NATIVE | JULY 2015 | NASHVILLE, TN by Native

J U L Y

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AFTER 5PM FUL

CTION E L L O C

ITS R I P S + E N I R+W E E B + E E F F CO EE TS ! SM A LL BI TE S & IR RE SI ST IB LE SW

UGHT O H T A

AND DON’T FORGET ABOUT

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SIP. SAVOR. UNWIND.

ONLY AT BONGO 5TH AVE 250 5TH AVE S

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Hosted by: Lightning 100'S Wells Adams AND a surprise DJ (Past surprise DJs include: My Morning Jacket & Langhorne Slim!)

S I P. S A V O R . U N W I N D . O N L Y A T B O N G O J A V A 5 T H A V E N U E

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LIGHTNING 100 presents

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Photo: Carroll Rainwater Photography

Available Now!

“...a bombast of reckless experimentation.”

RESPECT THE UNEXPECTED. VISIT PLOWBOYRECORDS.COM FOR NEW RELEASES

OUR ARTISTS: BLACKFOOT GYPSIES • BOBBY BARE • PAUL BURCH • BUZZ CASON • CHEETAH CHROME • CHUCK MEAD • THE FAUNTLEROYS • THE GHOST WOLVES • JD WILKES & THE DIRTDAUBERS • JIM ED BROWN # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

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half

CHRISTMAS Beer Fest

! d r i e w t e G

Riverwood Mansion July 31st 6pm - 11pm Tickets: $35

Bring your half-holiday spirit!

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Like many who move to Nashville, he came to pursue music, but his focus was on the technical side. He earned a degree in music engineering at MTSU and soon was using a mixing board as his paintbrush, coaxing strings and notes to coalesce into sonic works of art. “When I produce or engineer a song, there is this great sense of satisfaction—whether it’s my song or someone else’s,” the New Orleans native says. “It’s all art to me—turning a performance into something tangible for others to enjoy.” For Mark, experimenting with old and new technology is part of the fun. “I love to take an acoustic-driven song and slick it up with cool toys,” he says. “I mix old-school instruments with synthesized samples to create a unique sound.” When Mark isn’t engineering, he’s writing and performing with his two-man indie rock band, Reader

which draws on inﬂuences like Grizzly Bear and Beach House. (The band’s name was inspired by “Wizard People, Dear Reader,” a hilarious YouTube spoof of the Harry Potter movies.) Mark has worked for a year at Bongo East, which he describes as “this amazing place to ﬁnd yourself creatively.” Having traveled to Guatemala, he is partial to Latin American coffees, which tend to be light and mellow with citrus notes. “They make me feel a little closer to that serene, green, and mountainous landscape,” he says. Mark’s hope is to own a home where friends can gather and innovative recording sessions can take place. “I’m not there yet, but if a dream is worth going after, you have to work for it,” he says. “The goal is to have a life where your work doesn’t feel like work, and in the end you can look back and be proud of what you’ve done.”

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TABLE OF CONTENTS JULY 2015

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22 64

THE GOODS 19 Beer from Here 22 Cocktail 26 Master Platers 87 You Oughta Know 90 Observatory 94 Animal of the Month

FEATURES

30 Arnoldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 42 Jayson Wall 52 Dur Demarion 64 Carter Creek Greens 74 Heroes Vodka

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DEAR NATIVES,

hanks for tagging us, y’all! Be sure to check out these Instagrammers, and #nativenashville to share your photos with us.

president, founder:

ANGELIQUE PITTMAN JON PITTMAN associate publisher: KATRINA HARTWIG publisher, founder:

founder, brand director:

DAVE PITTMAN

founder:

CAYLA MACKEY

creative director:

MACKENZIE MOORE

managing editor:

CHARLIE HICKERSON DARCIE CLEMEN

art director:

COURTNEY SPENCER

community relations manager:

JOE CLEMONS

community representative:

LINDSAY ALDERSON

account manager:

AYLA SADLER

film supervisor:

CASEY FULLER

editor:

@nolanfeldpausch

@basicallybrecken

@jackalopeden

@andy.elizabeth

writers: photographers:

@saintanejo

@localbootypics

production:

DANIELLE ATKINS AUSTIN LORD KATE CAUTHEN JONATHON KINGSBURY REBECCA ADLER JEN MCDONALD

founding team:

MATTHEW LEFF JONAH ELLER-ISAACS LINDSEY BUTTON SCOTT MARQUART JUSTIN MABEE MARC ACTON COOPER BREEDEN

GUSTI ESCALANTE

MACKENZIE MOORE JOSHUA SIRCHIO TAYLOR RABOIN

to advertise, contact:

for all other inquiries:

@isisdazzles

@meganchumbley

SALES@NATIVE.IS HELLO@NATIVE.IS

PROUDLY DELIVERED BY RUSH BICYCLE MESSENGERS

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Located in the

Provisions

a glas e s i a s r be

l ly l a u g h

On-Air Personality

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, leo vel elit nec neque amet wisi, felis mauris neque ad maecenas. Eu mus nulla nec accumsan vitae, augue ultrices molestie cras.

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#LOVEWINS

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CAPGUN by Ben Clemons of No. 308

A light and playful tip of the hat to “navy strength,” a proof high enough that if spilled on gunpowder in high seas, the powder will still ignite. This summer sipper brings you straight to the beach, but be warned: too many and you too will find yourself adrift on the high seas.

THE GOODS 2 oz Smith & Cross Navy Strength Rum 3/4 oz Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao 3/4 oz Pineapple Shrub* 1/2 oz fresh lime juice

*Pineapple Shrub 1/4 of a pineapple, cut into chunks, blended to a pulp 2 cups granulated sugar 1 cup water 1 cup champagne vinegar

F Combine ingredients and cook until sugar is dissolved. Let steep until cool. Pour through a fine strainer to remove the pulp. Store in refrigerator until ready to use. This is also great on baked Brie.

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photo by danielle atkins

F Shake ingredients in tin and pour into a coupe glass. F Garnish with a pineapple slice.

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MASTER PLATERS

PROSCIUTTO-WRAPPED PEACHES WITH SORGHUM WITH

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STEPHEN ROSE, COFOUNDER OF THE PEACH TRUCK

THE GOODS: 2 fresh peaches 8 shaved slices of prosciutto (about 3 ounces) 16 fresh basil leaves 3 tbsp sorghum

DIRECTIONS: F Wash peaches and pat dry. F Cut each peach in half, remove the pit, and cut each half into four equal wedges. F Cut each prosciutto slice into two equal pieces. F Wrap each peach wedge with a basil leaf and a piece of prosciutto. F Secure with a toothpick or decorative pick. F Arrange on a serving platter and drizzle with sorghum.

PHOTOS BY DANIELLE ATKINS

F Serve immediately. Makes 16 pieces.

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TWO GENERATIONS HAVE STOOD BEHIND THE COUNTER AT ARNOLD’S COUNTRY KITCHEN, SERVING PLATES PILED HIGH WITH IRRESISTIBLE SOUTHERN HOME COOKING

BY JONAH ELLER-ISAACS | PHOTOS BY AUSTIN LORD

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Meat and three :

words unknown to most folks north of the Mason-Dixon. “Three what?” a Yankee such as myself might ask. Meat and three: the most magical of Southern culinary incantations. Meat and three: “glorious vittles served with utmost informality,” according to the authors of 500 Things to Eat Before It’s Too Late. Meat and three: Arnold’s. Though we all have our favorites, there may be no restaurant that better epitomizes the meat-and-three experience than local treasure Arnold’s Country Kitchen. For more than thirty years, the Arnolds—Jack, the patriarch, his wife, Rose, their sons Manuelito (aka “Mon”), Kahlil, and Franz, and their daughters Rose Emily and Savannah—have served up the comfiest of comfort foods from their aging concrete bunker on 8th Avenue. Roast beef, fried green tomatoes, chocolate pie, fresh-squeezed lemonade: from the moment the doors open at 10:30 each weekday morning, these and more are guided from the kitchen and onto plastic trays by the loving hands of the Arnold family. It all lasts just a few brief and helter-skelter hours until the platters are pulled at 2:45 in the afternoon. I arrive for lunch on a hazy, humid day. And it is chaos. A narrow line of hungry Nashvillians winds from the door toward the cafeteria-style counter. Diners stand patiently, a remarkable cross-section of Nashville: a farmer in finely aged overalls; sorority girls with bleached blonde hair, jean shorts, and sparkly sequined boots; a mustachioed lumbersexual in cap, suspenders, and plaid shirt; businessmen in customtailored suits and ties manipulated expertly into snug half-Windsors. I make my way to the front of the lunch line and introduce myself to Franz, the youngest of the six Arnold siblings. Today he’s cutting roast beef. He cuts into the massive chunk of meat and slices a few pieces onto my plate. His older brother, Kahlil, who heads the operation these days, adds a piece of fried grouper. Franz adds meatloaf. And corn pudding. Kahlil grabs me some green beans and macaroni and cheese. And a slice of peach pie. Mama Rose shoots me a wide smile as she pours me a lemonade, and I take a seat while the Arnolds and their coworkers finish the lunch rush. I have no idea how I’m supposed to eat all of this. A long wall runs next to my table, along the full length of Arnold’s cramped, low-slung interior. The concrete blocks are packed with signed pictures of country music luminaries new and old: Dolly Parton, Porter Wagoner, The Dixie Chicks, all sharing space with the many glowing write-ups from publica-

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“WHEN WE WON THE JAMES BEARD...I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS!”

tions near and far. One of the highest benchmarks of from the business. “She knows it’s a achievement for an American restaurant is an award hard business,” he explains, and the from the James Beard Foundation. Simply making the evidence is dripping from his face. list of semifinalists is enough to earn a chef national Still, Kahlil worked his way through recognition, and Nashville’s fine dining establish- the industry elsewhere before rements have gathered quite a few nods over the years. turning to his family’s side. The Arnold’s isn’t exactly a fine dining experience, but the same day local restaurateur Tom family’s long history of serving phenomenal food in Morales offered him a managerial a warm and welcoming environment led to their re- position, Kahlil’s father, Jack, had ceiving the “America’s Classics” award in 2009. The to fire his kitchen staff and needed medallion hangs inside a protected case in a place of help, fast. Tom was understanding great prominence: it greets every customer as they and supportive and, as Kahlil tells it, “He said, ‘Okay. How many of my stand in line. Rose (“It’s actually Rosario, but Rose is good”) Ar- kitchen staff do you need to take nold tells me that the award was more than surpris- with you?’” Even surrounded by a ing. She admits that she’s “almost embarrassed by all generous and encouraging cadre of the attention that we’ve gotten . . . When we won the chefs, Kahlil admits life in the kitchen is not always James Beard—I don’t even wanna think about it—I easy—though it can be rewarding: “It’s a business that didn’t know what it was!” Rose finishes every sen- can make you feel great. You get respected by all these tence with a laugh, and this admission draws an es- amazing chefs. But the next day . . . The next day will pecially loud chuckle. “They called up on the phone totally destroy you.” Out of nowhere comes a shout of “I got spinal ste. . . My husband had retired by then, and I kept telling them, ‘I think you’ve got the wrong number.’ They nosis, bro!” Cody Pitts, the bro with a bad spine, is listold me to look it up on the Internet.” Once Rose did tening in on our conversation. He’s a buddy of Kahlil’s her research, she still didn’t believe it. “I told her, ‘Now from high school, and he shuffles over and joins us. I know you’ve got the wrong number because I’m a “I’ve been comin’ here for years,” Cody informs me in a thick drawl. “This is hands down the best place to little hole-in-the-wall in nowhere!’” Rose’s disbelief aside, Arnold’s, this hole-in-the- eat in Nashville. No doubt about it.” When I ask him wall filler of countless Nashvillian bellies, has man- to pick his favorite dishes, Cody points without hesiaged to make their home cookin’ into a national tation to my roast beef. But the kitchen didn’t make landmark. Jack Arnold is in his late seventies and has quite enough of it today, and he’s missed out on his stepped away from the grueling restaurant routine, favorite. Still, Cody’s plate is piled high. There’s plenty but Rose, her sons, and their longtime staff keep the on the menu beyond his first choice. One of Kahlil’s biggest challenges in taking the traditions alive and well. As I dig into the overwhelming amount of food spilling over the edges of my red reins from his dad is pleasing folks like Cody: regulars cafeteria tray, I ask Rose what it’s like working as a who’ve come to know and love their favorite dishes. family. “Working with each other?” she says with an- Kahlil relates that he “enjoyed making the food we other boisterous laugh. “That’s a living hell! I am their had. But you can’t change the food you have, because mother. And that makes it difficult.” As she slowly and you’ve been here forever and ever . . . You don’t wanna carefully counts off her five children (“I better get that change tradition, but I definitely got bored of just doright!”), Deborah, one of the longest employed of the ing the same thing over and over again.” To break up Arnold staff, and Franz begin to argue loudly (though the monotony (a delicious monotony, but still), he’s playfully) behind the counter. “See? Family dynamics,” added a new meat and a new side for each day’s menu. Rose points out. “She’s family . . . I have a picture with Nothing is taken away, and it gives Kahlil a chance to her holding Franz. She shoulda spanked him a little flex his creative culinary muscles while keeping everyone happy: the Thursday folks who come for the more.” Another enormous laugh. If Rose is the heart and soul of Arnold’s Coun- country-fried steak or the Monday diners who crave try Kitchen, then Kahlil Arnold is its brain. As the Arnold’s fried chicken. As Kahlil has labored to expand Arnold’s offerings, lunch rush winds down, he joins me at my table. He’s drenched with sweat. Rose hoped he would stay away he hasn’t departed from his father’s food philosophy.

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ARNOLDâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S COUNTRY KITCHEN: arnoldscountrykitchen.com Follow on Facebook @Arnoldsmeatand3 or Instagram @arnoldscountrykitchen native.is

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Jack Arnold insisted that every single thing be made from scratch, every single day. Jack was also one of the earliest local restaurateurs to focus on relationships with local farmers and producers to ensure the freshest possible ingredients—surprising me, as I don’t usually associate meat and threes with the farm-to-table movement. Kahlil relays a story of accompanying his dad on an early-morning visit to Smiley’s Produce. Their small refrigerated trailer was unstaffed, and Jack left a note saying he’d taken five bushels of turnip greens. Kahlil takes on Jack’s accent: turnip becomes a monosyllabic “turnp.” A young Kahlil was mortified, telling his father indignantly, “Oh my God, this is stealing!” Of course, the older and wiser Kahlil understands account relationships now. Smiley’s is still a source for much of Arnold’s produce, alongside strawberries from Catesa Farms and ground beef from Tyler Brown’s Double H Farms. With award-winning recipes and an outstanding reputation, Arnold’s could easily move beyond their limited facility. The family has considered franchising, fielding offers from investors but always turning them down. “There’s only one Arnold’s,” Kahlil states firmly, and as Rose explains, “We are who we are. I don’t want that to be lost. It’s so easy to lose it along the way.” Still, their undersized kitchen (Rose calls it “a closet”) is uncomfortable, and so the Arnold family is preparing for a modest expansion—they’ll have more prep space and more space for diners. But no one is worried that they’ll lose the charm of their concrete home of thirtythree years. With another trademark laugh and a sly glance around her, Rose tells me, “We’re trying to keep it all as ugly as it is now, so no one will know the difference!” Her words echo off the aging concrete blocks, and as I polish off my peach pie, I take great comfort in knowing that whatever changes come to Nashville, the Arnold family will be here at their Country Kitchen on 8th Avenue, serving the same marvelous, locally sourced, freshly made food with a smile.

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A LOOK INTO JAYSON WALL’S WORLD OF 3D PRINTING BY LINDSEY BUTTON | PHOTOS BY KATE CAUTHEN

Jayson Wall is waiting for me

on the front porch of his home office with his yellow tabby, Bobo, on his lap as he greets me with one of the most genuine greetings I’ve ever received (though perhaps the charm of his vague Southern accent adds to his automatic friendliness). “I am printing you a bracelet!” he says enthusiastically after introducing himself. Jayson is founder of the YouTube channel Print That Thing, where he shares and collaborates on 3D printing projects. As I watch Jayson’s 3D printer print a neon pink stretchy bracelet before my eyes, I feel a sense of awe that I haven’t felt since the late ’90s. It’s similar to the first time I watched a video online as a kid—a pixelated Janet Jackson on an underdeveloped MTV.com. I get the feeling I’m witnessing an important technological advancement in its early stages. “It’s almost like it has its own music,” Jayson says lovingly of the sounds his printer is making. All of Jayson’s bios simply state, “I’m optimistic,” and indeed he lacks cynicism in a way that is admirable.

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He confirms that 3D printing is definitely in its early stages. “It’s like when you were trying to explain the Internet to people in the ’90s,” says Jayson. “Everyone was just like ‘why do we need that?’ . . . I feel like the train hasn’t even left the station yet.” Jayson’s interest in 3D printing was sparked when he read about a 3D printer in a magazine on an airplane about two years ago. “I thought it would be a cool way to make connector pieces for cameras,” he explains. “That’s why I got into it—for camera equipment and props for film.” Jayson is first and foremost a filmmaker. In fact, he has been working from sunset to sunrise as an assistant editor on a feature film (starring Tony Hale and Heather Burns) in Jackson, Tennessee, five days out of the week for the past few weeks. “[3D printing] is all just a hobby. Or a future job, hopefully,” he says. I admit to not knowing anything about 3D printers. “It’s like a regular printer; [it moves] left and right,” he explains. “And then it moves up a fraction of a centimeter—it’s called a micron—and then does the next layer and then moves up a micron and does the next layer until it just shapes this object. It can’t just build it in the air, so it has to build all of these support structures and then you have to break them off afterward.” He holds up his handheld scanner and shows me the room on his computer monitor.. He explains that the scanner is throwing infrared light on everything and measuring it all. “Let’s 3D print you!” he says. I laugh at the thought and ask if he’s serious. He is. In order to be accurately captured, I must slowly turn myself in a 360° motion as he holds the scanner still. Then I appear on the screen, and after sending my image through several programs to edit, it is ready to be sent to the printer. “This is the mathematical representation of you,” he says, “That’s what’s so crazy.” What’s even crazier is that most people will never see themselves in three dimensions, a fact I have considered in the past and accepted. But with an easy scan and thirty minutes of printing, that impossibility suddenly diminishes. Even if it’s only the tiniest representation of my three-dimensional self. I had assumed that 3D printing would be an expensive hobby,

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so I was not expecting to see it in action. While 3D printers themselves aren’t cheap by any means, the material is. “I just wanted to learn it, because I knew that once you learn it, you can make money off of it later on. So the printer was more of an investment. But the plastic filaments are dirt cheap . . . the overhead is like pennies.” The material that the objects are printed in is like lego-plastic—rings of plastic that get melted down and printed into the form. Because the filaments are fairly inexpensive, Jayson loves printing anything he can.“I just like sharing the idea of 3D printing with people,” he says. “I know when I was starting out I was like, ‘I just want to touch it; I just want to see what it’s like.’” Jayson helped put together Nashville’s first 3Dprinted art show back in December at Fort Houston. At the exhibit, they scanned everyone that wanted to be scanned. The show set out to raise awareness of 3D printing and its possibilities. As far as film goes, he wants to do it all: produce, write, and direct. “I’m usually not the writer. I’m more of the computer nerd. But me and my girl wrote sixty short films last year. We just have to get funding to do some.” His girlfriend is Amber Wilkinson. She works as the CEO of Indie Mutt Creative, a video production company that she recently started with Jayson. The couple met at film school and have been dating for years. “We’re kind of a weird couple,” he says. “She doesn’t ever want to get married, and we’re both just free spirits, so we’re like, ‘We’ll just love each other.’ And it’s awesome.” Jayson and Amber tend to collaborate often. They both recently helped NASA and PBS’s Janet’s Planet with a web series to educate about NASA’s New Horizons probe, which will soon complete its almost-decade-long journey to reveal a close-up look at Pluto for the first time in history. Jayson and Amber helped set up the series on YouTube and establish the #DearPluto campaign, a letter-writing project where kids can send words of encouragement to the frigid, forgotten planet. Jayson 3D printed a large portion of the set for the series, and both puppeteered.

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“IT’S LIKE WHEN YOU WERE TRYING TO EXPLAIN THE INTERNET TO PEOPLE IN THE ’90s.”

Jayson knew he wanted to start his YouTube channel Print That Thing the day he bought his printer. “[Amber and I] had been making YouTube channels, and we were thinking I could do a 3D-printing channel to show people along the way. But it took me six months of learning the 3D printer to reach a point where I could share. There’s nothing out there teaching you this stuff though. It’s a lot of just reading forums.” Print That Thing exists to demonstrate and encourage others to try 3D printing, especially the younger generation. “Our generation—this is isn’t our thing,” Jayson claims. “This is the kids’ stuff. I think kids are really going to take this and go with it. So I want to do tutorials for kids and workshops. They would think of things that we couldn’t even fathom.” The imagination of a child combined with access to such technology equals limitless possibilities. “I really just want to help kids learn about this and let them know that it’s possible.” My bracelet finishes, and I pull it off its base and put it on. It is flexible, not from the material but from the design alone. He then sends the mini figure of me to the printer. “What color do you want to be?” he asks. “I have black, pink, white, blue, glowin-the-dark, gold, green, silver, red . . .” I choose glow-in-the-dark. Jayson’s next project with his 3D printer: cat armor. “That’s my next adventure. Bobo’s coming with me to the film set because I’m going to try to stay at the hotel and work, and I’m going to be measuring him. It will be essentially seven to ten pieces, and I’ll put all of the pieces up for free and people can scale them up for how they want them to fit their cat.” While it’s true that it doesn’t seem terribly useful or important to have a device that can make bracelets or miniature glow-in-the-dark figurines

JAYSON WALL: printthatthing.guru Subscribe on YouTube @PrintThatThing native.is # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

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of yourself on demand, Jayson is confident that much of the future lies in 3D printing. “You can 3D print buildings. They’re doing it. They’re doing it for third-world countries because they can do it really fast . . . They’re going to build skyscrapers someday. You’re going to print your phone one day. It’ll print the metal, then it will print the circuit boards, then it will print the glass and your case around it.” He laughs a little at the thought but assures me it is highly likely. For now, 3D printing is mostly used for prototypes. “Right now, we’re still in the single filament stage,” Jayson explains. “Then we’ll move to the multifilament stages, which would be cell phones and stuff.” My mini-me figurine finishes and it’s tinier than he meant for it to be, but I am simply happy to have the souvenir and find it quite hilarious. “Do you know what 4D printing is?” he asks me. I shake my head and tell him I do not. “They’re doing it at MIT right now,” he says. “It’s like if you bought a piece of furniture from IKEA and then you open it and then you add water or whatever it needs and then it evolves, it grows, and puts itself together.” “How?” I ask in astonishment. “You prebuild it. It’s almost like doing origami. In the computer, in reverse. So it just expands and unravels itself.” Jayson believes that the food industry will also come into play with 3D printing. “It’s more like if you’re going to do really intricate wedding cakes or really crazy repetitive designs. It doesn’t really make sense right now— it’s easier to make a pizza than to 3D print one.” The future of the world may very well depend largely on 3D printing. But for now, Jayson’s future depends on continuing his YouTube channel, making his own films, and of course, armor for his cat and cats everywhere.

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LARPING O N A S U N N Y AFT E R N O O N PEELING BACK THE FOAM LAYERS OF DUR DEMARION, NASHVILLE’S PREMIERE LIVE ACTION ROLEPLAYING COMMUNITY BY SCOTT MARQUART | PHOTOS BY JONATHON KINGSBURY

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“DUCK!” I hear from behind, a split second before an arrow whizzes past my ear. The shot wasn’t fired by the company ahead of us; it came from our unit’s de facto captain—the veteran archer Kurn Blackwolf—and it strikes the side of one of the enemy swordsmen. Our unit is out of balance. We have more archers and fewer swordsmen than any of the other squads. The concentration of archers makes us a target, and the dearth of ground defenses makes us vulnerable. Our company shifts left, and I guard the right flank, knocking down stray arrows to keep our own archers safe. We try to use our position to pit the other units against one another, letting us use our aerial advantage to pick off enemies from a safe distance. The plan seems to be working until one of our archers lets go an arrow that grazes past a combatant in the company to our left. He seems to have forgotten about us, until now. He locks his eyes on us, then charges, bringing his whole unit rallying alongside him. We make our stand near the tree line. Our three small shields provide a meager defense, but we line them edge to edge and advance on the enemy unit. We swing our swords down hard against the enemy’s front lines, but nothing connects. We’re outnumbered. Our line breaks, and it’s every man for himself. I square up against two enemies—one about my size, the other taller and presumably stronger than I am. The smaller of the two slashes with his sword, taking out my right arm and leaving me with nothing but a shield. He swings again, and as I use my shield to block his sword, the larger fighter swings hard, connecting with my exposed torso—a fatal blow. I fall hard onto the ground. The dirt is dry and the air is hot. I stare up into the empty sky, watching rings of light open and close around the sun as I blink. The survivors head off for more action on the other side of the field, leav-

ing the dead behind to bake in the sun. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kurn— dead too, but sitting up underneath a tree’s branches. “The real trick,” he says, chuckling as he catches his breath, “is to always die in the shade.” **** If you’ve ever walked past Elmington Park on a Sunday afternoon, you might have noticed something strange. In the southwest corner of the park, up past the food trucks, cattycorner to the soccer players, there are dozens of people of all ages, dressed in medieval garb, beating the snot out of each other with foam swords, flails, axes, and javelins. You might have thought that these people were weird. You might be right. You’d have good sense to keep your distance from the melee, but if curiosity got the better of you and you went over to take a closer look, you might have noticed something even stranger. The members of Dur Demarion— Nashville’s chapter (or realm, as they call it) of the Belegarth Medieval Combat Society—are normal people. They’re airplane mechanics, software architects, and school bus drivers who just so happen to enjoy beating each other up with foam weapons while wearing medieval tunics and tabards. I know what you’re thinking, but before you rush to judgment, think about the last dozen things you’ve searched on Google and imagine what other people would think if they were put on display. We’re all a little weird. Some of us are just a bit more open about it. The members of Dur Demarion know what the public’s perception of their sport is—after all, most of them started as outsiders with the same preconceived notions you might have. But everything changes once you pick up a sword.

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“THE REAL TRICK IS TO ALWAYS DIE IN THE SHADE.”

Angelina—or Angel, as the group calls her—is Dur Demarion’s president, and a nurse, mother, and former Girl Scout troop leader in real life. If you met her at the grocery store or a hockey game, you’d never guess there was this other side to her. She might never have known about it either if she hadn’t stumbled into Belegarth by chance several years back. “I had just graduated high school, and my best friend’s boyfriend did this, and I thought he was such a nerd,” she laughs. “He went down to Ragnarok—which is a huge event, over one thousand people come out to that. She missed her boyfriend and wanted to go down to visit him. She wanted a road trip buddy, and I said, ‘Ugh, okay, fine.’ “So we drive down there, and the people in his camp, they needed water and supplies, and I said, ‘Fine, we’ll go to the store for you.’ I started making a list, and they noticed that I was left handed,” she says, holding out her hand. Left-handedness is uncommon in the sport and can offer a significant advantage if harnessed properly. “They said, ‘You should totally fight!’ And I was like, You guys are a bunch of dorks, I don’t want anything to do with this,” she says, shaking her head. “But they said, ‘No, no, no, come on!’ Someone put a sword in my hand, and that was history.” There is a certain magic that takes place the first time you pick up a sword, but it does take some getting used

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to. Before I go off to fight, I spar a bit with Angel, just to get the basics down. She asks me to hit her, and I strike her on the thigh—firm, but not too hard. I know she can take more than that, but it takes some unlearning to get used to the idea of hitting someone—a mother of two, no less. Once I get out on the field and start taking blows myself, all the timidity washes away. For one, these swords can do some damage. They’re not going to break your legs, but they can certainly leave a mark. Once you get hit for the first time, a primal part of the brain takes over. The strangest thing is how natural it all feels, even if you’ve never fought somebody before. Your body acts and reacts without consulting your brain, and it all happens so fast you’re left wondering who the stranger was that you turned into out there. This sense of turning into someone else is part of the base appeal of Belegarth, and the sport’s focus on characterization helps to smooth out the duality between who you are on the field and off. In the heat of battle, Rigtaugh, Umbara, Phoenix, and Arshank are fierce and fearless warriors—as sharp and skilled as they are merciless. But when the fighting ends, they’re as good-natured and affable as anyone you’ll ever meet. Every single person I meet gives me tips on how to improve and is happy to step aside and spar with me. Throughout the day, almost everybody checks in at some point to make sure that I’m having a good time— and it isn’t just because I’m writing about them for a magazine. Midway through the day, an older man with a handlebar moustache walks by and asks what’s going on. Before long, they’ve got a sword in his hands, gone over the basic rules, and sent him out on the field to try

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it out for himself. He sticks around for hours, talking and joking around with everybody like he’s been doing it for years. “It’s a community,” Angel says. “Once people come out here, we really try to make them feel welcomed, and we do a lot of things outside of just fighting here.” They host dinners in the wintertime, grill out in the warmer months, and take spring and fall retreats to Montgomery Bell State Park. Belegarth fosters lifelong friendships—Angel even met her husband through the sport. The lack of community in the digital age is well-documented, but in Dur Demarion these people have found their tribe, and it’s readily apparent how rich and engaging their community is. The public perception of Belegarth creates a barrier to entry for many, which is unfortunate because once you get past the stigma, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. “I was that same person who had preconceived notions,” Angel says. “These people are dorks—losers. I was right out of high school and still trying to be a cool kid. But once you put a sword in my hand I was like, This is so much fun! This is the best thing ever!” she beams. “And then you go to an event, and not only do you get to fight, but then at night you get to party and hang out with these great people, and camp and cook over a fire, and you have all this camaraderie and kinsmanship, and you’re like, This is the best thing in the world—who could want more than this?” In a city where people are so concerned with appearances and perceptions, doing something that is decidedly uncool can be thrilling, cathartic even. “Everybody has their quirks—we just let ours out in the open. Don’t be afraid to have a little fun,” Angel says. “Give everything a shot and see what you think about it before you form an opinion by just looking. Because you never know— just like me—how much fun something can be until you actually pick it up and give it a try.”

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CARTER CREEK GREENS GROWS FRESH PRODUCE WITHOUT EVER GOING OUTSIDE BY JUSTIN MABEE | PHOTOS BY REBECCA ADLER

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The streets and sidewalks of the 8th Avenue district bustle with all kinds of people, cars, trucks, and more just about any time you drive down there. The grad student running her standard six miles, a backup of compact cars and hatchbacks waiting for the train to pass, the straggling tourist group finally discovering Third Man Record Store—the neighborhood is chock full of constant movement. But nestled away in a forgotten warehouse on Ewing Avenue lies the quiet, makeshift workshop that is Carter Creek Greens. Owner and purveyor of the grow facility, Tom Maddox, greets me as I walk into an oasis of clean and brightly lit bins of seeds and plants. It’s a mad scientist’s laboratory of sorts. At least, these are the words Tom uses as he describes his process to me. The grow facility, which caters to local restaurants, has twenty to forty different types of plants lining the shelves, complemented by more than sixty different seed types, each and every one maintained by gallons of water being pumped in and then sprayed over them. The main reason behind the laboratory atmosphere? “It’s to give chefs a sense of what’s possible here,” says Tom. “It’s run just like their kitchens: it’s gotta be clean and everything in its place. I always tell these chefs, ‘Come down to the warehouse and see what we’ve got, take a load off.’” The warehouse aims to be a safe haven. “They always know we’ve got a case of PBR in that fridge,” Tom throws in. The operation isn’t just a one-man show. “Farmacist” Dylan Zweip greets me as we get started, and the duo mentions that their third partner, Jacob DePriest (whom they have titled “Specimen Curator”) couldn’t make it for the interview. They each have their own specific tasks when it comes to making sure the plants are well taken care of, and, without all three of them, the operation would cease to exist. “I can’t do all this myself,” Tom mentions. “They’re here as much as I am, fifty to sixty, sometimes seventy hours a week, cutting plants and taking them to the chefs. It’s a lot of work to make sure these plants are in the best shape.” Carter Creek Greens has only been in Nashville for just over eighteen months, but it has already become a fixture in town. The reason for it becoming so quickly and firmly established has a lot to do with Tom’s history with food. Twenty-three years ago, while still living in California, he began his journey to become a professional chef. It led him across state lines to the growing town of Nashville, his home for the last eight years. Once here, he soon joined the faculty at The Art Institute of Tennessee in the Culinary Arts department. He taught students for years, sharing, as he says,

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“the expertise that you can only really learn in a real restaurant environment.” His students’ achievements speak for themselves. Local favorite Kristin Beringson was a student under Tom during his days at the institute. She went on to become head chef at Holland House in East Nashville, and last August she took a role as head chef at one of the city’s newest eateries, City Winery, which is right down the street from the Carter Creek warehouse. In the same way that Tom was able to teach his students the value of hands-on experience, cofounder Dylan is learning as well. Dylan doesn’t have the chef background his partner has, but he was brought up in an environment that supports his current expertise. His mother owns a landscaping business and regularly experiments with homestyle hydroponics and general gardening. It was while working at a wine shop in East Nashville that he met Tom and built a friendship. They began exchanging thoughts and ideas that eventually led to the concept of Carter Creek. The rest, as they say, is history. From his lab, Tom maintains a steady relationship with all of his customers, speaking with many of them on a weekly, sometimes even daily, basis. That’s the way he prefers to do it. “The chefs know what works and doesn’t work in their dishes, and they know they want a certain flavor. I’m here to provide those flavors to them, as quickly and as freshly as they want it. I’ll keep a decent supply of everything, but it really depends on what the restaurants ask us to grow.” Much of what Tom, Dylan, and Jacob do every day (often multiple times a day) is

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field calls from chefs, find out what they’re looking for, cut specific greens or parts of a plant, hop on a bike or maybe into a car, and handdeliver the order to the requesting kitchen. “Most of the chefs in town, we cut what they’re looking for and deliver it forty-five minutes before their dinner service. It doesn’t really get much fresher than that,” says Dylan. “We might do twenty deliveries in a day.” Tom continuously talks about how this type of operation couldn’t succeed if they were twenty miles outside of Nashville. “The difference between Carter Creek Greens and a major purveyor [is that restaurants] place an order and something just gets dropped off. Or it’s not what they asked for. People want Italian Flat Leaf Parsley right now, and the majors keep dropping off curly parsley.” Tom’s tone gets a bit more terse here. “That shit goes on a plate at Shoney’s, from 1970,” he spits out, “not in 2015 at a fine dining restaurant. If they’re asking for Italian Flat Leaf, that’s what they should get. Plain and simple.” The beauty of Tom’s operation is that it regularly keeps restaurants, chefs, and ultimately, their customers, very happy. “All these great chefs started doing some amazing things here in town—this wouldn’t have worked four years ago. There wasn’t a demand for it.” He knows his team has carved out a unique niche during a great moment in Nashville’s growth. “As the restaurant scene started to build up, I started thinking, This might be a good time to grow a business like this. Nobody else is doing it. When we started, we were only doing two to three panels inside the warehouse. As it started to catch on, we filled out the space, and we started growing more.” “I’ll talk to the chefs on the phone daily and ask them, ‘What are you thinking about your menu?’ or ‘When’s your menu going to change?’ They’ll usually come back with questions or ask me to try a certain

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CARTER CREEK GREENS: cartercreekgreens.com Follow on Facebook @Carter-Creek-Greens native.is 70 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

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flavor they’re looking for. If I can source the seed through a good seed bank, we’ll do some trials on it and see if it works. This is kind of like my own laboratory. We’re always trying out new flavors and new seeds to make great tastes for these restaurants and give them exactly what they’re looking for.” He lets me test some of the one-of-a-kind flavors: tangerine lace, Japanese parsley, pea tendrils, and even a wheatgrass variation. Each piece is more flavorful than the last, with a nearly unfamiliar level of quality. These three really take a lot of pride in what they do. That’s the sense you get when you’re talking to Tom. He’s passionate, he’s brash, and he knows what the hell he’s talking about. To hear him speak about it, this level of intensity isn’t something that’s just needed, it’s what has, what does, and what will continue to garner respect in the restaurant business. Regular clients include Mitchell’s Deli, Husk, Music City Food & Wine, 404 Kitchen, Mason’s, and City Winery, among a slew of other local fine dining locations. Many vendors requesting Carter Creek Greens are located just a few minutes from the Ewing Avenue warehouse. When I ask him what his goals are for Carter Creek Greens, Tom looks me straight in the eyes. “The goal is to make a shit ton of fucking money!” We laugh, and then Tom gives me what seems to be a vision or mission statement of sorts. “The goal of Carter Creek Greens is to provide custom-grown greens to the high-end restaurants here in town, plain and simple. That’s what we do, and we do it well.” The specificity of what Tom and his partners have created in Nashville and what they do for the chefs in the city is, in a word, admirable. As experts who appreciate the freshness of organic produce and good quality seed, they want to help local restaurants accomplish something great. And judging by the flavors they cultivate, that won’t be hard at all.

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TRAVIS McVEY DRINKS VODKA CRANBERRIES, AND HE DOESN’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HIS PINK DRINK. HE ALSO MAKES A DAMN GOOD VODKA. HE DOES CARE WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THAT BY MARC ACTON | SOURCE PHOTOS BY JEN MCDONALD

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When I was getting ready to meet Travis, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like him. I’d already judged him by his bottle, so to speak. He’s the founder of the company that makes Heroes Vodka, which sells itself as the “Official Spirit of a Grateful Nation.” That’s even a registered trademark, along with “Monumental Taste” and “Some people drink to forget. We drink to remember.” Their bottle is red, white, and blue and ‘Merican all over. Every piece of marketing material that I’ve seen of theirs has “Buy Veteran” on it. Patriotic marketing can be tricky. Travis is a veteran himself. He had a pretty successful military career, even serving on a high-profile assignment as a presidential bodyguard (for Bush senior). As a current military guy myself, I love to see vets doing great things. I love hearing about people who’ve made it in the civilian world after getting out, and I love supporting those who are still trying. What I don’t like is feeling like somebody is capitalizing on that to make a buck. I feel this most when I see ads for a certain large, veteran-focused nonprofit that is more known for fundraising than actually helping people. Reading about Travis’ company, bombarded with “heroes this,” and “veteran that,” I was fully prepared to write a story about how corporate America needs to stop hijacking patriotism to shill crap. Because how dare you? I meet Travis at Acme Feed and Seed. The manager here likes him and supports his product. I’m interested to hear this but unfazed in my preemptive character judgment. Sitting in a quiet spot on Acme’s swanky second-floor couches, surrounded by old wood and leather, Travis launches into what is clearly his spiel. The polished ease with which he starts his story tells me everything I think I need to know about his motivation. Too slick. He tells me about his military past. Army Reserve personnel clerk. Joined the Marines as a way to get out of his small Indiana town. Boot camp in San Diego in 1989. Presidential guard for George H.W. Eventually got out of the Marines and went to work for Bridgestone. Deployed with the Marine Reserves during the Cuban refugee crisis. While telling me all this, he keeps using phrases like “cost of freedom” and “the war is something most people just see on TV,” even quoting Ronald Reagan. He got out of active duty in 1993. He’s even wearing two metal memorial bracelets that veterans are fond of, I’m assuming just to sell the whole vet package. Then he gets to the part of his sto-

ry where two of his Marine friends inspired his whole business. One died in Afghanistan. “I can still see him sometimes, when I think about [him.]” Travis is talking about Marine Staff Sergeant Thomas Rabjohn, who was killed in 2009 while serving as an explosives expert. “He had three daughters,” comes through muffled as he chokes up. His teary eyes immediately make me the asshole for doubting his motivation. “That’s when this whole idea came to me,” he continues. “I was sitting at the VFW on Memorial Day thinking about my friends, and I saw these commercials for liquor companies, basically giving us [veterans] lip service. ‘You send something in and we’ll send something back.’ But it was only Memorial Day or Veterans Day that they think about us.” That’s when the tire-builder at Bridgestone, who had decided he didn’t want to go into management because he didn’t want to play politics, who was still driving an old beater car and had no business experience, decided he’d start his own business. So he could give every day what other brands gave once a year. “I started researching different things to create. I got on Google and looked at different things, like bottled water. I saw where they’d sold Vitaminwater at one point for a bunch of money. Then I saw an article about Sidney Frank, who started Grey Goose. He basically figured the American people would pay ten to fifteen dollars more for a bottle of vodka that was made in France.” If Travis had a marketing department, they would’ve told him to start a bourbon company. Nothing in the liquor world is more American than bourbon. I ask him about this, and he explains that because bourbon has to age, there is a much longer lag time between manufacturing and booze on table. “I needed something I could make and sell right away,” he says. “It’s also a money thing.” Vodka just happens to be the highestselling spirit in America by far. To start his company, he went to an entrepreneur incubator in Murfreesboro. There, he was hooked up with a mentor who helped him jump through the hoops of starting a business. While in the office at the incubator, he found a copy of Vetrepreneur magazine, a publication focused on the growing number of men and women like Travis who are using the principles they learned through their military career to start successful businesses.

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HEROES VODKA: heroesvodka.com Follow on Facebook or Twitter @HeroesVodka native.is

“Reading these stories of other military men and women,” he says, “Like Sam Walton, Conrad Hilton, Bill Marriott, so many great veterans who started businesses, but also moms and pops who started a line of dry cleaners or lawn services—I saw that they did it, and if that guy can do it, I can do it.” Using the tools he learned from Vetrepreneur and his counselor, a Korean War vet named Bud Klika, Travis dove in. He developed his concept and his brand. But he needed distribution. Through Klika, Travis was hooked up with a local attorney, who in turn connected him with Robert Lipman, the biggest spirits distributor in Nashville. Travis says when he first called him, his response was, “Buddy, I have one hundred different vodkas in my warehouse. But since you’re a veteran, I’ll give you twenty minutes.” Travis says “us” and “we” a lot. He does it when he talks about veterans, and he does it when he talks about his business. It’s not only a subtle verbal cue to the way he looks at the world but also an indicator of what has made him successful so far, and that’s his authenticity. Because even if the royal blue and lilac pocket square poking out of

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his snappy black vest is maybe a little more old school than you’d choose yourself, or his spiel is too smooth, or his marketing plan is a little heavy on the patriotism, when he tells you how he feels about being able to give back to the military community that he still very clearly identifies with, you can’t help but believe him. And when you hear him use the same language about his company, it’s clear he’s just an “us” and “we” kind of guy. In that first meeting with Lipman, that’s what sold him. After listening, Lipman didn’t just offer to distribute his product—he offered to be his business partner, saying, “My grandfather was an immigrant who came to this country after he fought in World War I. Lipman Brothers was a veteran-founded business. And I want to help you because you’re doing this for all the right reasons.” I can feel my skepticism waning, now finding myself rooting for this guy who is clearly passionate about what he does. But there is an itch in the back of my jaded brain that hasn’t been scratched yet. What does it mean to give “a portion of each sale” to veteran charities? I had envisioned pennies on the dollar. I was way off.

I decide to just come out and ask him about it, sive ones have the bejesus distilled out of them and he gets a little sheepish. He asks me to keep so all you’re left with is water and ethanol. No the actual amount of money he gives per sale off taste, no impurities, (literally) no flavor. Heroes, the record, not because it’s embarrassingly low, like many of the midgrade vodkas, and even some but because it’s impossibly high, and he doesn’t of the premiums, is distilled a respectable four want to piss off potential investors or partners. I times. It tastes like, well . . . you know, like vodka. ask what I should say about the amount, and we Straight out of the freezer (which is how any selfagree I can say they’ve given more than $25,000 respecting drinker takes it) in an independent, in cash already, not counting product used for a unscientific, and admittedly boozy taste test, it’s plethora of fundraisers. “Put it this way—if we 100 percent indistinguishable from Grey Goose were as big as Skyy, we would be giving $10 to $12 and way better than bottom-of-the-barrel, plasticmillion,” he says. For a company that is still fight- bottled Skol. In a vodka cranberry (when in Rome ing for market share, $25K is more than respect- . . .), it’s indistinguishable from any vodka on the able—it’s extraordinary. You could buy ads that market, at any price point—at half the price of the would reach tens of thousands of people for that Big Booze versions. In the end, Travis’ decision to start a vodka much money. “A lot of people want to thank a veteran for their company jives with what I know about veterans: service,” says Travis, like he has a million times they are more likely to eschew expectations and before. “There’s an easy way to do it. There are piss off marketing experts by building something over 3 million veteran-owned businesses. We’re that makes sense rather than something that is not asking for a handout or something like that, overdesigned or overthought. In May, Heroes sold 180 cases in Nashville we’re just asking you to support our products and businesses.” But he’s not asking you to buy crappy alone—great for a young brand. Just a year ago, to support the troops. “My product just happens their monthly sales were in the few dozens, so to be award winning. We’ve won four gold medals their growth is solid. Travis travels the country selling bars and distributors on his brand. That’s and four silver medals for quality and taste.” The best vodka tastes like nothing. The expen- where his slick storytelling comes from—he’s sold

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from sea to shining sea. On a recent trip to Manhattan, he spoke at the Union League Club, one of the most famous social clubs in the Big Apple that traces its roots back to 1863. Heroes is now their house vodka. The club also sent out an email to its members, one of which is putting Heroes in the large chain of Manhattan bars he owns, including some big names like Legends, Playwright, and Bourbon Street Bar and Grille. The story sells. And the vodka’s way better than it needs to be to not get in the way. In just a few years, Heroes has secured distribution in more than a dozen states. Hip Nashville joints like Burger Republic and Richard Blais’ FLIP Burger are getting on board, with the latter serving a Proud Mary (Bloody Mary with Heroes, duh) and the former serving Heroes as their well vodka and planning to release a Heroes-powered milkshake. They sell in liquor stores too, of course. A half-gallon is less than $20. Another of Heroes’ taglines is “Better story, better price, better vodka.” It’s appropriate. Travis tears up again as we’re finishing up. I ask him what his two friends who inspired this crazy adventure into vodka land would think of his company. Unsurprisingly, he answers by telling me a story that isn’t about him. “I met [my friend Thomas’] mom,” he says. “She had bought a bottle [of Heroes] from a store. I said, ‘Ma’am, you never have to buy another bottle of vodka.’” He then tells me how his goal, “when this thing gets really big,” is to give them a very big check. “To make their lives different.” He has to stop talking for a second when he continues about meeting his friend Richard’s daughter. Richard was his other Marine friend—he was killed in the line of duty as an Indiana State Trooper. “I could see his eyes in her. And she gave me . . .” he breaks off. “She gave me the chevrons from his funeral, and the last bullet that was shot in his twenty-one-gun salute.” There is no sales pitch in the tears that well up in his eyes again. But I’m sold anyway.

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DON COYOTE doncoyote.bandcamp.com Follow on Facebook @DonCoyoteBand or Twitter @doncoyoteyall native.is

YOU OUGHTA KNOW: DON COYOTE

Do you remember country music? I’m not talking about dudes with highlights holding up devil horns to a sold-out crowd at Nissan Stadium (that’s what we’re calling LP Field now, right?). I’m talking real blue-collar, whiskey-sippin’, haychewin’ country music. Don Coyote is exactly that. You know how you can supposedly hear the ocean by putting a conch shell to your ear? Well, if you happen to find a cow skull anywhere this side of I-65 and put it up to your ear, rumor has it Don Coyote’s new album Bless Your Heart is what you’ll hear. It’s country music that isn’t scared to make you laugh, cry, get divorced, or even kill (though the band does not condone that last one). Something I condone is getting a couple friends together and going out to a Don Coyote show. Hell, put on a bolo tie and some boots and make a whole night of it. The band’s mantra is, “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country’s music.” Want to do something for your country’s music? Listen to Don Coyote. –Courtney Spencer, Art Director

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SCOUT'S WEST OPENS AUGUST IN SYLVAN PARK

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ANIMAL OF THE MONTH Written by Cooper Breeden*

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T he

Eastern Box Turtle We are a city full of big dreamers. Many of us have ventured beyond what is routine and familiar for a chance to scrawl our own narrative of success and prosperity. We have a compatriot who also risks it all, carapace and plastron, every year. A hermit though he may be—shying into his tiny house whenever confronted—our Tennessee State Reptile, the Eastern box turtle, like us, wishes to cross the road and get a glimpse of the other side. Should you come across this brave little reptile, here are a few things to keep in mind. First, unlike some of us, our friend is pointing in the precise direction he means to go, though he could sometimes use a little help getting there. Simply place him out of the danger of traffic in the direction he was already facing. Second, rest assured he knows where he’s headed, so a few feet off the side of the road will be sufficient. Though it may seem like a good idea to release the turtle in the woods, you may actually be taking him off course and subjecting him to a detour full of even more perilous road crossings. Once safely on the other side of the road, what exactly is our turtle hoping to find? The male turtles roam about their home range seeking a female, and the females are in search of a place to lay their eggs. After a successful mating, the female box turtle may wait a while before laying her eggs, sometimes for several years. She will normally lay between three and eight eggs that will hatch three months later. If you see a box turtle, you can tell the difference between the male and female by looking at the plastron (the turtle’s underside) and the eyes. The males will have a concave plastron and bright red or orange eyes; the females will have a flat plastron

and brown eyes. By the way, if you’re not sure whether or not the turtle is an Eastern box turtle, the surest sign is that it’s hanging out somewhere out of the water (and not basking on the bankside), because the box turtle is one of Tennessee’s few terrestrial turtles. Most of our other turtles spend the majority of their time in or near water. If you want to be dead certain it’s an Eastern box turtle, get close so that it retreats into its shell. The box turtle is the only turtle in Tennessee that can completely shut in its head and feet, safe from any dangers of the outside world. Though they are terrestrial, they prefer to call moist places home and may be seen taking a soak. If you want to ﬁnd a box turtle, your best bet is after a rain that may have forced it out of its hiding spot in a hole in the ground or under a log. Fortunately, the rain also sends some munchable critters—earthworms, slugs, insects—on the move, so you may catch the turtle midmeal. Like us, box turtles come across hurdles of all kinds in their quest for love and life. Unfortunately, in Tennessee the hurdles are getting taller, and we’re seeing fewer and fewer box turtles each year. It’s no secret that Nashville is growing quickly, and as that continues, we may see more turtles forced out of their homes and across more roads. So if you see a box turtle on the road, do it a solid and lend it a helping hand. And while you’re at it, let the box turtle be an encouragement in the pursuit of your dreams. Let’s follow the turtle’s lead—let’s boldly cross the road into the unknown and with a ﬁery zeal seek out our purpose on the other side.

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DELIVERING THE UNDELIVERABLE.

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