THROUGH THE MUSCADINE continued
Katherine Smith, a local from Pinebluff, is
an Alaskan greenhorn and accidental poet.
She’s living to make life that is art.
Hallowed Species
by Katherine Smith
October is the month I know longest and
best. Between summer and winter jobs, I’d leave
behind Alaska’s bare birches and snow-fluffed
hemlocks, and come home. Landing in Carolina
felt like reversing time; meeting autumn all
over again in her prime. Decomposition of sun
to musk, fruit to bugs, book spine to cracking,
and other smells of poetry. A few more days of
mulberry-reds, pumpkin skins and rust. A few
more leaves the color of sunset. A month of
things easily missed in the dimming, and all the
species awake only in the thinning.
Like mushrooms, found when off the trail,
crouch lunging along water. For the first part
of this month, the maitake Hen of the Woods
will grow in quick clusters on oaks. Honey
mushrooms with a hairy five o’clock shadow on
their caps and brick top mushrooms on decayed
logs release their deep, nutty flavor of fall when
sautéed with butter in a big cast iron. And then
there’s puffballs, edible when pure white inside,
growing the size of dinner plates, the fairy dust
of fall.
Persimmons finally turn to orange and
purple on the tree. The flesh, just last month so
puckering, is gooey and sweet as syrup after the
first freeze. Same goes for my sleep. The nights
come cold, and heavy quilts come back to the
mountains with me from my mother’s house.
Burrowing like a bear into dreams; waking to the
first smell of snow on the wind, translucent and
dear as a grandmother’s hands.
Strange little creatures appear new each day
in masses of English ivy. They’re sycamore fruits,
come from a land of make believe, here to meet
us in this month when we condone pretending.
Then there’s beech nuts, smaller and softer but
the same spiny shape, fruiting in huge masts
every two or three years. Pry them open with
your fingernails. The edible triangular fruits are
like Chinese lanterns inside a hairy shell.
THROUGH THE MUSCADINE con't. next column
Rabbit pot pie and squirrel stew are for more
than bluegrass songs. Nothing prompts humble
gratitude at the dinner table like food well
earned, with no part wasted. Bones in a guthealing
broth, liver fried in buttermilk, the hide
tacked to the backside of the cabin, tanning.
Papery redbud and honey locust pods quiver
in the wind, falling
after the last leaves.
We make mazes
through the corn
fields before they’re
tilled back into the
ground, sending
their sugars into next
spring. Everything is
crisp — the air, the
candied apples, the
fire crackling in the
fireplace.
On a late October
church camping trip
two decades ago, an
old man showed me how to use a flashlight to
find spiders in the woods. Their eight eyes, he
said, would reflect if I walked slow enough,
and held my light just right. I left the bonfire,
and for the rest of the evening, crept on a hunt
through the brush. To this day, I don’t know if
I was finding spiders, or the glint of mica, or
fallen oak leaves cupping the last rain. To this
day, I still find myself walking barefoot in the
dark, accompanied by a small headlamp in case
of snakes, looking for the turquoise glint of tiny
watchers. To this day, I still impulsively point my
light into the night sky, playing with the thought
of hitting the stars. How many reflections we just
barely catch this month that, at all other times,
we just barely miss. ☐
Local Persimmons
Everything
is crisp —
the air, the
candied
apples, the
fire crackling
in the
fireplace.
Terry A. Riney.
Getting to Know Terry Riney
Owner of the Terry Riney Agency
For what does the “A” stand? Alan.
Who inspires you? I’ve always been inspired
by older businessmen. Some of my greatest
friends are much older businessmen.
Greatest advice you give? Be honest. It’s so
much easier to be honest, to tell the truth and to
treat people fairly than to not. Just do the right
thing. In every situation, there’s a right and a
wrong thing to do. Right is always better. Right
is usually easier.
In looking back over your life, would you
change anything? No. But I would have come to
Moore County sooner.
Life is… A bowl of cherries. Life is what you
make it. Life is a whole lot easier if you have a
relationship with the Lord.
If you had a day to spend in Moore County,
what would you do? I might just stay home and
tinker.
Do you have a favorite golf course? The
Holly Course at Pinewild.
Favorite restaurant? I like the Village. The
Drum & Quill, the Pine Crest Inn. The Village
wants to be like Charleston, but too many nay
sayers.
Moore County is…Growing, and it needs
to both embrace the growth and manage
the growth at the same time. Don’t fight it.
Everything is going to be fine. ☐
For the Terry A. Riney Story, see FRONT PAGE.
No. 136 The Pinehurst Gazette, Inc. p.33
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