The word “citizen” has been with us since the late Middle Ages, and has specific meanings in different areas of law, religion and the military. Ragland is well aware of both the promise and potential risks of using that word. “Obviously, there’s a history that we wanted to honor by calling the business Citizen Vinyl,” he says. “But the term itself is a very provocative name to title your business because it means different things to different people. For the undocumented person, it’s a loaded word. It can be an alienating and divisive term. But on the flip side, ‘citizen’ asks the question: What does it mean to belong to a place?’ We were intrigued by the opportunity to help shape and define what it means. We’re music nerds, not music snobs. We don’t judge people’s music tastes. We want to celebrate music, art and community. We don’t pass judgment on anyone. We want to operate our business in a way that defines ‘citizen’ in the most positive of ways. The hurricane, if nothing else, created an opportunity for us to put into practice a lot of the things that we aspire to be as members of the Asheville community.” The quote “We may achieve climate, but weather is thrust upon us” is often attributed to O. Henry, the author Citizen Vinyl’s street is named for. The catastrophic destruction caused by Hurricane Helene may have kept you away from Asheville, but it’s time to go back, to witness firsthand the climate of resilience and community achieved by its citizens. OH
Come Sunday Jazz with Al Strong Also, this month at Weymouth Center: May 3, 3:00 pm:
Horses Benefit Kids May 15, 5:00 pm:
The Country Bookshop welcomes Brendan Slocumb May 19, 10:30 am:
Women of Weymouth, Strawberry Festival Garden Luncheon May 20, 2:00 pm:
James Boyd Book Club: The River Knows Your Name by Kelly Mustian May 27, 6:00 pm:
Song Circle Jam Session May 30, 5:30 pm:
Ladies Wine Out
Scan the QR code for tickets and additional information! 555 East Connecticut Avenue, Southern Pines, NC
O.Henry 35
essay contest winner
Questers A shared sense of adventure
Note from the editor: This was our 2024 essay contest third place winner. By Dianne Hayter
I have always been a dog walker. Even
when I didn’t have one, I found dogs to walk. Or, more likely, dogs who loved to walk found me.
Embedded, however, in thousands of traipsing miles, is a secret, a spoiler alert: My dog walking is a not-so-clever disguise for a wanderlust heart. Truth: My canine companions and I are delighted questers rather than dutiful walkers, making us soul-linked in a way that must have been familiar to the likes of Admiral Byrd and his Antarctic crew or Lewis and Clark and their expeditioners. There are worse proclivities than finding the bend in a mountain dirt road irresistible. Or that beach dune wall that begs to be climbed before the wind captures and removes them. Curiosity, while it may have killed the cat, is not likely to topple a caninehuman team intent on adventure-seeking. I lived off Chunns Cove Road near downtown Asheville for several years with my dog, Autumn-Socks, a husky-shepherd mix who was as intelligent as she was beautiful. She came to me as a senior dog from a nearby county’s shelter, but there was nothing retired about Autumn-Socks. She had the endurance and stamina to have donned snow shoes, taken a place at the head of the pack, and pulled in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in Alaska. We lost no time in befriending Chance, the neighbor’s Goliath of a dog. A Great Pyrenees-border collie mix, he offered an affable, fun-loving balance to Autumn-Socks’s more focused inclinations. Chance had been penned for some time, and his delight and gratitude at being found and included knew no bounds. With his owner’s permission, Chance accompanied Autumn-Socks and I daily in our explorations. Chunns Cove is teeming with wildlife, including coyotes, a
36 O.Henry
vast assortment of raptors, large and small foxes, and black bears. The bears, in particular, have become more visible as their territories have been encroached upon by people. As a result, their hibernation cycles are shortened, and food supplies require more and more searching, including pilfering human garbage. Black bears are not typically aggressive to people, nor do they eat meat. But they are big and bulky, beautifully roaming with their lumbering gait, sometimes on all fours, sometimes standing on their back legs, often with a cub. They are pungent, particularly to a dog’s level of senses, and highly protective of their offspring. A mama bear can weigh from 200 to 800 pounds, and her baby, depending on its age, half that. They seek no friendship with humans, and humans are well served to return the sentiment, despite how tempting it may be to pet and cuddle a bear. Winnie the Pooh was a stuffed toy for a reason. On a late April morning, Autumn-Socks, Chance and I were almost to the top of Chunns Cove Road, which dead-ends in a mountain cove, just passing in front of an uninhabited house, someone’s mountain retreat. Both dogs were leashed. Neither showed indication of anything out of the ordinary, no stop-still response to a smell, movement, or sound. That the adult black bear, walking on its back legs, came down the driveway of the house as if to get into its car and drive away was as much of a surprise to Autumn-Socks and Chance as it was to me. If we were surprised, however, the bear’s shock and fear were magnified exponentially. Flailing its front legs, it threw back its head and bellowed as though its enormous claws were being extracted. Autumn-Socks and Chance, barking in tandem ferociousness, jerked and pulled on their leashes, straining to protect me and themselves, but mostly striving to get closer to the bear. No retreat, no surrender for them. The bear stopped and turned, then ran back towards the house. Almost pathetic in its discombobulation, it came our way again. In the seconds that had passed, I had maneuvered us so that we could return the way we came. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
essay contest winner We backed up slowly. I made a conscious effort not to run, fearing we might be chased. The dogs were predictably disappointed, still straining at their leashes and barking maniacally. With not the slightest hesitation, given the opportunity, they would have pursued the bear to the ends of the Earth. I marveled at their unabashed and instantaneous seizing of the situation. Fifty feet down Chunns Cove Road we started running, both dogs full throttle with me in tow. I looked over my shoulder to see if we were being pursued. The bear had stopped in the middle of the road, looked around briefly, confused as to what had happened, then, on all fours, galloped across the road and disappeared into the woods. It felt good, a profound relief, to run with the force of our collective adrenalin. No barking. Just the pant of our breathing, the sound of their paws and my shoes lightly bouncing off the pavement, the scratching of my jeans against my squall jacket. We stopped. Leashes still wrapped around my wrists, I bent over my knees and took several deep breaths. When I looked up, both Autumn-Socks and Chance were looking at me with sparkling eyes, big smiles, lolling heads and dancing feet, communicating the complicit request: Please, please, let’s do it again. I began to laugh, mirthful tears spilling down my cheeks, then sat down, only to lie down, while Autumn-Socks and Chance stood over me, licking my face and nudging me. Get up, we’re ready, let’s go. At least in this lifetime, I’ll not explore Antarctica like Admiral Byrd or carve out a path in the wilderness of a new continent like Lewis and Clark. But I will keep a dog by my side, one who finds me, in spite of my human limitations, to be an acceptable sojourner to the multifaceted explorations and adventures of an ordinary life. OH Dianne Hayter lives in Rockingham County with her dog, Jack. She is the author of Walking Autumn and a collection of linked short stories, Utopia Road. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 37
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
home grown
Absolutely Fabulous Friends who feel like Miami sunshine By Cynthia Adams
Irene, a food writer pal, called
to dish about a posh party thrown by a friend, as the French say, of a certain age in Miami.
In a story worthy of Netflix, the hostess invited a group of 24 accomplished women, doyennes all, to a birthday gathering featuring the best of everything. No expense was spared on the food, wine or glamour. Not much impresses Irene, a former New Yorker and Miami transplant, who routinely reviews upscale restaurants, gaining insider knowledge of the city’s competitive food-and-wine scene. She has spent years developing the Miami chapter of Les Dames d’Escoffier, the culinary organization created by Julia Child. But this event was something special. The stellar food her friend, Karen Escalera, served was the work of the late Joël Robuchon’s restaurant, Le Jardinier. The famous Frenchman’s restaurants on three continents earned a total of 31 stars, more than any other chef. But what moved Irene most about the party was not the exquisite spread nor the haute couture nor the bejeweled, high-profile guests. It was how many friends Karen had. “I don’t think I have 24 friends,” she confesses. We discuss the dynamic of friendships, old and new. We know that the lack of friends curtails longevity and worsens health. And we are a little obsessed with the epidemic of loneliness that hasn’t lifted despite COVID’s decline. Irene remains stuck on the number 24. I begin inventorying my own circle of friends. And decide to seek some expert advice on how many friends are just right. Pew Research would agree that 24 is a big number of friends to have. The majority (53%) in their survey reported having between one and four close friends. Only 38% report having five or more. I start counting how many I have, but get stuck in deciding what, exactly, constitutes a friend? And what’s the difference between a friend and a close friend. I think about my own circle, which includes college pals, lunch buddies, book club friends and neighThe Art & Soul of Greensboro
bors. Friends we share drinks and laughs with, or take on a road trip. Friends who always know the best restaurants or movies, or will tell you if a dress makes you look like an episode of What Not to Wear? I’ve got a lot of friends, I decide. But then there are friends you call when misfortune falls, or heartbreak comes — friends you can count on when life is hardest. I decide I don’t have 24 for sure, nor would I want them. Friendships like that require a lot of time and hard work. In a city of nearly a half million people, where friends aren’t easily made, Irene says she was moved by the deep generosity of their hostess. She jokes she was pleased to be included as the hostess’s newest friend at the birthday bash. “I’ve only known her a decade,” she quips. But what really demonstrated Karen’s true friendship took place at the party. It was how she showed her deep reverence for her circle of friends. “I’ve seen her increasing warmth,” Irene says about Karen. Maybe it comes with age and an increasing appreciation of how much true friends mean, she says. “You see down the road you won’t have this friend forever. It will end.” This was made clear when their hostess read from profiles she had written about each of her 24 guests, declared “top-notch friends.” Among them were CEOs and top achievers in fashion, business and hospitality. “The party was for us,” Irene says in wonderment. “Not for her.” No gifts were to be brought. And so, Karen, who has lived well and long, ordered herself a great cake. (“It was chocolate, seven layers, with chocolate beads around the outside . . . I cheated on my diet big time for that cake,” says Irene). She offered her circle what she knew and valued: a fabulous fête — and her articulate and heartfelt appreciation for them and who they were and what good friends they are. After the candles were blown out and the profiles were read, 24 friends filed out of Le Jardinière knowing exactly how they felt on Karen’s birthday: They felt absolutely fabulous. OH Cynthia Adam is a contributing editor to O.Henry magazine. O.Henry 39
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
birdwatch
Big Blue The majesty of great blue herons
By Susan Campbell
The great blue heron is a bird that will get
anyone’s attention, bird lover or not. It is the largest of all the species found in the Piedmont and Sandhills and is second in wingspan only to the bald eagle. Also, the way it ever so slowly stalks its prey in the open is unique. Great blues are colonial nesters often gathering very close together in trees in wet environments where terrestrial predators are not a threat. Great blues can be found across North Carolina year-round foraging in a variety of wet areas. However, nesting habitat can be harder to find. Many wet areas are too shallow to preclude raccoons, opossums and other climbing animals. Sizeable beaver ponds or islands in the middle of sizeable lakes with mature trees or large snags are attractive. And if a pair or two are successful in raising a brood high above the water, it is likely that the numbers of nests will grow in subsequent years to form a “heronry.” The female will weave a cup nest from the branches and then smaller, softer material (such as twigs, grasses, moss, etc.) that her mate delivers. The bond between a pair of great blues is very strong during the breeding season. Male and female are both involved with rearing the nest generation. The large nest can accommodate up to five eggs. Both adults incubate and then brood the young. The male spends most of the daylight hours at the nest while the
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
female is there overnight. Herons are very good parents, able to defend their young with not only their heavy, sharp bills but with very powerful wings. It will take a year or more for the young to reach maturity. During the first several weeks they are fed mainly fish by their parents. As they begin to forage for themselves, they will become opportunistic, eating everything from large, aquatic invertebrates (such as crayfish) to frogs and even the eggs of other bird species. Some individuals will not breed until their third summer. Sexually mature birds will sport long plumes on their neck and back. They may be seen displaying to their mates by raising their crests and clapping bills together at or near the nest site. The loud raspy croaking of herons is territorial and can be heard day or night at any time of the year. They will defend rich feeding areas as well as their nest from competitors. Great blues also call when in flight, perhaps to maintain contact with family members. In the air, these big birds have a very characteristic profile with slow, deep wingbeats, their necks coiled, and legs trailing out behind them. These huge birds are amazingly unafraid of humans. Although they seldom tolerate a close approach, they are frequently found feeding from bulkheads, farm ponds and even small backyard water features. Many great blue herons have learned that people may provide an easy meal — even if it is in the form of fish remains or table scraps. So, keep an eye out; you may find one of these large birds closer than you think. OH Susan Campbell would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. Her email is susan@ncaves.com. O.Henry 41
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The Patriots Are Coming Pursed lips and drum licks put the Greene in Greensboro
By Billy Ingram
"I have to prosecute a war with almost in-
surmountable difficulties. I cannot contemplate my own situation without the greatest degree of anxiety.” — Nathanael Greene before the Battle of Guilford Courthouse One hundred and thirty-eight years ago, Guilford Courthouse National Military Park was consecrated on 50 untended acres purchased for $700 by Judge David Schenck. It has since expanded into what is now a 250-acre homage to those resolute Patriots who fought and died on March 15, 1781, in a pivotal exchange of cannonballs, lead balls and bayonets, reassuring America’s forthcoming victory in the Revolutionary War. Ever hear that phrase, “We lost the battle but won the war?” The Battle of Guilford Courthouse is a perfect example. While the British effectively defeated General Nathanael Greene’s Continental Army, in doing so, the Red Coats were left so depleted that Greene’s dogged nemesis, British General Charles Cornwallis, had no choice but to, after another ill-fated fracas, surrender to George Washington at Yorktown. To commemorate that crucial turning point in our nation’s founding, the Guilford Courthouse Fife & Drum Corps was formed 28 years ago by park ranger Stephen Ware, in part to provide a historical soundtrack for increasingly popular Revolutionary War reenactments. While Ware retired in 2019 The Art & Soul of Greensboro
and Mike Nelson now leads the group, I met up with Chip Cook, a member since 2021, wondering what inspired his and others’ participation in such an anachronistic undertaking. “If you travel in the northeast — in Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts — every little town has a fife and drum corps,” which Cook likens to the lure of joining a community band and the Boy Scouts at the same time. “So there are adults and kids involved in it.” There are currently about 10 active members of GCFDC but new recruits are encouraged. “We have members as young as 15, folks from all walks of life. A couple of members from the 82nd Airborne [Division] Band recently joined and they love to perform with us occasionally.” A drum and fife corps was strategically imperative in times of war before radio messaging. “The commanders depended upon the music not for comfort, although that was helpful, too, but for communication,” Cook explains. When the call went out to, for instance, assemble the unit, or begin marching, reposition a column, prepare to fire or even retreat, the drum and fife corps transmitted those orders by way of melodic themes, known as duty calls, that troops were trained to recognize. On a clear day, they could be heard up to a mile away. “There was a gentleman's agreement that you didn’t shoot the musicians. They were considered noncombatants on the field,” Cook explains, noting that the corps might be leading the procession early on but well before the muskets plumed and bullets flew, drummers and fifers, made up mostly of old men and young boys, were repositioned to the rear of the fray. (After a musician O.Henry 43
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reached the age of 17 they were expected to join in the fighting.) To quickly identify and assemble instrumentalists when their service was required, “they traditionally wore opposite colors from their infantry regiment, so we wear a red coat with blue trim,” Cook says. On the 244th anniversary of the Battle of Guilford Courthouse this last March a reenactment took place at Country Park, kicked off with members of the Tryon Palace Fife and Drum Corps as well as Cook’s ensemble. Set against a backdrop of soldiers and horses echoing an impending clashing of combatants, it was an impressive performance, considering the vast repertoire of duty calls memorized and executed in unison with crystal clarity. “A lot of folks think this is run by the National Park Service. It’s not,” Cook tells me about these annual time tunnelings back to 1781. “It's an arrangement with the City of Greensboro and the different groups that have participated in these reenactments for many, many years.” A surreal sight, tented encampments erected alongside the lake where, tucked into the woods above, reenactors on both sides would bivouac overnight. “They have a little market in the middle, which is kind of funny because you go through there and everyone's dressed [for the period] and you pull out your debit card to pay, very much an anachronism there.” Last summer, the Guilford Courthouse Fife & Drum Corps opened for a performance of Horn in the West, the decadeslong running Revolutionary War outdoor drama centered around the exploits of Daniel Boone, on a night when one of the Frontiersman’s descendants was sitting in the audience. In January, they spent a weekend demonstrating their specialized skills at Cowpens National Battlefield in South Carolina. This month, our fluted troupe is bound for Colonial Williamsburg’s Drummer’s Call, a celebration of 18th-century military music also featuring an assemblage of groups from Yorktown, Northern Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. “We're all
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wandering billy volunteers, so we're spending our own money to do this,” Cook notes. The Corp also participates in grave-marking ceremonies with the Sons of the American Revolution, “and we’ll be in High Point for their Memorial Day event this year.” Chip Cook himself is a descendant of a Revolutionary War light infantry soldier, Jacob Idol, who resided in Davidson County when he enlisted in 1781. Captured by Tories and remanded to the British at Guilford Courthouse, he escaped following that conflagration, then took part in routing the so-called loyalist Tories at Raft Swamp in Robeson County, the last battle of the war fought in the state of North Carolina. A century later, no one in 1887 Greensborough had any definitive recollection as to exactly where that decisive Revolutionary War conflict happened when Judge David Schenck began mapping and snapping up the first 50 acres of forest and untamed underbrush. He relied on hand-scrawled maps and written recollections to pinpoint the precise location where warfare waged 106 years earlier. The nonprofit Guilford Battleground Company Schenck founded to oversee the project, one that continues fostering his vision today, gifted the by-then cultivated park to the federal government in 1917. The organization then continued over the decades to purchase and donate adjoining properties as they became available, greatly expanding this verdant sanctuary that pumps millions of dollars into our economy. In hindsight, Schenck should have acquired a lot more land than he did. Although it’s possible that Cornwallis’ attempt to smother democracy in its cradle potentially spilled over into Country Park’s footprint, just in the last few years historians have discovered that major skirmishes took place where the Brassfield Shopping Center parking lot sits. Alas, you won’t get that tract for $10 or $20 an acre like you could in 1887. OH
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O.Henry 47
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We were losing the ridgeline to the dusk when you asked, “What if I had stayed?” Ten years is nothing to a mountain — unless you clear-cut and gut it for someone else to move in. I’ve done that too many times — made my heart a gorge with a river everyone floats through. I looked at you and said, “It wouldn’t have mattered.” And you stared at me with eyes that looked so tired of trying to rebuild a rockslide. — Clint Bowman Clint Bowman’s most recent volume of poetry is titled If Lost.
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O.Henry 51
Innovative niche farmers are making our lives better every day
“H 52 O.Henry
By Ross Howell Jr. ard to think of a better time to talk to farmers than spring, so that’s just what I did. What follows is a small sampling of the many creative and determined small farmers in our area who are growing beautiful, fresh and healthy products for our kitchens and homes, season after season.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Photograph by Lynn Donovan
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Named to honor James Gillies, a 14-year-old “bugle boy” killed in a skirmish with British troops in the American Revolution, Bugle Boy Farm is emblematic of a major trend in modern farming. “Our goal is organic,” says owner Elizabeth McClellan, who purchased the farm with her husband, Gero, in 2012. Elizabeth is a big fan of Joel Salatin, an internationally known pioneer in “regenerative farming” — using modern agricultural methods to grow organic produce and meats while improving and sustaining the land on which they’re grown. For years, Bugle Boy Farm has produced organic blueberries, pasture-fed beef and chickens, plus eggs. But it was Elizabeth’s nephew, Christian Hankins, who suggested a unique niche. Garlic. Christian, a veteran who grew up in Rochester, Minn., and played minor league hockey, retired from military service during the pandemic. He had fond memories of his grandparents’ family farm and began to research garlic as a crop. For a couple of years, he grew garlic as a hobby, studying the process of growing and curing. After becoming a member of the Bugle Boy Farm team, Christian purchased 22 acres of open land, expanding operations. “The clay soil here tends to hold water,” he says. So he developed a special blend to amend the soil, including cow manure, gypsum, bone meal and lime. “Curing the garlic is a big issue because of the humidity in our region,” says Christian. Recently the farm added a modern drying facility, with humidity and temperature control, where the bulbs are cured and stored until ready for market. Bugle Boy Farms grows several varieties, each with distinctive flavors. The farmers also test cooking recipes, pairing specific garlic varieties with particular styles of cooking — Italian, Mexican, Asian and so forth. Garlic is also available in old-fashioned, handmade braids. “They’re edible craft,” Christian smiles. “People like to hang them up in their kitchens.” “Customers really enjoy buying them as gifts,” Elizabeth adds. Another specialty is scapes. These are the long, slender flower stems that grow from garlic bulbs in the early spring. Growers remove the scapes to concentrate plant growth in the bulbs, which are harvested in early summer. “Scapes have a scallion taste,” Elizabeth says. Some local restaurants buy them, and, she tells me, she has a special recipe for making scape butter. “It’s very tasty,” she adds. A big advantage to buying Bugle Boy Farm garlic is its freshness. Plus, Christian says, “You can use less garlic because the quality is better.” (For more information, visit bugleboygarlic.com) O.Henry 53
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Sprinkles Gourmet Mushrooms, High Point If I ask you to envision an urban farm, I’m pretty sure what comes to mind is not a photographer’s studio. But that’s what ingenuity and fungi can do for you. Mushroom farmer Troy Sprinkles lived in Greensboro for decades before moving his professional photography studio to High Point eight years ago — continuing to work with a range of furniture industry clients. But, during the COVID pandemic four years ago, Troy experienced an epiphany. He picked up a copy of a book about mycelium (the root-like structure of fungus) written by Paul Stamets, best known for the documentary film, Fantastic Fungi. “It was a life-changing experience,” Troy says. He read all of Stamets’ books and every other reference he could find about fungi and began growing mushrooms in the basement of his house. One day he thought, “Why not convert my studio into a fungi farm?” Section-by-section, Troy expanded his “farm” in the 7,000-square-foot building that still also houses his studio. He concentrates his fungi culture on nine varieties. “We only grow species that are wood lovers and tree dwellers,” Troy says. Among those are shiitake, blue oyster and lion’s mane. “Lion’s mane is a native and is the most prolific,” he says. “In the wild, it usually grows on oak trees. It’s excellent for its medicinal value and for its gourmet flavor.” Troy purchases his substrate materials from reputable producers in Tennessee and North Carolina. Everything that goes into his growing rooms must be completely sterilized before being inoculated with mycelium spawn. “What you’re creating is a perfect environment for mold to grow,” says Troy. And stray mold is a real no-no because it overwhelms the spawn. His farm is a family operation. Troy’s wife, Beverly Clary — whom he met when she was an art director at Pace Communications — helped him develop the business. These days, she only works with him in the summer months. “She’s a full-time elementary school art teacher now, teaching seven classes a day,” Troy smiles. His 34-year-old son, Zachary, who held different jobs before joining his father, works full-time in the business. “I say growing things is good for your soul,” Troy says. (For more information, visit sprinklesshrooms.com)
Photograph by Bert VanderVeen The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Rocky Forge Farms, Linwood When I first heard about this niche farm’s specialty, I headed straight to my dictionary. I’ll save you a trip. “Wagyu” (wah-gyoo) means “Japanese cow.” More broadly, the term applies to cattle bred in Japan that are noted for the rich marbling of their meat, which makes it more flavorful, tender and moist. A few years back, when Rocky Forge Farm’s owners, Michael and Jodi Jones, were mostly raising horses and other animals, they were celebrating a special occasion with a dinner of Wagyu ribeye steak. “That experience ignited a passion,” Michael says. Little by little, they decided to go all in on raising American Wagyu beef cattle. They purchased a purebred Wagyu bull and purebred black Angus heifers. They cleared additional land and built a 30-by-50-foot shelter. “The first years were hard,” Michael says. “We had no income.” That’s because raising Wagyu cattle takes patience and time. “Our cattle are best when they’re 3 years old,” Michael says. “One we took to the processor recently was nearly 4 years old.” Compare that to the industry standard of 18 months for feedlot cattle raised commercially. The Joneses are careful practitioners of sustainable agriculture. They grow alfalfa and timothy grass, reseeding pastures in the spring for summer grazing. “We move our temporary fences every other day, so the fields won’t be overgrazed,” Michael says. The farm also produces more than 100 round bales of hay that’s stored for winter forage. Remember, these are all natural methods for raising cattle. Rocky Forge Farm Wagyu cattle follow the quiet rhythms of herding animals — grazing, going to water and resting. After years of crossbreeding, Michael and Jodi’s herd is more than 87% pure American Wagyu stock now. And demand for Rocky Forge Farm’s beef continues to grow. The Joneses are the fifth generation of his family to live in the old Rocky Forge farmhouse. They’re proud of the cattle business they’ve built. They’re proud of the picturesque corner of the Piedmont where they live. And thankful. “We’re all stewards of the Earth,” says Michael. “None of it goes with us when we go. It has to be passed on to others.” (For more information, visit rockyforgefarm.com)
Photograph by Bert VanderVeen 56 O.Henry
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
PTB Farm, Reidsville PTB is an acronym for “Pine Trough Branch,” a small stream that shapes the western boundary of Hillary and Worth Kimmel’s farm, purchased by Worth’s grandparents in 1953. The couple were just acquaintances when they both studied ecological agriculture at Warren Wilson College, where students grow and harvest the food they eat using sustainable agricultural practices. They got to know each other when Hillary was growing vegetables on her family’s farm in Boone and Worth was raising livestock on PTB Farm. Since the Piedmont offers a good environment for both vegetables and livestock, they joined forces. “In 2014, we got married and started coming to the Greensboro Farmers Curb Market,” Hilary says. “It’s been really key for us, because it’s a year-round market.” Now the Kimmels have a 3-year-old daughter, Juniper. The family grows vegetables, herbs and cut flowers, along with grass-fed beef and pastured pork. For Worth and Hillary, “soil is the heart of what we do.” “We learned about that at Warren Wilson,” Worth says. Farming, they were taught, is an element of a sustainable ecosystem creating healthy food. Since agriculture is such a seasonal business, the Kimmels set up a PTB Farm co-op. “A CSA (community-supported agriculture) co-op really helps us with cash flow,” Worth explains. “Ours is a market-style cooperative,” Hillary says. Members pay an annual membership for the farm’s products and receive a 10% discount when they purchase against the balance of their fee. “Members choose the produce and meats they want, rather than receiving a regular allotment,” Hilary adds. “We have some members who’ve been with us since we started. They feel like family.” Worth tells me that in their first decade, the farm had big expenses just for infrastructure — wells, water tanks and irrigation for their cattle and plants, portable fencing so the animals could be moved about. “Now, finally, we have a walk-in cooler,” Worth says, smiling. Very handy when you’re packing up meat and flowers for farmers markets. To market their products, the Kimmels divide and conquer. During peak growing season on a Thursday, they pick flowers in the morning and put them in the cooler. On Friday morning, they harvest vegetables and lettuce and arugula. By lunchtime, all the vegetables are washed and their special “PTB salad mix” is finished. Friday afternoon, Hillary makes up her bouquets and Worth packs up the meat in coolers. Then, on Saturday mornings, Hillary works the Greensboro market and Worth sets up at the Winston-Salem market. Do they ever alternate? “For some reason, no,” Worth grins. “And that’s when Juniper spends time with grandmother!” Hilary laughs. (For more information, visit ptbfarm.com)
Photograph by Lynn Donovan The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Waseda Farm Flowers, McLeansville In 2020, Elaine Fryar and her daughter, Crystal Osborne, started growing cut flowers on a half-acre plot located on a 200-acre farm that’s been in the family of Elaine’s husband, Gerald, for more than a century. Already, the two women have expanded their growing area to three-quarters of an acre, with plans to cultivate a full acre soon. And, man, they have been keeping Gerald busy. “We have a cooler now for the flowers,” Crystal says. “We were able to repurpose an old milking parlor from when the farm was a dairy.” “Yes, Gerald made a nice walk-in cooler for us,” Elaine adds. Two years ago, her husband completed an even bigger project. “Gerald repurposed an old tobacco greenhouse for us,” Elaine says. “It measures 30 by 40 feet and has six beds. It was a lot of work for him.” “There’s still a lot of glass left from the tobacco greenhouse,” Elaine continues. “But Gerald says if I want another flower greenhouse built, I’ll have to get a new husband.” She grins. The women sell their flowers to other farmers who have their own market sites, to local florists and to a subscribers’ list online. “And the Greensboro Farmers Curb Market has been fantastic for us,” says Crystal. Crystal puts together all the bouquets. She and her mother give a lot of thought to price points. They offer arrangements with names such as “Tiny Tots,” “Mason Minis” and “Nosegays” that come in BBQ sauce jars. They also sell more expensive arrangements in elegant vases or longstemmed bouquets wrapped in plastic. At the farm they also offer classes. In December, customers can take a wreathmaking class. “We use our own eucalyptus and purchase Doulas fir, cypress and cedar from local growers,” Crystal says. In the summer they offer a class called “Petals and Prosecco.” Nothing like a nice bubbly to improve your blossom arranging skills, right? “Our goal is to have one class each quarter,” Crystal says, noting that they announce advance ticket sales on social media. There are more activities on the drawing board. This summer, Waseda Farm Flowers will offer its first pick-your-own sunflowers program. “One day, we hope to have pick-your-own blueberries,” Elaine says. “Eventually, we’ll start keeping bees, to help with the pollination, and the honey, of course.” “And we’ll be doing special, luxury, pop-up picnics,” Crystal smiles. Sounds like whatever the future holds for Waseda Farm Flowers, it’ll be a bloomin’ good time. (For more information, visit waseda-farm-flowers.square.site) OH Ross Howell Jr. is a contributing writer. He is presenting a workshop on fiction and nonfiction writing at the Greensboro Bound Literary Festival on May 17.
Photograph by Lynn Donovan 60 O.Henry
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Under the Bertrand family, a 42-year-old flower farm continues to flourish By Dawn DeCwikiel K ane Photographs by Becky VanderVeen
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he Bertrands’ home can be busy, and sometimes a bit cramped and messy, much like that of any other young family. “This is our life currently,” Carrie Bertrand says, as she walks through the living space she shares with husband Patrick and their children Ayla, 12; Silas, 10, and Ellie, 6. The family of five, plus three cats and a dog, live in a camper on Maple Grove Flower Farm, which they own and operate. (And let’s not forget the family’s pet frog, who doesn’t enter the camper, but resides in a terrarium in a building next door.) For now, home is a 2008, 38-foot Cedar Creek Silverback, a heated and cooled fifth-wheel camper. It’s large enough for Ayla and Silas to have separate, small bedrooms, while Ellie’s bed is in another area of the camper. There’s also a primary bedroom. They hope to soon replace it with a newer, larger living space. But for now, their camper has become not only a home, but a homeschool and home base for their flower farm on Wild Turkey Road in rural Whitsett, 15 minutes east of downtown Greensboro. Their flowers bloom in 13 commercial-scale greenhouses covering 32,000 square feet of indoor, irrigated growing space. Nearby, on their 7.5 acres of land is a 2,500-square-foot barn built in 1913. The Bertrands grow ornamental plants in pots, flats and hanging baskets that they sell primarily to garden centers. They grow only chrysanthemums outdoors. They don’t sell cut flowers, or plants for eating. No sign announces the spot just yet.
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By mid-morning on this March day, Patrick and Carrie have already been out on the farm for a few hours. “So many people have no idea about this side of agriculture,” Patrick says from a building adjacent to the camper, wiping the sweat from his face while Carrie eats a yogurt-and-granola snack and the kids build a fort. Patrick, now 47, grew up in Greensboro, the youngest of two sons of radiologist Margaret L. Bertrand and anesthesiologist Scott A. Bertrand. He graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder with a B.A. in economics. Carrie, 42, grew up in a small town outside Columbus, Ohio. She studied elementary education at Wheeling Jesuit University in West Virginia. The couple met at the Church on 68 and married there more than 13 years ago. Carrie taught school. They owned a landscaping business. But Patrick gradually realized that the work would grow increasingly strenuous. The couple looked for something that would involve the whole family. “Patrick was gone from sun-up to sundown most days, and we wanted a change from that routine,” Carrie recalls. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
That routine indeed has changed. The family lives together — and works together. The children help. Ayla maintains plants with three high school girls who work part-time. Silas enjoys fixing small machinery with his dad. Ellie is in the kindergarten-grade level and “excited about it all,” her mother says. After dinner, the Bertrands enjoy typical family fun. Patrick might take Ellie to dance class; twice a week, Carrie drives them to American Ninja Warriors in Thomasville to prepare for competitions or takes Ayla to rock-climbing. Wednesday nights are for church. Tuesday nights are typically free, so they might cuddle in the camper to watch a movie. Life on Maple Grove Flower Farm begins at 5:30 a.m. Carrie makes breakfast in the camper and teaches their children for three hours or more. She also manages the farm with Patrick, doing greenhouse work and accounting. Although the camper has a bathroom, the family primarily uses one of two bathrooms in the adjacent building that they call the “head house.” The head house doubles as a family kitchen and a break room for the small staff. And of course, it’s home to the family frog. O.Henry 63
In a separate section of the head house, they stage carts of plants that will go into pots. The flower farm has two growing seasons. The Bertrands and a handful of employees plant 40-plus varieties of tiny begonias, geraniums, zinnias, salvia, sedum, and other annuals and perennials, and grow them for six to eight weeks. All in all, they plant about 200,000 plugs — tiny plants — for spring sale, Carrie says. For fall, they plant about 25 varieties of pansies, chrysanthemums, violas, snapdragons and dianthuses — plus poinsettias for the holiday season. They sell the plants wholesale, primarily to garden centers in the Triad and beyond, from Winston-Salem to Raleigh and into southern Virginia — much like original business owner and grower Greg Welker did before them. Among their customers are Guilford Garden Center in Greensboro, Saviero’s Tri-County Garden Center in High Point, Southern States in Chapel Hill and Asheboro, A.B. Seed at the Piedmont Triad Farmers Market in Colfax, and Logan’s Garden Shop in Raleigh. “We would love to also be selling directly to some of the landscapers,” Carrie says. “But we felt there was so much to learn just on what he [Welker] had built already,” she adds. “He had a very successful business and had amazing relationships with the garden centers in the area. We certainly want to do what he has been doing with excellence before trying to add a bunch of new stuff.” By one recent survey for the U.S. Department of Agriculture, North Carolina ranks 10th among the 50 states in floriculture, both in terms of dollar sales and number of operations. Their floriculture business has nearly tripled in volume from the landscape business they had previously owned for almost 18 years. “Triple sales, probably triple expenses,” Patrick says.
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They feared they would lose a significant customer when New Garden Landscaping & Nursery closed its retail side in December after more than 50 years and focused on its commercial and residential landscaping. But in March, Guilford Garden Center put down roots in a second location, the Lawndale Drive shop where New Garden’s retail and garden center space had once thrived. Stephanie Jones, who owns Guilford Garden Center with her husband, Elliott, understands what it means to run a small family business. “We have to look after each other,” she says. Maple Grove Flower Farms’ humble beginnings took root with Greg Welker. A native of Washington state, Welker started the flower farm in 1983, when he had finished a year-long horticulture program at a botanical garden on Kauai in Hawaii, followed by a year-long program at Ball Seed in Chicago. His grandfather, Dan Welker, had purchased the land in 1956 and eventually passed it on to Welker’s father, Raymond Welker. Welker used that land to grow the flower farm, naming it for maple trees that stand across the road. “It was hard work,” Welker says. “But at the end of the day, I got to walk to the greenhouses and see all the beautiful
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flowers, and I knew that everything I sent was going to make people smile.” A chance encounter with Patrick blossomed into a sale. When Welker opened the back of his 26-foot enclosed box truck one fateful day in fall 2022, Patrick’s eyes widened at the sight of vibrantly colorful ornamental flowers in trays of pots on shelved carts. Patrick admired row after row of planted fall flowers — giant pansies in purples, yellows, whites and burgundy, cabbage and kale in hues of green, white, purple and pink. “He seemed to have a library of plant material in the back of his truck, beyond what was dropped at our stop,” recalls Patrick, who had closed his landscaping business and was working for another. After that tailgate meeting, the entire Bertrand family visited Maple Grove Flower Farm. Patrick and Carrie remember Ayla, from a young age, picking early blooms from azalea bushes at their former home to make floating bouquets or other artwork. “We didn’t need to sell her on the idea of moving to a flower farm,” Patrick says. O.Henry 65
Believing that they would buy the farm, he went to work for Welker in January 2023 as an apprentice. In May 2023, they sold their cul-de-sac home on Oak Hollow Lake in High Point. “We would love to say that it was smooth sailing, getting from one place to another,” Carrie says. “But it was a process that tested our patience and our faith.” They finally got a loan from the Small Business Administration to buy the flower farm, sealing the deal in July 2023. Welker still worked there two days a week that first fall “to get us into the groove,” Carrie recalls. He is now 63, retired and living in Chapel Hill. “He built everything on this property from the ground up, so he knows how to fix everything,” she says. “And Patrick has had to learn, because you can’t call somebody every time you need something fixed when you have an operation like this going on.” At first, Carrie knew few of the flowers’ names. She could identify a petunia, but didn’t know a pansy from a viola, especially with the variety of flowers that they planted and sold for spring. She learned fast. For four to six weeks in the winter cold and the summer heat, they get breaks from farm work, but order plugs for the following season through Ball Seed, from farms in West Virginia, Illinois and New Jersey. Winter brings maintenance work. That gives them time for family trips. Cold affects the wallet when propane field heaters need to run. This past winter, several irrigation lines burst in empty, unheated greenhouses and had to be repaired. In late January, they began planting for their second spring season. Within a few days, they filled 6,100 pots with potting soil to have ready for the first shipment of plugs that arrived the following week. They want flowers to look picture perfect when they sell. They ensure that they are tagged with plant names, and are clean and free of pests. They pinch off each head so that they become fuller — just as customers prepare to buy them. Mid-March brought the first sales of their second spring season. Patrick delivered flowers in a truck four to five days each week. Patrick and Carrie talk of the future. Last December, they converted one of the greenhouses into a winter wonderland. They hosted events there that featured Santa and Mrs. Claus, a life-size Candyland game, cookie decorating, and hot cocoa.
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Carrie hopes to eventually plant sections of flowers where parents can bring their children and both groups can learn. They envision welcoming school groups for field trips. They would like to open a small market on the land where they sell leftover items they grow, plus goods and produce from local artisans. “We want to add some community involvement,” Patrick says. They hope that at least one of their children someday will run Maple Grove Flower Farm. “Either our daughters or son will have the opportunity if they would like,” Patrick says. “I have a feeling at least one of them will want to continue building the farm, from the flowers to the community outreach.” Want to schedule a visit to Maple Grove Flower Farm? Email maplegroveflowers@gmail.com, or call or text 336-209-3607. To learn more, go online to maplegroveflowerfarm.com or to the Facebook page for Maple Grove Flower Farm. OH Dawn DeCwikiel Kane is an award-winning, longtime journalist for the News & Record, the daily newspaper in Greensboro. She retired in late 2022.
3 6 . 0 2 8 0 ° N, 7 9 . 9 9 2 0 ° W . In Japanese culture, butterflies symbolize transformation, rebirth, and the ephemeral beauty of life.
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B es t L a i d Plans Natural burials are making a mark in Greensboro
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By Cynthia Adams | Illustrations by Keith Borshak
ate in December, O.Henry colleague David Bailey sent a riveting text from a state park in Alamance County. An avid hiker devoted to natural places, he shares his discoveries, photographing flora, fauna, mossy streams and waterfalls. But that winter’s day, he made a surprising find. He stumbled across a tin metal box emblazoned with the words “Remains of Mrs. Brown” with the cryptic “by Googe” below. The discovery set my imagination afire, as I just so happened to be gathering information on natural burials and all the alternatives. Bailey left the remains undisturbed. He conceded that it could be a prank, meant to trap the curious. (Having once found a pink purse at a gas pump one evening filled with human waste, I could hardly argue.) Mrs. Brown, Bailey remarked dryly, could be a punny metaphor for the same thing. In any event, moving the box was tantamount to disturbing a gravesite and he decided to let it rest in peace. But I had a different point of view. Who was
Mrs. Brown, I wondered, and why were her remains left carefully, sealed inside a box in the woods? Was there foul play? I briefly considered trekking into the woods to search for the confounding box, but it was mere days before Christmas. Perhaps Bailey was right — perhaps this was a memorial honoring Mrs. Brown’s final wish. I flashed to the natural burial site known as All Souls Natural Burial Ground, which I had recently visited in the fall. It differs from any cemetery you probably know. Yet there is nothing unnatural about All Souls. It simply fulfills the most instinctive of impulses. Rather than embalming and sealing our dead inside coffins — or vases — for perpetuity — All Souls allows the body to rejoin the elements in the quietest of settings. All Souls occupies 3 acres of wooded terrain in Guilford County. Located on a site adjacent to St. Barnabas Episcopal Church on Jefferson Road, it is among several such sites in North Carolina created in response to an increasing awareness of natural alternatives.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Don’t expect monuments and manicured grass. Instead, engraved, ground-level native stones mark individual sites (each recorded with its GPS coordinates), blending with its surroundings. Those interred at All Souls are buried in their choice of a simple shroud, a box or a coffin made of biodegradable materials, allowing for the natural decomposition of the body. Ashes to ashes, as the Book of Common Prayer says. Dust to dust. Mind you, none of this is new. It was the preferred way of our not-so-distant ancestors. ***** Deborah Parker, board president and family liaison at All Souls Natural Burial Association, consults with those wishing to learn more about natural burial in a paneled meeting room filled with folding tables and chairs at St. Barnabas. In her six years of volunteering, she has sat here explaining their purpose many times over. Too often, that conversation occurs at the worst possible time. It is far easier when a conversation about final arrangements for our loved ones takes place before any crisis arises, she points out. According to Parker, Randall Keeney, the retired vicar at St. Barnabas, did all the background advocacy and work to bring All Souls into being. Symbolically, the cemetery opened on November 2, 2019 — All Souls Day. On April 5, 2021, Frederick Westmoreland Jr. was their first natural burial. St. Barnabas and All Souls have a symbiotic relationship. “The church owns the graveyard. He [Keeney] did a lot of the groundskeeping when he was here,” she explains. By supporting and participating in natural burials, also known as green burials, Parker and a cadre of volunteers, mostly retirees, now provide the manual and emotional labor of running All Souls. At this writing, 26 people have been buried there and 80 have pre-purchased burial sites. Parker, the family liaison, has been present for all but three of those burials. “The American way of death is changing a lot,” she says. Blue-eyed and white-haired, Parker’s peasant top, Apple Watch and wire-rimmed glasses convey strength combined with compassion. I see both placidity and firmness, a quality the Japanese call “Goju,” meaning, hard and soft. With a wry grin, Parker says, “I can cry easily, yet tolerate no BS.” On the face of it, the concept of a natural burial is age-old and the premise is simple. Many elders today still recall a time when their dead were bathed, dressed and prepared for
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burial at home. A number of my ancestors lie in family cemeteries once dotting rural farmlands. The movement toward the natural interment of our dead is a return to the practices that were commonplace until the 1800s before the Civil War era. In the early days of embalming, reports of alcohol, arsenic and even gasoline were used to preserve the bodies for transport. On shipboard, prominent personages were “pickled” in casks of rum rather than buried at sea. Gradually the process of burial was relegated to funeral homes, with restriction and regulations sprouting up. Today, natural burial means many things — it may simply refer to interment in a family cemetery. It may also mean legally opting out of commonplace burial methods, such as embalming and even the use of a casket or a vault. At this writing, online estimates for basic funeral costs are between $7–10,000, although my personal experiences have exceeded that. Costs of a plot and monument are additional. But how challenging is a return to a less institutional way of dealing with our dead? While the appeal of a different approach is undeniable, it raises questions. Is the red tape formidable? Turns out, it is simpler than imagined. Parker’s face sets with resolve. She has now been doing this work for years. Delving into concepts about death — especially natural burials — has become a raison d’être. In the room where she meets those in the process of making final arrangements for themselves or a family member are examples of basic casket options, including a cardboard version. Some even invite others to help decorate it — like one would have friends sign their cast. North Carolina law, in fact, offers a number of options for interment, she stresses. Embalming is not legally required. “To me, it is like putting your body through so much disrespect,” Parker observes. So, it heartens Parker that the funeral industry itself has become a supportive partner with natural burials and has participated in most that she has experienced, transporting the dead and providing storage until interment is arranged. Her daughter, Meredith Springs, is an Asheville funeral director who also advocates natural burials. Funeral homes also handle required legalities, including generating death certificates. But none are required to be handled by the funeral home, according to state law. (You might want to check out Evan Moore’s recent “Can You Bury a Relative at Home in Your Backyard” in the Charlotte Observer: charlotteobserver. com/news/local/article277022153.html.) You can legally apply for and obtain a death certificate outside a funeral home, but, she
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warns, this is daunting. “One of the hardest things to do,” in Parker’s experience. Nonetheless, “the American way of death is changing a lot,” she notes. Parker, who lectures widely for civic groups and events, explains that a prevalent, mistaken belief is that the deceased must be immediately removed from the home by a funeral home. “You can keep the body at home,” she clarifies. “Which gives family members time to be with them.” According to online sources, that time frame is liberal, with few legal restrictions. In describing personal experiences with her own family, Parker is most affecting. Her brother, Dale Clinard, was the impetus for her “desire and interest to help others have what they wanted” as he prepared his family for his pending death in 1989. He encouraged his family to become involved with the process. She described the life lessons he imparted, teaching them “no fear of dying.” At Dale’s death, the family requested a delayed pick up by the funeral home (permissible, she points out), allowing time to bathe and dress him, and affording time with family and friends who visited throughout the night. “He had such a loving acceptance of death that it made it a lot easier for us,” she recalls. “He had flowers sent to my parents the day after he died, thanking them for his life,” Parker says, still moved by the memory. The experience spurred her to become a hospice volunteer, and led to eventual involvement with natural burial. Each year Parker holds her own workshops in the church’s parish hall to guide others who wish for an intimate, involved experience. If they choose not, so be it, she says. All Souls, which helps coordinate the necessities of burial, has a single fee. A total of $3,500 includes the site, costs to open and close the grave, and a flat, native stone for engraving. “All we do here is receive the body — we call them ‘loved ones’ — and bury them.” A shroud (many use a natural fabric sheet or quilt) or casket are funeral home expenses but it is legal to provide your own. For those who don’t purchase a shroud or a casket, Parker has personally swathed the deceased in a cotton sheet at the funeral home. All Souls does require that caskets be biodegradable, hence made of wood, bamboo or cardboard. Willow and seagrass caskets are also accepted — Parker mentions craftspeople at Moss and Thistle Farm near Asheville who commission wicker caskets, which she describes as “beautiful.” There are no vaults, nor metal, sealed caskets at All Souls. (There is also no legal requirement necessitating burial 6 feet under, Parker explains. Graves can per-
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missibly be shallower, approximately 3–3.5 feet deep, as is the case at All Souls.) Others choose cremation. (All Souls does not accept cremains.) Ashes can be fashioned into cremation jewelry rather than buried at all. There are other options. One is a process variously called resomation, water cremation or aquamation. Proponents argue it is a greener option than cremation. Resomation uses water, potassium hydroxide and steam heat to swiftly and fully dissolve the body. At present there are a few resomation chambers in North Carolina, in Charlotte, Hillsborough and Wilmington. Composting is a lesser-known, more green burial option. ***** Parker is a sort of culture warrior, advocating for straight talk concerning death as a healthier way of living our lives. She says she stands on the shoulders of many who have worked in the realm of death and dying, including artists. She praises a film, The Last Ecstatic Days, made by an Asheville filmmaker. Approaching death, the subject, a 36-year-old yogi, said, “I am embodied. I am empowered. I am ecstatic.” The three words were emblazoned on T-shirts. She mentions how the very culture surrounding death is changing, thanks to his example and others like former intensive care nurse Julie McFadden. “She became a hospice nurse and wrote a book called Nothing to Fear. It is fabulous . . . She’s got stories about her personal experiences with people that are dying. So, in that book, she talks about the ‘D’ words: Death. Dying. And dead.” Before parting, she leafs through pictures of natural burials she has participated in at All Souls. She describes loved ones giving eulogies surrounded by the moving, natural sounds of birdsong and breezes. An occasional deer meanders through. Burial sites are covered with greenery and flowers at the end. Parker finds these funerals beautifully evocative, even when she does not know the deceased. She walks along the rustic grounds and pathways, pausing to discuss various people buried there. Parker mentions another film, A Will for the Woods. “Put it on your list,” she advises as we part. “And be sure you have your plans in order,” she adds, shoulders squared, a pensive smile dimpling her cheeks. The title had struck me as poetic in the moment. Yet I had no idea that it would prove prescient. ***** On February 13, the day before Valentine’s Day, Bailey phoned with an update on the mysterious case of Mrs. Brown. Returning to the park, he noted police huddled in the parking lot alongside a park ranger, holding the box he had found in December.
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The box was firmly welded shut. “Whoever did this went to a great deal of trouble,” Bailey said, slightly short of breath as the police pried the metal box open. “Say, do you remember when I told you about discovering it?” he asked. The police talked in the background as we speculated. Absent foul play, surely, if someone wished for their remains to simply be left in the woods, it must be legal. Actually, no, the park ranger quickly corrected us. It was illegal to dispose of human remains in public parklands. This was hardly comparable to a natural burial, I was reminded.
Later, Bailey texted pictures of possible fire ashes mingled with what looked a whole lot like cremains and visible teeth and bone fragment. I studied the photos, hoping this was all done in innocence. The box, now with the medical examiner’s office, remains a mystery. A report has yet to be issued. Bailey returned to his own writing. “It’s your story now,” he emailed. But of course, it wasn’t. It was another’s story. Someone — but who? — and their own particular will for the woods. OH
Have Your Cake and Discuss Death, Too St. Barnabas sponsors a self-help movement called Death Cafes, initiated by John Underwood in the U.K. in 2010. Held on the third Thursday each month from 3-4:30 p.m., the café eases a difficult conversation, encouraging a “group-directed discussion of death with no agenda, objectives or themes.” The late Stimp Hawkins, a Winston-Salem chaplain long affiliated with the hospice movement, originally brought the Death Cafe to Greensboro in 2015, convening at Scuppernong Books. He also initiated meetings dubbed Café Mortal. According to a Scuppernong staffer, these “slowly petered out” with Hawkins’ death. Death Cafe, now hosted at three Greensboro locations, is a continuation of Hawkins’ work. “I can’t remember ever seeing him when he wasn’t smiling and his beautiful blue eyes twinkling,” recalls Jane Gibson, who retired from Authoracare (formerly Hospice and Palliative Care in Greensboro) after 33 years. “He was one of the calmest, most joyful people I’ve ever known.” Hawkins most famously brought his own cardboard cremation casket to Scuppernong, where Death Cafe attendees helped decorate it, earning him the moniker “the Death Pimp” in Yes Weekly. “I’m kind of the Death Pimp now,” says Parker. Clearly, Hawkins found an approach that made his end not only acceptable but surprisingly pleasant. As he rounded his last corner, he cheerfully remarked, “I had a great time dying.” The Death Cafe is a natural complement to All Souls, providing an anonymous, safe space to discuss death and grief. (Meetings are first-name only.) Currently, former hospice nurse Marilyn L. Morgan helps run the St. Barnabas meeting with Deborah Parker or alone. Parker leads another held on the second Wednesday of the month at Friends Homes West, at 2 p.m. Kim Bunce leads a
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third meeting at Friends Homes Guilford on the same date at 11 a.m. There is no agenda, “and we always have cake,” Morgan explains. Parker adds, “People always open up around food.” On a late winter day when I visited, the nonsectarian meeting welcomed Christians, Jews and agnostics. Among those present were a widow, two widowers and a bereaved grandson sharing common experiences — coping with outside pressure to “get over” a death. Some sought practical details about their own final arrangements. But even those experienced with death acknowledge most mortals just aren’t keen to attend a Death Cafe meeting. Gibson was circumspect. “I think if you lined up six people and asked what they’d like to do tonight, the likelihood they’d say, ‘Death Cafe . . . ?’” She laughs. “Never . . .” Which may explain why Hawkins also tested the idea of “Café Mortal.” Using the “D word” is a tough sell, agrees Parker. But popular euphemisms like “loss” or “passed away” are unhelpful. For Parker, avoiding the “D words” is far worse. “We don’t use those anymore, because people [instead] say, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.’” She looks exasperated. “Loss? I have not lost anything. What are you talking about? Lost what? I understand that they’re talking about the physical body is not there any anymore, but they are in my heart and they are all in me and I have memories, you know. The essence of them is all in the atmosphere, everywhere, in everybody. “So, there is no loss. And then they say they passed. What do you mean they passed? Where did they go?” OH
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Healing Lands A once tired farmland is now a thriving home to family and flock
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By Cassie Bustamante • Photographs by Amy Freeman
t the end of a long, gravel drive, where two golden-white Great Pyrenees greet visitors as soon as they hear the crunch of tires, sits a modest, 1,800-square-foot, 1950s rancher. Ashlynn Roth, her husband, Tim, and their two young children, ages 6 and 8, have been settling into their Whitsett farm over the last month. Beyond their sliding-glass back door, Dorper sheep with their young lambs roam freely on a vast, grassy pasture, bleating loudly in response to the sound of Ashlynn’s voice. In front of the home is a movable henhouse, where chickens produce plentiful eggs. But just a few short years ago, none of this existed here — not even the house. Years of tobacco and corn farming had taken its toll, leaving behind unserviceable, rock-hard soil. The Roths, however, had a vision: Heal the land and create a homestead. Ashlynn is a petite blonde with sparkling brown eyes. Her hair is styled in long, loose curls that frame her round face. She’s been known to don a glittery evening gown and even participated in pageants at one point in her life, earning the title of Miss Thomasville in 2003. It’s easy to imagine her as a beauty queen and it’s no wonder she’s the face of Tupelo Honey Farms, a regen-
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erative farm in Whitsett. But, she’s quick to tell you, she’s also a serious, full-time farmer. “No way,” people respond. “Oh, yes,” she says. And she’s got the dirt under her fingernails to prove it. Farming is hard, gritty work, she admits, but not as grueling, she discoverd, as being an executive in the human resources software field. “When I was a VP in corporate America,” she says, “that was a challenge.” Her days were spent kissing her babes’ heads then dashing out the door to catch early morning flights as a new, nursing mother. As soon as her plane landed, she was making a run for a bathroom to pump breast milk, dashing off to meetings with clients, then rushing back home just to see her young family, however briefly, before doing it all again the next day. Tim was also collecting frequent flyer miles as a medical-device salesman with a focus on dialysis care. “We would pass each other in the air sometimes,” says Ashlynn. Ashlynn and Tim had known one another since they were teenagers, but romance didn’t blossom until much later. She was living in Atlanta after graduating from UNCG, but coming back to the area frequently because her mother, her “best friend,” had fallen ill. Tim, too, had left the area after growing up here, The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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landing in San Francisco, but his father had suffered some small strokes. Since his job allows for him to live anywhere, he traded Golden Gate City for The Gate City to take care of his father and his father’s own regenerative cattle farm. They began running into each other at Cone Health, where Ashlynn was frequently visiting her mom. Tim, who was there on business, reached out to Ashlynn, thoughtfully bringing her magazines and then asking her to have lunch with him. “He asked me out five different times!” she says, but dating was the last thing on her mind. When her mother was moved to Duke Hospital, where a diagnosis of a rare form of cancer was pronounced, flowers arrived one day for her mother — from Tim. “And my mom goes, ‘I think
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you should go on a date with him.’” She took the advice. In her mom’s hospital room, she prepped for the date, a casual outing to watch the Durham Bulls play ball. After the game, they wandered into a bar and munched on a charcuterie board featuring sheeps’ cheese. A portent of things to come? “You’re going to laugh at this,” she says. The provisions — and the company — were welcome, but as she tucked into the sheeps’ cheese, her mouth began to itch: “Now, sheep are my favorite thing, but I can’t eat the sheeps’ cheese!” Weeks turned into months and, before she knew it, Ashlynn couldn’t imagine a future without Tim in it. Though she swore she’d never move back to Greensboro and only wanted to live in big, thriving metropolises, she finally packed her bags and left The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Atlanta behind to begin creating a life together. Her mom, though still ill, was feeling better. And Tim’s father was back to working his own farm, giving the couple the chance to leave Greensboro behind again. Over the next decade, they zig-zagged across the country, living as far as Houston, Texas, and Cleveland, Ohio. They also married and welcomed their two children. Sadly, Ashlynn’s mother passed away when her first-born was just 5 months old. Eventually, with an infant and toddler at home, Ashlynn made the decision to quit her job, allowing the family the chance to live almost anywhere in the world. “We chose Greensboro.” The family settled into an expansive Irving Park home, and just months later, Veeva, a cloud-computing company, offered her a remote job. “It’s for people going through clinical trials,” she says. Having tried to get her mother into a clinical trial, it was something that tugged at her. It seemed too good to be true, so she went back to work and hit the ground running in her new role. And then in 2020, during the pandemic, she woke up one
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morning feeling dizzy and as if she were moving even though she wasn’t. “I felt like I was flipping,” she says. “And day after day kept going by and it never went away.” MRIs and all sorts of testing on her inner ear and vestibular system resulted in no concrete answers or solutions. “They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.” She recalls being told by doctors, “We think you might have MdDS [Mal de Débarquement Syndrome] — we don’t know — but here are some eye exercises. Good luck!” (MdDS is a rare vestibular disorder that makes you feel like you’re moving when you’re still.) After two-and-a-half years of feeling like she was constantly riding ocean waves, Ashlynn decided it was time to be her own advocate. She began searching for answers on Instagram and discovered Alicia Wolf, aka @thedizzycook, whose account touts itself for its “delicious anti-inflammatory recipes for brain health.” “Her symptoms sounded just like mine,” Ashlynn says. So, she reached out. Wolf immediately got back to her and recommended Dr. Shin Beh in Texas, who, according to Wolf, was one of only a handful of neurologists in the country who studied dizziness The Art & Soul of Greensboro
at the time. In turn, Ashlynn reached out to Dr. Beh and begged him to take her virtually since dizziness was making travel a challenge. He accepted her as a new patient and had her almost immediately diagnosed with vestibular migraines and MdDS. “And I just busted out crying because I was like, finally, I know what this is.” While these afflictions are not curable, they are treatable. Ashlynn, who soldiered on in her demanding job, implemented a wholistic approach in the kitchen, creating recipes from Wolf’s cookbook. She took prescription medication and doctor-recommended supplements. All the while, she kept reflecting that Dr. Beh had also advised lowering her stress levels. The people who most often get diagnosed with MdDs were just like her. “He said, ‘It’s women that are hustlers, go-getters like you, A-type personalities — they’re always on,’” she recalls. “And he was like, ‘We have got to get your mind calmed down.’” Her response? “I know how to handle stress.” But she didn’t know how to slow down. These days, women are told we can do it all — have a career, have a family, have a side hustle. No one, however, tells you it’s not sustainable to do it all at the same time. Once again, a new company came calling, this time for a role as a VP, a title she’d longed for. “This was just such a step up in my career and more money,” she says, “So I was like, I’ve gotta do this.” She took the job and once again found herself on the move nonstop for work. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
As if her plate weren’t full enough already, she and Tim, both with farming in their blood, had decided to look for farm acreage. Tim came upon what he thought was the perfect piece of real estate and drove Ashlynn out to it. When they arrived, she gasped. “What in the world?” she recalls saying. “This is my greatgrandfather’s land!” The Whitsett property had once belonged to her great-grandfather and remained in the hands of distant relatives. Her grandparents, now in their 90s, live right across the street. The couple not only put in an offer on the 15 acres marked for sale, but reached out to the owners of bordering pieces of land to try to cobble back together the bulk of what had once been her great-grandfather’s. “They were like, ‘We’re not giving you a deal even though you’re family,’” recalls Ashlynn. “And I am like, ‘Well, I am not asking for a deal.’” They got the land. “And it was rough looking,” says Ashlynn. Between working in demanding careers and raising kids, the couple drove out to Whitsett every chance they got to clean it up and make it once again suitable for farming. But after the Roths closed their deal, Tim’s father fell ill and they once again took over his cattle farm, just over 10 minutes from their land. They’d previously taken over property ownership, but Tim’s dad still lived there and operated it until he needed to move to a longterm care facility. “So now we’re taking care of that, too.” Even with the hustle of shuffling from Greensboro to their Whitsett land and the cattle farm, Ashlynn says the time spent outside working in the dirt provided a peace she hadn’t felt in years. It offered a chance to get out of her mind and into her body, and renew her sense of wonder. Nearby, a large flock of O.Henry 77
birds pecks at the ground. A single bluebird stands out against the rest; he takes off and settles on a nearby tree branch. Ashlynn stares in awe. The answer was clear: quit her high-paying corporate job and focus full-time on farming. “I sat my husband on the steps . . . and I said, ‘I can’t do this anymore. I am about to lose my mind.’” He was going to say no, she just knew it. “We were standing right out here and it looked like crap — it looked awful, trash everywhere,” she recalls. He looked into her eyes with understanding: “OK,” he said. Ashlynn immediately got to work, spending her days dropping her kids off at school then driving out to Whitsett. Eventually, after several laborious months of clearing out dead trees and enlarging pastures, the land was ready for animals. On weekends, when Tim wasn’t visiting hospitals for work, the entire family pitched in. Taking a page from Tim’s father’s regenerative farm, the first animals to roam Tupelo Honey Farms were pigs because “pigs are amazing for regeneration.” In regenerative farming, land is not cultivated. Instead, animals graze — and are moved from pasture to pasture — to restore its natural ecosystem. “Now there is green grass coming out up there, so lush,” says Ashlynn. “I get so emotional about it.” Of course, her grandfather, who’d once farmed this land and lived just across the street, didn’t see it her way. According to Ashlynn, he told her animals should be raised in a massive barn. While the two lovingly butted heads for a bit, she says, he eventually came around, saying to her, “Just because you’re doing it different, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” Not only was the land healing, but so was she. Three months into being a full-time farmer, Ashlynn was able to go off her medication. Dizzy days are not a thing of the past, but they’re no longer a regular occurrence. Being in nature, watching clouds pass by
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and grounding — a wellness practice that involves direct contact with the land’s surface — is what’s helped her. “I put my bare feet right on the Earth.” And finally, after a few years of back-and-forth from Irving Park to Whitsett, she is able to step right out her front door and sink her toes into her own farmland. Staying true to their belief in sustainable practices, the couple opted to move an entire 1950s rancher from Greensboro to the property. Turns out, their Irving Park neighbor and good friend, Robert Kleinman, is the owner and director of real estate and development for PARC companies. PARC was about to demo a couple of houses to build an apartment complex. “We were like, ‘Hey man, can we grab one of those houses?’” she recalls with a laugh. Loaded onto a trailer, the house made its voyage. A drive that normally takes Ashlynn around 20 minutes took the driver hauling the house hours to complete. When it finally arrived at the farm, Ashlynn wept as she thought, “Oh my gosh, we’re saving a house!” The house, even before its maiden voyage, was in disrepair, so they ripped it down to the studs, salvaging everything they could, including original hardwood flooring. Like the land it now rested on, Ashlynn says, “It hadn’t been loved on in a while.” Now, the brick exterior has been painted white and a porch has been added, complete with the traditional Southern “haint blue” ceiling. To complement that, Ashlynn’s selected copper light fixtures from Charleston, one of her favorite cities. A warm-toned wooden door beckons guests inside, where Ashlynn’s done all of the design work. This once dilapidated and dark home is now light and bright, with French-European appeal. Above the new kitchen island hangs a stunning crystal chandelier she scored at Red Collection. In fact, much of her lighting, which she calls “jewelry for the house,” has come from there. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Whites, wood tones and gold embellishments carry throughout the home, but her kids’ spaces each have a splash of color: French blue in her son’s room and Sherwin-Williams Malted Milk, a soft and earthy pink, in her daughter’s room. At less than a quarter of the size of the family’s former home, Ashlynn admits, “It’s a whole lifestyle change.” The space Ashlynn calls “the hangout area” features comfortable chairs the family can snuggle in to watch the sunrise while sheep graze on the back pasture. The sheep run to Ashlynn whenever they hear her nearby. In the front yard, chickens peck the ground near their mobile henhouse, which gets moved every day to different grass. In the backyard, she imagines a stamped concrete patio and string lights swagged over tables and chairs. Beyond the patio, lush kitchen gardens. And she hopes to teach others how to implement regenerative practices in their own backyards by eventually leading workshops right there. After all, she notes, that’s the mission. Tupelo Honey Farms’ tagline is “nourishing the community while healing the land.” Ashlynn, it seems, still doesn’t know any other speed but “go!” The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Since starting the farm, she’s also expanded into making nontoxic candles and tallow skincare, and creating floral arrangements using local flower farms’ stems. And, most recently, she opened a brick-and-mortar location on Bessemer Avenue in Fisher Park called Bloom & Nectar, a “farm-to-fork market and bloomery,” where customers can shop her products and meat as well as goods from other local farms. Standing in the living room where black-and-white family photos dating back through four generations hang, Ashlynn muses, “This is about a legacy, right?” They’re building on what her greatgrandfather started. And doing it their way. Looking out at the property toward the road, Ashlynn has a vision for what is yet to be. She pictures pecan trees lining the gravel lane. And, yes, she’d harvest their nuts. “And sell them. I would do it all.” Of course, she quips, “My husband is like, ‘Woah, slow down!’” OH For more information, visit tupelohoneyfarms.com or visit Bloom & Nectar at 200 E. Bessemer Ave., Suite 102. O.Henry 79
The Arts
80 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
A L M A N A C
May
By Ashley Walshe
Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible. — Mary Oliver, from “Bazougey” (Dog Songs, 2013)
May is the dreamer and the dream, the artist and the muse, a wish both made and granted. Daisies are sweet, she must think to herself, giggling as she scatters them across green spaces and rolling meadows, weaving them among butterfly weed and purple coneflower; gently tucking them alongside bluebells and Indian blanket. A dusting of iris for the pine forest. Jack-in-the-pulpit for the wet and shady woodlands. And for the garden? Peonies, poppies, sweet peas, gardenias and roses. “Come to me,” says flower to bee. “Only you,” bee purrs to blossom after fragrant blossom. And so it goes with milkweed and monarch, yarrow and ladybug, foxglove and hummingbird. “I’ve been aching for you,” murmurs snake to sun-warmed stone. “Ditto,” stone whispers back. Listen to the queenking of treefrog, the whistling of robin, the moonlit chanting of whippoorwill. All of life is a call and response, even if we can’t perceive it. Magnolia flowers titter at the touch of beetle feet. Phlox swoons at the kiss of eastern swallowtail. Cottontail quivers at the nip of wild strawberry. New leaves reach for the generous sun. Earthworms pray for rain. Dandelions wish for children. “Pick me,” a puffball whispers on a gentle breeze. A little boy answers, lifts the downy orb to the light, closes his eyes, and sends one hundred wishes soaring — ninety-nine of them dreams for the gift of an endless spring. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Legendary Sweetness The Cherokee legend of the first strawberries tells of a quarrel between the earliest man and woman, and the sun’s role in their reconciliation. “I shall live with you no more,” says the woman, storming away in anger. Seeing that the man is sorry for his harsh words, the sun intervenes. Casting his golden rays upon the Earth, he sends plump raspberries, glistening blueberries, then luscious blackberries. The woman blasts past all of them. Finally, when sun-warmed strawberries appear gleaming at her feet, she stops in her tracks. One bite and the sweetness washes over her. Filled with the joy she shared with her husband before their fight, she gathers the strawberries to share with him. “To this day,” writes Joseph Bruchac in The First Strawberries, a retelling of the Cherokee story, “when Cherokee people eat strawberries, they are reminded to always be kind to each other; to remember that friendship and respect are as sweet as the taste of ripe red berries.” Want to pick your own strawberries this month? Find PYO farms across the state at pickyourown.org.
Mama Loves You Mother’s Day is observed on Sunday, May 11. As you celebrate all the mamas you hold dear — mother comes in many forms — don’t forget the one who holds us all. We love you, Mother Earth. Thank you for all that you give. May we learn to honor you through our choices, our actions and our grateful hearts. O.Henry 81
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May 1–31
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OF WINGS AND FEET. See the giant, papîer-maché puppets created by Paperhand Puppet Intervention and learn about their impact at an exhibit sure to fuel your imagination. Free. GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc. org/events. MAKING CONNECTIONS. This installation of works from the Weatherspoon’s attic showcases the gallery as an academic museum with deep connections to its campus, Greensboro and broader communities. Free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: weatherspoonart.org/exhibitions/ current-exhibitions.
Fraggle Rock Live May 2, 7 p.m. Steven Tanger Center
May 1–25 ANDREW WYETH. “Andrew Wyeth at Kuerner Farm: The Eye of the Earth” explores the connection between one of the most celebrated 20th-century American artists and a particular farm in his hometown, Chadds Ford, Penn. Reynolda House Museum of American Art, 2250 Reynolda Road, WinstonSalem. Admission info: reynolda.org/ museum/exhibitions. May 1 FORTUNE FEIMSTER. 7 p.m. Known for her Netflix Sweet & Salty special, the comedian takes the stage for a night of laughs and “Taking Care of Biscuits.” Tickets: $40.30+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
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MY DEAR PREMIERE. 7 p.m. In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, the film written and directed by Dallas Cowboy Legend Greg Ellis hits the big screen for the first time, hosted by Ellis himself. Tickets: $20. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events. May 2 FIRST FRIDAY. 6–9 p.m. Head downtown for a night of live music and happenings stretching all the way from LeBauer Park and the Greensboro Cultural Center to the South End. Free.
Downtown Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/first-friday. FIRST FRIDAY STORYTIME. 10– 10:30 a.m. Bring your young children outside to enjoy engaging books, playful movement and cheerful songs with a member of the Youth Librarians team from Greensboro Public Library. The first 15 families can receive a free book courtesy of Ready for School, Ready for Life and The Basics Guilford. Free. Woven Works Park, 401 Cumberland St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
may calendar FRAGGLE ROCK LIVE. 7 p.m. Jim Henson’s Fraggles embark on an adventure throughout underground caves, discovering magic as they learn to work together. Tickets: $37.45+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events. May 3
May 4 AMERICA. 7 p.m. Take a trip down “Ventura Highway” and memory lane with the legendary band on its “Encore Tour.” Tickets: $72.70+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
WHEELS ON THE GREENWAY. 9 a.m.–1 p.m. Roll in with the family — on bikes, scooters, skateboards, strollers, rollerskates and wheels of all kinds — for a festive day of fun featuring games, prizes, face painting, demos, a kids’ bike rodeo and a bling-your-bike station. Free. Woven Works Park, 401 Cumberland St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events. FAMILY FUN FESTIVAL. 10 a.m.–2 p.m. The Family Room Foster Care Resource Center invites one and all to join in the fun, including face painting, bounce houses, live music, food trucks and princesses. Free. LeBauer Park, 208 N. Davie St., Greensboro.Info: familyroomtriad.com/events. CRAFT INVITATIONAL. 9 a.m.–4 p.m. Meet new artists in glass, ceramics, metal, wood and fiber, and shop for one-of-a-kind pieces at this exhibitionstyle event. Tickets: $5. Starworks, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: starworksnc. org/starworks-events.
May 7 CANDLELIGHT CONCERT. 7 p.m. Christian-rock band Sanctus Real teams up with the electrifying Blue Violin for an unforgettable performance. Tickets: $15+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre. com/events.
Movie Screening Rogue One May 4, 3:30 p.m. Carolina Theatre
READING THE WORLD. 7–8 p.m. Discover contemporary authors’ works in translation, such as this month’s selection — a playful and feminist epic set in modern-day India — Tomb of Sand by Indian author Geetanjali Shree. Free. Online. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/ events.
MAY THE 4TH SCREENING. 3:30 p.m. Celebrate Star Wars with a screening of Rogue One. Tickets: $8. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
URBAN FORAGING. 5:30–6:30 p.m. Explore and identify edible plants in the area, and learn sustainable foraging techniques. Free. Meeting Place Park, 801 W. Smith St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
May 5
May 8 & 22
EMERALD GALA. 6:30–9:30. Glamor and creativity collide at GreenHill Center for NC Art’s first annual fashion show, where North Carolina designers dress elite athletes, alumni and community members from six universities: Duke, N.C. State, UNC Chapel Hill, UNC Greensboro, N.C. A&T and Wake Forest. Tickets: Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events.
TOWNEBANK BEACH MUSIC FESTIVAL. 6 p.m. Sit in the stands or bring a blanket to grab a seat on the baseball field for a summer-vibes concert featuring The Entertainers on May 8 and Band of Oz on May 22. Tickets, $15 individually or $50 for a pass to all five concerts in series; children 12 and under, free. First National Bank Field, 408 Bellemeade St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/events.
May 6–11
May 8
BACK TO THE FUTURE: THE
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
May 6 SOUND OF MUSIC SINGALONG. 7 p.m. Experience the classic film like never before, singing along with a crowd of fellow enthusiasts. Tickets: $8. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
DORINDA CLARK-COLE. 7:30 p.m. The legendary “Rose of Gospel” lends her voice to the Greensboro Symphony for an unforgettable evening. Tickets: $42.35+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter. com/events. CHORAL CONCERT. 7:30 p.m. The Weaver Academy Chorale joins the Choral Society of Greensboro to perform John Rutter’s “Requiem” and “Mass of the Children.” Free, donations appreciated. Huggins Performance Center at Greensboro College, 815 W. Market St., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov/departments/ creative-greensboro.
MUSICAL. Travel back in time with Doc and Marty McFly in this Broadway adaptation of an ’80s classic. Tickets: $33+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/ events.
HOT GLASS, COLD BEER. 5:30 p.m. O.Henry 99
may calendar May 9
Enjoy glass blowing demonstrations while grooving to live music, sipping craft beers and noshing on food truck fare. Tickets: $5. Starworks Exhibition Gallery, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: starworksnc.org/starworks-events. May 9–18 HADESTOWN: TEEN EDITION. Descend into the jazzy, bluesy underworld and witness the Greek myth of Orpheus, Eurydice, Persephone and Hades as you’ve never seen before. Tickets: $15+. Starr Theatre, 520 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: ctgso.org. May 9–11 NEWSIES. High Point Community Theatre presents the Disney Broadway musical based on the real-life Newsboy Strike of 1899. Tickets: $25.35+. High Point Theatre, 220 E. Commerce Ave., High Point. Info: highpointtheatre.com/ events.
COLBY T. HELMS. 8 p.m. The artist whose Instagram bio reads, “Writing songs, moaning the blues, and other hillbilly shenanigans somewhere in the hills of ole VA,” takes the stage with The Virginia Creepers. Tickets: $17.20+. Flat Iron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: flatirongso.com/events. May 10 & 31 CRAFTY KIDS. 10 a.m.–noon; noon–2 p.m. Kids of all ages are welcome to create candy flowers (May 10) and lifesized sunflowers (May 31) in a sensoryfriendly environment. Free. Little Red Schoolhouse, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org. May 10 & 11 CEMETERY STROLL. Times and tour lengths vary. Share your grave concerns in a walking tour, “The Plants and the Planted,” led by Friends of Green
Hill Cemetery. Tickets: $5, cash only; no reservations required. Green Hill Cemetery, Wharton Street, Greensboro. Info: friendsofgreenhillcemetery.org/ tours. May 10 GREENSBORO CONCERT BAND. 7:30 p.m. Enjoy an evening of traditional and nontraditional tunes, including Bernstein’s “Slava” and Ticheli’s “Sanctuary.” Free, donations appreciated. Dana Auditorium at Guilford College, 710 Levi Coffin Drive. Info: greensboro-nc.gov/departments/ creative-greensboro. CUBAN JAZZ WORKSHOP. 3–4:30 p.m. All levels of musicians are welcome to listen, discuss and jam with other musicians while celebrating the music of Cuba. Free. The Music Academy of North Carolina, 1327 Beaman Place, Greensboro. Info: musicacademync.org.
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may calendar FORGE YOUR OWN BELL. 9 a.m.–1 p.m. This hands-on blacksmithing class is perfect for beginners. Registration: $150. Starworks, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: starworksnc.org/starworks-events. May 13 & 20 YOUNG ARTISTS KOLLECTIVE. 4–5:15 p.m. The YAK Club provides budding artists the opportunity to experiment with materials and processes. Registration: Nonmembers, $45; Members, $40.50. May 13, Grades K–2; May 20, Grades 3–5. ArtQuest at GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc. org/events.
May 16 GET THE LED OUT. 8 p.m. A celebration of “The Mighty Zep,” this cover band plays all of your favorite hits. Tickets: $39.50+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
May 17–18 HISTORIC HOME TOUR. Celebrate National Preservation Month by strolling through a selection of vintage homes in Irving Park. Tickets: $25+. Irving Park neighborhood, Greensboro. Info: preservationgreensboro.org/events.
May 14 ARTIST TALK. 5:30–6:30 p.m. Paperhand artist Donovan Zimmerman discusses the creative process, inspiration and community commitment of the company known for its larger-than-life puppets. Free. GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events. May 15 GAMES WOMEN PLAY. 7:30 p.m. With comedy, drama, romance and shocking twists, Je’Caryous Johnson’s hilarious stage play has it all. Tickets: $52.30+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/ events. PERCIVAL EVERETT. 7–9 p.m. As a Greensboro Bound Book Festival lead-in, the author of the 2024 National Book Award for Fiction, James, discusses his work. Free, registration required. Elliott University Center Auditorium at UNCG, 507 Stirling St., Greensboro. Info: greensborobound.com/events. May 16 & 17 BROADWAY: FOSSE STYLE. 7:30 p.m., May 16; 2 p.m., May 17. High Point Ballet presents a show that will keep you on your toes as it honors Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon. Tickets: $25.35+. High Point Theatre, 220 E. Commerce Ave., High Point. Info: highpointtheatre.com/events.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
CHILDREN’S MUSEUM GALA. 7–10:30 p.m. Whisk yourself off to a magical land, aka the Miriam Brenner Children’s Museum, for an evening of toadstools, live performances, culinary delights and spirits, plus raffle prizes at the annual fundraising gala. Tickets: $125+. Miriam Brenner Children’s Museum, 220 N. Church St., Greenboro. Info: mbcmuseum.com/donate/gala.
Annual Garden Tour May 17-18
ANNUAL GARDEN TOUR. 10 a.m.–4 p.m. Stroll through five beautifully maintained and aspirational residential gardens as well as the grounds of AuthoraCare. Tickets: $25 and can be purchased at A. B. Seed, The Extra Ingredient, Fleet-Plummer, Guilford Garden Center, Plants & Answers: The Big Greenhouse and Randy McManus Designs. May 17
GREEN READS. Noon–1 p.m. Read beforehand then come to discuss Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet by Thich Nhat Hanh, known as “the monk who taught the world mindfulness.” Free, Kathleen Clay Edwards Library, 1420 Price Park Road, Greensboro. Info: library.greensboro-nc.gov.
GREENSBORO BOUND. 10 a.m.–5 p.m. This year’s book festival explores themes of family, home and past, and features literary fun for the whole family. Free. Greensboro Library, Greensboro History Museum and Greensboro Cultural Center. Info: greensborobound. com/events and see page 19.
SMACKDOWN. 7:30 p.m. Watch your favorite WWE stars battle it out live in the ring. Tickets: $48.25+. First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/ events.
MOZART’S REQUIEM. 7:30 p.m. Soprano Maria Valdes joins forces with the Greensboro Symphony for a powerful and moving performance. Tickets: $42.35+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter. com/events.
SPEED FRIENDING. 5:30–7:30 p.m. Looking to make new friends and spark great conversation? Register for your age group’s time slot and come away with new buds. Free, registration required. LoFi Park, 500 N. Eugene St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway. org/events.
YOUTH CHORUS. 3 p.m. The Greensboro Youth Chorus performs Through Our Eyes, a concert inspired by the beauty of the world and nature’s splendor. Tew Recital Hall at UNCG, 100 McIver St., Greensboro. Info: choralartscollective.org.
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may calendar ADOPTABLE DOG WALK. 10 a.m.– noon. Walk adoptable SPCA dogs for a mile or two along the Downtown Greenway. Free, registration required. Freedom Cornerstone, 750 Plott St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway. org/events. SIT ‘N’ STITCH. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Learn various stitching techniques and skills from costumed interpreters who are happy to help you with your sewing project. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org. WALKING GREENWAY TOUR. 9 a.m.–noon. Travel the 4-mile loop of the Downtown Greenway while learning about the project itself as well as local history, surrounding neighborhoods, public art installations, environmental stewardship, economic impact and more fun tidbits of information. Free. LoFi Park,
500 N. Eugene St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events. ELIOT BRONSON. 6 p.m. The indiefolk singer-songwriter hits the stage for an early-evening show, kicking off your Saturday night on a high note. Tickets: $17.20+. Flat Iron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: flatirongso.com/ events. May 18 UNITE FESTIVAL. 1–4 p.m. U.N.I.T.E. (Understanding the Needs of Inclusion Takes Everyone) for an afternoon of family fun, including a drum circle, fire truck, Kona Ice truck and face painting, plus live performances and lawn games. Free. LeBauer Park, 208 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: fsncc.org/ unite-festival. INTRO TO SIGN LANGUAGE. 1–2
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p.m. In this beginner-friendly class, you’ll learn basic signs in a fun, interactive, outdoor environment. Free. Downtown Greenway at corner of Smith and Prescott streets. Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events. May 20 FUN GARDEN PARTY. 2–4:30 p.m. The Greensboro Newcomers Club will host a festive afternoon garden party where residents who have lived in the surrounding area for two years or less, or who have experienced a major life change within the past two years such as empty nest, retirement, marriage, divorce or death of a partner, can meet friendly faces. To purchase tickets or get information, email greensboroncnewcomersclub@gmail.com. Greensboro Country Club, 410 Sunset Drive, Greensboro.
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may calendar May 21–22 COPPÉLIA. 2 p.m., May 21; 7 p.m., May 22. Triad International Ballet tells the story of a doctor who has created a lifelike dancing doll that fools villagers into thinking it’s alive. Tickets: $45. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
you how early High Pointers used freshfrom-the-garden herbs for a variety of purposes. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
May 21 GROWING UP ON OAKDALE ROAD. 10–11:30 a.m. The High Point Historical Society hosts Elizabeth Greeson, who will share memories of growing up in the mill village during the ’60s and ’70s . Free. City Lake Park Meeting & Event Center, 600 W. Main St., Jamestown. Info: highpointmuseum.org.
May 29 GUIDED GREENWAY TOUR. 4:30–6 p.m. Hop aboard a golf cart driven by Dabney Sanders, Downtown Greenway project manager, and learn about the greenway project as well as the city’s history, arts scene and the impact of the greenway. Free, registration required. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
May 22–31 UNIVERSOUL CIRCUS. Adventure awaits under the big-top tent, where flying acrobats, gravity-defying stunts, fire breathers, stilt dancers and the coolest clowns around electrify the crowd. Tickets: Big-Top Tent at First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: universoulcircus.com/ greensboro. May 22–25 SUSTAIN WOOD FIRING CONFERENCE. Starworks International Wood Fired Ceramics Conference unites professional artists, students and ceramic enthusiasts from more than eight countries. Registration: $190+, ages 16+. Starworks, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: woodfirenc.com. May 23 PEABO BRYSON. 8 p.m. The iconic and velvety-smooth voice of love, known for his Oscar- and Grammywinning Disney duets, makes his much awaited return to pop. Tickets: $39.50+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/ events. May 24 HISTORICAL GARDEN. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Costumed interpreters will show
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CRISTINA HENRÍQUEZ. 7 p.m. The New York Times-bestselling author of the novel The Great Divide discusses her book and shares personal insight into “the divide within,” reflecting on her identity as both American and Panamanian. Free. Van Dyke Performance Space, Greensboro Cultural Center, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greensborobound. com/events.
May 30
O.Henry magazine Author Series May 27, 11:30 - 1:30 Grandover Resort & Spa May 27 KRISTY WOODSON HARVEY BOOK LAUNCH. 11:30 a.m.–1:30 p.m. O.Henry magazine welcomes North Carolina’s own New York Times-bestselling author to celebrate pub day of her latest book, Beach House Rules, at a coastal-themed luncheon. Tickets: $70, including book. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: ticketmetriad.com.
TAMELA MANN. 8 p.m. Along with her husband, actor and comedian David Mann, and several gospel-singing powerhouses, the Grammy-winning songstress hits the stage for a night of humor and uplifting music. Tickets: $68.25+. First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex. com/events. May 31 ROCK BAND KARAOKE. 2–3 p.m. Play drums, guitar or bass, or use your voice to jam karaoke-style with members of the academy’s faculty! Free, but use the Google form on the website to RSVP and choose a song. The Music Academy of North Carolina, 1327 Beaman Place, Greensboro. Info: musicacademync.org.
May 28
WEEKLY HAPPENINGS
TUNE IN & TUNE UP. 6–8 p.m. Celebrate National Bike Month while a DJ spins tracks as volunteer bike mechanics spin wheels and gears to tune up your bike. Free. LoFi Park, 500 N. Eugene St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
WEDNESDAYS LIVE MUSIC & PAINTING. 6–9 p.m. Evan Olson and Jessica Mashburn of AM rOdeO play covers and original music while artist-in-residence Chip Holton paints. Free. Lucky 32. 1421 Westover Terrace, Greensboro. Info: lucky32.com.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
may calendar FAMILY NIGHT. 5–7 p.m. Enjoy an art-driven evening with family and friends in the studios. Free. ArtQuest at GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc. org/events. THURSDAYS JAZZ AT THE O.HENRY. 6–9 p.m. Sip vintage craft cocktails and snack on tapas while the O.Henry Trio performs with a different jazz vocalist each week. Free. O.Henry Hotel Social Lobby, 624 Green Valley Road, Greensboro. Info: ohenryhotel.com/o-henry-jazz. THURSDAYS & SATURDAYS KARAOKE & COCKTAILS. 8 p.m. until midnight, Thursdays; 9 p.m. until midnight, Saturdays. Courtney Chandler hosts a night of sipping and singing. Free. 19 & Timber Bar at Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
FRIDAYS MASTERPIECE FRIDAY. 10 a.m.– noon. Parents and caregivers are welcome to bring their kiddos to spend an enchanting morning exploring the wonders of storytelling and crafts. Registration: Non-members over 1, $8; Household Level Members, free. ArtQuest at GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events. MINDFULNESS MEDITATION. Noon–12:30 p.m. This free introductory class offers a guided meditation for reducing stress in both the mind and body. Free, registration required; adults only. Triad Pelvic Health, 5574 Garden Village Way, Greensboro. Info: triadpelvichealth.com/classes. FRIDAYS & SATURDAYS LIVE MUSIC. 7–10 p.m. Enjoy drinks in the 1808 Lobby Bar while soaking up
live music provided by local artists. Free. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com. SATURDAYS HISTORIC WALKING TOURS. 1 & 5 p.m. Take a guided walking tour through the history of downtown Greensboro at 1 p.m. or, if you’re into true crime, stroll through The Gate City’s darker side, covering 1953–1997, at 5 p.m. Tickets: $14. The Bodega, 313 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: trianglewalkingtours. com/book-online. BLACKSMITH DEMONSTRATION. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Watch the sparks fly and red-hot iron turn into farm implements as the past is recreated under the able hands of a costumed blacksmith. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org. OH
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GreenScene Hope Breaks Through Gala
Brett Hoge, Rob Simon, Wendy Hoge, Eleanor Schaffner-Mosh
Breakthrough T1D
Benton Convention Center Saturday, March 1, 2025 Photographs by Lynn Donovan
Alejandra Thompson de Jordan, Andrew Jordan, Imagine Circus performers, JJ & Katie Thompson
Buff Perry, Trent Sutherland
Kristine Elliot, Melissa Workman, Grady Elliott, Ray Workman, Marinda Maxwell
Eva, Elyssa & Robb Mothershed, Mark Northan, Christian Barnes, Malika Roman Isler, Victor Isler
Ann Cox, Vanessa Carroll, Kathleen Kelly, Kim Starkey
Meagan Durham (with Bennett)
Jim & Jennifer Himes, Mike Fox, Roy Carroll
Brad Barto, Sarah Rose Mosh, Eleanor Schaffner-Mosh, Steve Mosh, Emily & Phil Wagoner
Trevor Snyder, Madison Carroll Snyder, Ashely Nosek, John Nosek
Rob & Kristin Simon
Neill McNeill, Natalie Wilson
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Allan Burrows, Laura Burrows, Marinda, Red & Cassie Maxwell, Miller & Gus Dossett, Eleanor Schaffner-Mosh, Art Bloom
Brian & Kathleen Griffin, Victor Isler, Malika Roman Isler, Nick & Jen Seeba
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
GreenScene Patti Callahan Henry
O.Henry Magazine Author Series The Colonnade at Revolution Mill Friday, March 21, 2025
June DeLugas
Nancy Milam, Gigi Renaud, Pam Smith, Brenda Macfadden
Patti Callahan Henry
Seated: Brenda Macfadden, Deborah Friedman, Sheila Phillips, Gigi Renaud; Standing: Pam Smith, Nancy Milam, Steve Colyer
Katie & Sydney Robertson, Elora & Darcy Allen
Deborah Hunt, Sarah McCoy
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Lisa Allen, Amy Grove, Patti Callahan Henry, Cassie Bustamante, Andie Rose
Kim Triplett, Leath Henderson
Chantel Mayton,Carla Wilber
Deborah Friedman, Sheila Phillips
Liz Samuels, Beth Jones
Lynn Stowe, Denise Fiery
Joan Whitalke, JoAnne Carlyle, Annie Hadgiss, Amy Proctor
Janice Wood, Angela Hodges, Gina Decker
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GreenScene
Greensboro Chamber of Commerce’s 2025 Annual Celebration Topgolf Thursday, January 30, 2025 Photographs by Bert VanderVeen
Tom Waldron, Sue Catherine
Randy Elliott, Liv Bresnahan, Lloyd Bresnahan, Sam Elliott
Mark Brazil, Zack Matheny
Chris Wilson, John Martin, Cecelia Thompson
Marion Hofmann, Heather Adams, Laura Lorenz
Christine Byrd, Hugh Holston
Michael Phillips, M. Taylor Butler, Megan Mabry
Shayla Sharpe, Mame Annan-Brown
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Sean Suggs, Brent Christensen
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
GreenScene ArtTaste Salon: Art Embellishment or Necessity
GreenHill Center for NC Art Wednesday, February, 12, 2025
Ann and Brian Harrell
Galen and Angela Draper
Hope Carter, Avery Franko, Robin Carter, Maria Fangman
Denise Landi, Ann Lynch, Edie Carpenter
Joyce Kemmerer
Nancy Doll, Beatrice Schall
Nadja Cech, Christine Hoffman, Tillman Griner
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Robin Carter, Julie Glandt
Lynn Klauer,Robin Davis
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o.henry ending
A Visitation on Epiphany Walking Kiki home
By Woodson E. Faulkner
lude, I pause to take in the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York. Stepping through its arched entrance is like walking into a portal of a distant time when things happened slowly, deliberately. Being one of the last to exit after the Feast of the Epiphany service, I catch a glimpse of the vicar and compliment his homily, which asked the question, “Why are we here?” In his sermon, he suggested that those of us who were present were seeking to build a community not just of believers, but of members of a “peaceable kingdom,” where common respect, kindness, and desire for truth and beauty might come together. He accepts my compliments graciously, bidding me “Happy New Year.” As I step outside into the night, assaulted by a cold, bracing wind that New York is famous for, I begin the journey back to my Westside Avenue apartment when suddenly, gently, a hand reaches out to my left arm. A little voice breaks my stride: “Would you please help me home? I’m blind, you see, and can’t navigate the steps and curbs very well anymore.” I extend my arm and graciously agree to guide her the two blocks to her apartment. I finally get a good look at this tiny woman wearing a broadbrimmed hat that flops up and down in the wind, obscuring her face. She is no more than 5 feet tall, wearing an elegant overcoat and dainty shoes. She speaks to me in short, fast sentences, giving me tips on how to help someone who’s blind. “Now, you have to walk slowly and time your footsteps with mine so I can follow you.” At the first intersection, she tells me she’s a jaywalker “because they don’t see you when you’re using the zebra stripes,” aka the designated crosswalk. “They’re just looking at the light. So, you have to make them see you by walking in a way that they are not expecting.” While this seems like a risky idea, I take her advice and guide her kitty-cornered across the street. I’m fascinated by this lady’s spunk and determination to get around, relying on the kindness of strangers. As we time our foot-
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steps together, I find the slower pace relaxing, devoid of the anxiety that the typical, brisk-walking New Yorker seems to exhibit. “Just one more block,” she says. She slides her hand up, taking hold of my shoulder as we make our way down the final terminus. “You know, I hitchhiked my way around the world when I was younger,” she exclaims. “I’ve been blind all my life, but that didn’t stop me. People expected me to shut up in my room and just wither away! I wasn’t going to do it!” “Wow,” I say, gasping in amazement at what this little lady must have experienced. “That’s incredible. Were you afraid?” I ask. “Well, at times, maybe a little, but most people were good to me and helped me get right along.” As the Cathedral bells sound their hourly peel, we arrive at her apartment. Just then, tiny, drifting snowflakes begin falling like fairy dust. “Here we are. I’m in the one way up there — you see it?” she asks, pointing with her cane to a place in the dark. “Oh yes, it’s lovely,” I respond. Just then, the doorman opens the door. As she releases her grasp on my shoulder, I ask, “What’s your name?” “Kiki,” she says. I stop in my tracks, jolted by suddenly remembering that tonight is the 10th anniversary of my mother’s passing. Her nickname was also Kiki. Passing Kiki off to the doorman, I turn and look up at the gentle snow, falling more and more fully as it caresses my face. As the door closes, I catch a faint scent of gardenia coming from the apartment building’s lobby. That was my mother’s favorite flower. “Goodnight, Kiki!” I say as the snow begins to melt down my cheeks. OH Woodson E. Faulkner II is currently a member of the voice faculty at the Music Academy of North Carolina; accompanist and assistant director of the Burlington Boys Choir; and has recently retired from 35 years as a church musician. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
ILLUSTRATION BY HARRY BLAIR
Lingering after the resounding organ post-
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