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COVER-OFF CONTEST WINNER:

PARTY OF SEVEN PHOTOGRAPHY

by Lisa Housman 770.584.7435 www.partyofsevenphotography.com

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PlugIn. PHONE 770.412.0441 SURF Visit Us on Facebook® or KitchenDrawer.net SNAP Shoot Over Your Best Photographs BUY Advertise With Us SCRATCH Write for Us – Contribute Articles & Ideas SEND Email Us at stuff@kitchendrawer.net

9–2009 7 9 1 S AR E Y 0 3 G N I C E L EBRAT

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he Tiger Lily was established in 1979 by then owners, Clara Clark and Lutie Johnston. Located at the corner of Hill and Taylor Streets, it joined three other successful ladies’ shops on South Hill Street: Crouch’s, Smith Roberts, and The Roof Top. The existing shops were all located on the west side of Hill Street at that time. Local citizens warned the entrepreneurs that ladies would never cross South Hill Street to shop on the east side of the street, but they forged on, buying the blue metal building that housed the Top Dollar Store and beginning renovations to the building.

Never having seen the building at its origins, a Williamsburg look was decided on. With the skill and talents of contractor Ivy Burson, the corner was transformed with the additions of brick, a new roof design, new windows, and a bay window on the Taylor Street side. The Tiger Lily opened in the fall of 1979, offering the latest in fashion and gifts. In 1982, Mrs. Clark retired and Lutie and Linda Johnston became the sole proprietors.

The Tiger Lily enjoyed many successful years in the fashion business, dressing customers from Griffin, Atlanta, Macon, and small towns around the state. Some very talented women worked for The Tiger Lily and contributed to its success.

Today, the dresses are gone, but in their place are many jewelry and accessory

items to keep the gals fashionable, including the popular Brighton handbags and accessories. If you frequent the store, you may luck into an outstanding jacket or blouse reminiscent of the classic styles well loved by The Tiger Lily customers of the past.

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Today’s Tiger Lily, which offers bridal registry, is brimming with wedding gifts, darling gifts for babies, handsome lamps, pictures, and other items for home decorating. Known for its wholesale line of engraved jewelry and acrylics, The Tiger Lily offers prompt service on these as well as monogrammed and embroidered gifts under the expert leadership of Janie Clark.

This season promises beautiful and clever holiday gifts and items to deck your halls. Manager Gerry Smallwood will give you wonderful service in her delightful way, and your selection will be elegantly wrapped for free, as has been the practice for 30 years.

Today, the dresses are gone, but in their place are many jewelry and accessory items to keep the gals fashionable.

Having a successful business in Downtown Griffin for 30 years has been a challenge, especially in today’s economy, but thanks to great employees and their truly wonderful customers, The Tiger Lily is a survivor. Help the staff at The Tiger Lily celebrate their 30th birthday on November 5-6, 2009! There will be sales, drawings for prizes, and lots of reminiscing.

Don’t miss it!!

Corner of Hill & Taylor Streets, Downtown Griffin (770) 228-1979

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hyllis Wilcox, 65, is a tiny, bespectacled woman with gunmetal grey hair (â&#x20AC;&#x153;natural highlightsâ&#x20AC;?), impeccably groomed and soft-spoken. One would never guess that this diminutive package houses a heavyweight champ.

Phyllis is one of those people for whom life has been one long test of tremendous endurance, and Phyllis is still very much in the game.

Phyllis grew up a country girl in 1950s Griffin and had what was probably an average childhood for a girl in that time and place. She had chores to do before school, taking care of a calf and some pigs, and later, after years of begging, a horse. She made dollhouses of stones with pieces of wood for furniture and rode with her cousins in a cart pulled by her Uncle Henryâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tractor. As a teenager, Phyllis was popular and pretty and learned to dance by imitating the kids on Dick Clarkâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s American Bandstand. Her parents were strict and religious, her mother domineering.

Everything went wrong when Phyllis dated a boy who wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t what he seemed. After a date rape left her pregnant at 18, Phyllis endured a â&#x20AC;&#x153;shotgunâ&#x20AC;? wedding and subsequent abuse by two consecutive alcoholic husbands, poverty, arson, another rape by a serial rapist, the marriages of all three of her daughters to abusive men, the murder of her oldest daughter, and the kidnapping of her grandson, among many other things. And, through all of this, the justice system that should have supported and defended Phyllis left her alone to fight, not only her abusers, but also the system itself.

Phyllis has a wall in her home devoted to her murdered daughter, Penni, beaten and strangled to death by her jealous husband who shot himself afterwards. Stacked against the wall are canvases â&#x20AC;&#x201C; paintings that Phyllis did in the past before the medicine she takes for her bipolar disorder shut down her creativity. She pulls out a thick scrapbook, packed with newspaper clippings that chronicle her story.

On the night of June 10, 1984, Phyllis had just drifted off to sleep in her home that also doubled as her salon, when a brick came through her window, and she saw two hands on the sill. She screamed and ran to the front door, but the man ran around the house and cut her short before she could get out. He told her that if she didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t cooperate, he would â&#x20AC;&#x153;come back and do the same thing to those three pretty little

< girlsâ&#x20AC;? of hers. Darrell Jacksonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s M.O. was to target poor, single mothers and threaten their children to keep them from fighting back.

Soon after the rape, Phyllis happened to share her story with a client whose sister had also been raped three years earlier.

When Dianne Smith heard Phyllisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; story from her sister, she knew immediately that she and Phyllis had been raped by the same man, by then known as The West Side Rapist.

When he raped Phyllis, and at least two more women that year, Jackson was free on a $25,000 appeals bond from two life terms plus 20 years for the 1981 rape and kidnapping of Dianne Smith in which he held a knife to the throat of her child as he raped her. Phyllis and Dianne got together and went public about the outrage of this serial rapist set free without a shred of new evidence.

Jackson had asked to be freed on bond while his case was being appealed. At his hearing, the State presented no evidence to prevent this from happening. Judge Andrew Whalen Jr. therefore said he had no choice but to grant Jackson his freedom. This negligence on the part of the State spurred Phyllis to go further and demand an investigation.

It came to light that District Attorney Johnnie Caldwell, who prosecuted Jackson in the first rape trial, never got the testimony tapes transcribed from Jacksonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 1981 trial in Spalding Superior Court, which would have composed the written evidence necessary to overthrow the appeal.

Caldwell blamed a glutted court system for the oversight.

At Jacksonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s second trial on October 9, 1984, four of his eight known rape victims agreed to testify, but Jackson pled guilty five minutes before the women were due to testify in court. There were no victimsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; rights laws that gave the women the right to testify anyway or even to give an impact statement. Nevertheless, Jackson was sentenced to three life sentences plus 20 years to be served consecutively, followed by two life sentences plus 20 years to be served concurrently.

Phyllis set out to establish rights for victims who would come after her. She contacted a woman in Savannah who had started the first Crime Victims Program in Georgia, and she gave Phyllis pointers on how to begin a local chapter.

Phyllis lobbied â&#x20AC;&#x201C; approaching state and local politicians with her plight. Most of them, she recalls, would politely

%RDUGLQJ *URRPLQJ hand her their business cards and direct her to their secretaries, a move that Phyllis recognized as a genteel brush-off. Finally, after a particularly discouraging morning, Phyllis approached Senator Culver Kidd as he got off the elevator. When the senator offered his card, Phyllis responded by pulling a stack of business cards from her pocket: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I have all the cards I need, Senator. What I need right now is for someone to damn well listen to what I have to say.â&#x20AC;? (Phyllis apologizes here for the strong language, but she was desperate.) Phyllis began to tell the senator her plight, and tears of frustration and pain began to run down her face. Senator Kidd put his arm around her shoulders and said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m taking you to lunch.â&#x20AC;?

With the Senatorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s backing, Phyllis testified in behalf of crime victimsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; rights at a State Senate hearing in 1986, and that was the beginning of our Georgia Crime Victims Program that now ensures rights for victims, not just the victimizers.

Phyllis continued to take her story before the media, writing to the papers and calling radio and television shows. When she called in to a Geraldo show on prisonersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; rights, Phyllis didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get on the air, but was soon contacted to appear on the show as a guest, which she did in 1993.

Phyllis has made it her lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work to see that other women donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to suffer as she did. She volunteers each week with Promise Place battered womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shelter.

She has written a book about her experiences in the hope to reach other women in similar circumstances. Phyllisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; surviving two daughters have each been married three times. All of them were initially drawn to abusive, alcoholic men. Phyllis feels a tremendous sense of guilt at having remained in her own abusive marriage for so long when her daughters were small: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I taught them not to expect any better.â&#x20AC;?

And Phyllis has made it a goal to keep Jackson behind bars with 25 yearsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; worth of letter writing to help prevent his parole. Phyllis claims that Jackson is the first convicted rapist in the State of Georgia who has actually had to serve out a life sentence. Phyllisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; book From Victim to Victorious is candid, without being graphic.

It is unedited, full of typos, tense shifts, misspellings and digressions, and we couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t put it down. It is candid and heart-wrenchingly innocent throughout.

For example, Phyllisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; account of the birth of her first child at 17, right after being served with divorce papers by her abusive husband: My water broke a few days later and I went in to early labor. I called my parents and they rushed me to Crawford Long Hospital in Atlanta.

I remember it was snowing and I was so frightened. Mama had on a beautiful coat and she lost a button that night. I was worried about her loosing the button and so scared.

The back of Phyllisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; book is filled with scans of newspaper articles and other evidence that backs the veracity of her story and chronicles her struggle in behalf of the powerless, the voiceless, the forgotten. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s easy to see why one of Phyllisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; proudest moments was being named the 1990 â&#x20AC;&#x153;Most Unforgettable Woman in Atlantaâ&#x20AC;? by Revlon. Phyllis continues to ensure that we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ever forget.

From Victim to Victorious is available at The Next Chapter Book Store, Bookland, Hobbs Pharmacy, Bowenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pharmacy, and The Gallery at Indian Springs.

If you know of someone extraordinary in Lamar, Pike, or Spalding County, please introduce us! Email us at stuff@kitchendrawer.net with your suggestions.

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(left to right): Joe & Renee Vizi, Eco-Scrub Carpet Cleaners; Mike Shell, Maxi-Lube;

David Hammond, Hammond Services; and Jay & Everett, Veritas Eco-Management Group

Kitchen Drawerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Entrepreneur Focus features a group of local business owners who offer their talents, products, and services to enrich their communities. We hope the stories of their struggles and triumphs while building their businesses serve to encourage and inspire those who may be considering taking on the risks, challenges, and joys of entrepreneurship.

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When Joe and Renee Vizi moved their family to the area four years ago, going into business for themselves was not what they had planned. Joe had been a manager for a printer for nearly 25 years, and Renee was busy raising the next generation of Vizi boys. Shortly after Joe accepted a promotion and transfer, his relationship with the employer began to sour; “Their values and my integrity were at an impasse. We decided that the future security of our children was more important than the securities of today!” In the fall of 2007, the Vizis made a decision that would forever change their lives: Eco-Scrub Carpet & Floor Care was born!

Enjoy the finest and healthiest carpet cleaning in Georgia with the world-class service of Eco-Scrub Carpet & Floor Care. Our company is an eco-friendly floor care service. We follow all major carpet manufacturers’ recommendations and warranty requirements, including those for stain-resistant carpeting.

We understand carpet is a major purchase that you want to protect. We will keep your carpet looking beautiful for years to come! And we care for more than just carpet. Whether it’s an upholstered family heirloom, your newest purchase, or a thrift store treasure, you can trust Eco-Scrub to clean, refresh and perk up each piece. If you walk on it, sit on it, or sleep on it… we can clean it.

We were voted as Pike County Small Business of the Year for 2008. The Institute of Inspection, Cleaning and Restoration Certification has accredited us with “Certified Firm” status as well as individual certifications for all services that we offer. We are in Perfect Standing with the Better Business Bureau and are a Premier member of Ethical Services. , Ben, Conor

right) Aaron (kids pictured left to Renee Vizi (mom & dad) Joe &

Our business philosophy is simple; Do more for less and make friends.

Serving Fayette, Pike, Spalding, Coweta, Meriwether, Lamar, and Upson Counties

Tel: 770-227-0001 | Toll Free: 1-888-851-5759 | www.eco-scrub.com | EcoScrub@aol.com

Maxi-Lube, Inc. celebrating 21 years in business…

Over 20 years ago, Mike and June Shell bought a two-bay oil change shop from Mike’s uncle.

Mike decided that Maxi-Lube, Inc. would offer the folks in Griffin and surrounding areas a shop where they could feel comfortable bringing their vehicles to be serviced. Maxi-Lube has grown through the years to a two-shop, full-service auto repair, oil change, and tire center, thanks to its devoted customers. Maxi-Lube, Inc. offers products and services such as state-of-the-art Hunter Alignment, New and Used Tires, Nitrogen Tire Service, A/C Service, Complete PM Oil change service, Tune-Ups, Brakes, Rotors, CV Axles, Shocks and Struts, Rotate and Balance, Mufflers, Custom Exhaust, and more. We also offer Fleet Services for your business needs and FREE pick-up and delivery within a 10-mile radius.

We aim to meet the needs of all of our customers. We have created a place that can meet all of their auto repair and maintenance needs. Many of our customers have been coming to us from the beginning, and now we are seeing second and third generations of families coming to Maxi-Lube for service on their vehicles. We love to build long-lasting relationships with our customers. We know that they are what make our business successful.

We have not only built lasting relationships with our customers but also with our employees. Most of our employees have been with us for over 15 years. Our customers like the fact that they see the same faces year to year as they have maintenance and repairs done on their vehicles. We look for team players when we hire.

Our customers are our first priority, and that, along with convenience is what has made Mike Shell a successful business owner in a small town.

If you are looking for a one-stop shop to take care of all your vehicle needs, give us a try. We promise you will be thrilled with the services, the convenience, and the superb customer service we offer.

Tel: 770-227-1004 | 770-227-0484 | www.maxilube.net

In 2006, Meadowlark Gardens was still mowing its vast expanse of lawns with a consumer-model John Deere belly-mower that had been purchased almost 20 years earlier. Missing all of its familiar green and yellow fenders, a few apparently optional safety features, and the throttle, it chopped grass with the care and consideration of Freddie Kruger. The situation had to be improved, and Jay Averett, Meadowlark’s director, set out to find a solution. It arrived on the back of a well-groomed, orange SCAG zero-turn mower – Everett Park.

The difference has been remarkable.

Jay and Everett found that Meadowlark Gardens were not the only grounds upon which the two would work together. Jay increasingly found himself consulting, designing, and working for other estate-sized landscapes from Athens to Columbus. Everett’s reputation as a hard-working, qualityoriented man of integrity continued to expand his landscaping clientele, and, somehow, the two kept bumping into each other out in the field. The “ah-ha” moment finally came, and the two joined forces to create The Veritas Eco-Management Group.

Veritas specializes in research-based landscape and property management that caters to the specific needs of each customer. With Jay and Everett’s comprehensive academic and practical background, Veritas can holistically manage all aspects of your landscape. They offer everything from traditional landscape maintenance to organic soil building – even going the extra distance on projects like transforming a wonderful old (and dead) European beech tree that a customer’s great-grandmother planted into a custom-designed coffee table. They truly love what they do and bring an unparalleled passion for new challenges and lifelong learning to their work.

Tel: 770-584-6170 | 678-920-8520 | www.Eco-veritas.com

HVAC . PLUMBING . ELECTRICAL

“Griffin’s been a blessing” according to Hammond Services President David Hammond. “I always say, you can have bumps in the road, but dreams can still come true.” Hammond is certainly proof of that.

David’s father, Ed Hammond, founded Hammond Services in 1979. David, on the other hand, became a civil engineer and then worked in the corporate world for many years, making good money and working around the clock, implementing and managing engineering and construction projects.

Things changed when David’s 18-month-old son Daniel was diagnosed with Smith-Magenis Syndrome, a genetic developmental disorder. David was about to take a position overseas, but recognizing his son’s need for a stable environment, he decided to join his father in the family business. He’s never regretted it.

Now in its 30th year, Hammond Services provides heating and cooling (HVAC), plumbing, and electrical services to Griffin and the surrounding area. The company provides true expertise in all three areas, sending HVAC Service Technicians for heating and cooling jobs, plumbers for plumbing, and electricians for electrical work. It’s not a handyman service, but a fully qualified and insured provider of all kinds of home services.

But what best distinguishes Hammond Services is an extreme commitment to customer satisfaction. David Hammond actually encourages complaints. Why? “I believe in keeping the business model simple,” he says. “If we give you the good service and value you deserve each and every time you call, you’ll call again.” So, when it’s not right, Hammond Services wants to hear about it, and they’ll make it right.

Ed Hammond is retired from the business, and now puts his own values to work with The Christian Men and Women of Action, working to improve the homes of elderly folks who can’t afford repairs. That kind of value-based living infuses everything Hammond Services does, and David Hammond works hard to live up to his father’s example.

Tel: 888-702-4995 | www.hammondservices.com

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e put in at Flat Shoals: Louis, Greg, and I, each in our own kayak. I’d never been in a kayak before, but for some reason it felt natural as soon as I hopped in it. Greg led the way, and Louis kept a close watch over me from behind. The beauty of the river is beyond words. It was truly love at first sight. I paddled along the calm waters, where all I could hear were crickets chirping and the soft trickle of the water as my paddle made contact with it. I felt at peace. Up ahead the sound of a steady stream of water began to get louder. We were fast approaching our first little rapid. I paddled carefully as I observed the raging waters ahead.

I wasn’t quite sure what I needed to do, so I let the water decide. The water pulled me sideways and I thought, “Okay, I’ll just go with it.” Next thing I knew I was pinned under water, my head banging against the flipped kayak.

Finally I was able to thrust the boat off of me and maneuver myself over to a calmer area of the river. I looked over at Greg, and he had a smile on his face.

This was nothing out of the ordinary $Q (QGDQJHUHG *HRUJLD 7UHDVXUH for him. I looked behind me as Louis Ashley Green was approaching the same spot that took me under. He nearly made it through before the kayak took a spin and threw him out as Congressmen have made plans to build a dam at well. Two men Sprewell Bluff, contending that with regulated down within the first five minutes dams, the Flint could reduce dependency on of the trip: this Lake Lanier as the primary source of water to was going to be Atlanta citizens. an amusing day.

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When floating down the Flint, you feel as if you’ve gone back in time, before civilization brought its power lines, roads, motors, billboards – just the water ahead and the trees that surround it. It’s hard to believe that something so pristine is still close by. The Flint is one of the last of these places in Central Georgia, and sadly its survival is not likely.

For many years the Flint River has been on the government’s ‘hit list’ of rivers to be destroyed for the purpose of building a dam to provide another water source for the growing city of Atlanta. It is justified by the promise of jobs, recreation, and real estate.

However, with a closer look, these justifications do not outweigh the costs, and it is up to the citizens to unearth the real truths behind the matter.

Congressmen have made plans to build a dam at Sprewell Bluff, contending that with regulated dams, the Flint could reduce dependency on Lake Lanier as the primary source of water to Atlanta citizens. President Jimmy Carter successfully fought these plans while he was Governor of Georgia, which eventually led to the de-authorization of three projects on the Flint in the Water Resources Development Act of 1986.

“At the time, the Flint River was basically ignored. But when the idea of the dam came along, I was urged by a few outdoorsmen, fishermen and environmentalists to take a critical look at the project to see if it was justified. I personally canoed down the river twice. I went fishing on the river for shoal bass, a species indigenous to the Flint. I began to see what would change about the upper Flint if the dam at Sprewell Bluff was built.”

—Jimmy Carter, as printed in the preface of “Flint River” The Flint River is one of only 40 rivers in the nation’s contiguous 48 states that flow unimpeded for more than 200 river miles. It is well loved by anglers, boaters, and Eagle Scouts like Louis Green. It is one of Georgia’s most valuable natural treasures, and one of its last. Congress must deny attempts to authorize new dams on the Flint, and Metro Atlanta must institute water-efficiency measures to lower its water use. Instead, Congress is pressing for the construction of the

dam, promising the public that this will create more opportunity for its citizens.

However, these opportunities mentioned act merely as a veil that covers the real motives to destroy this natural treasure in order to funnel an additional water supply.

After a few more flips in the boat, the waters became calm.

We paddled slowly down the river in silence for the second half of the trip. I saw a Blue Heron soar by and land on the water’s edge. I saw a large turtle resting on a piece of driftwood. I heard geese calling beyond the trees. As I looked over at Louis, I noticed he was shaking his head.

He said, “You hear that sound? Well that sound will no longer exist after they destroy the river. Instead, we’ll hear nothing but the sound of motorboats speeding by.”

We exited the river at Highway 18/74, where Greg’s truck was parked. We hauled our boats onto the truck and headed to Sprewell Bluff, where the proposed dam is to be built.

On the way to the Bluff we made a pit stop at perhaps the most beautiful view of the Flint from up high. It took my breath away. We stood there and gazed at the river, in awe of its beauty, and then continued our journey to the Bluff.

Sprewell Bluff is a beautiful place to spend the day swimming, grilling, trail walking, playing volleyball, and of course, jumping off the infamous giant rock that rests in the middle of the river. If a dam is built here, this will all disappear. It seems to be the hope of those in favor of the dam that Sprewell Bluff will in due course fade in popularity by the time it reaches its inevitable demise. If you’ve never heard of the Bluff, this is probably why.

If you have not visited the Flint River, I urge you to do so.

Kayaks and canoes can be rented for the day for a very low price. Visiting Sprewell Bluff will cost you $5 for parking.

The magnificent view overlooking the Flint is just up the road from Sprewell Bluff. See it, experience it firsthand, and ask yourself what you really want for the future, and for your children’s future. Ultimately, it will be the citizens who decide the Flint’s destiny. The future is in our hands!

ArtisticF lowers (770) 228-6300

F R O M E V E RY DAY T O

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610 WEST SOLOMON STREET

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GRIFFIN, GA

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Photos taken at Meadowlark Gardens. Visit www.meadowlarkgardens.net ZZZ NLWFKHQGUDZHU QHW

opposite page: Sweater: Anthropologie skirt: Banana republic belt: Urban outfitters This Page (left): hat: Urban Outfitters jeans: gap Gloves: Antique Griffin This Page (right): Halter Dress: Ross t-strap flats: Factory brand shoes

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ou’ve made your way to your stand in the dark, easing through the still woods with nothing to guide you but your flashlight and any markers you put up during daylight. You settle on your seat, 30 feet above ground, and arrange everything carefully so you can move into shooting position without a sound, then you relax. It is a half hour before legal shooting time and far too dark to see a deer on the ground, anyway.

The stars are clear and bright beyond anything you can see from town, they are hard and cold. And if the air is icy they do not blink at all; they just stare unwaveringly back at you.

Then you hear a sound, a slight crackling in the leaves. Is it the big buck you seek, moving past well before you have any chance to take it? Or is it a raccoon making his last food forage before the sun runs him into hiding? You remember the mountain lion killed near LaGrange last year – not nearly far enough away. In the dark you will never know what it is, but your imagination sure can go wild.

There is a little lightening of the sky to the east. The stars seem to fade a bit in that direction, and within minutes vague shapes emerge on the forest floor. That one beside the big pine is a trophy buck, frozen, listening. You don’t dare move for fear of spooking him. Please let him stay there just long enough for you to get shooting light.

Shooting light proves the buck to be a stump. You’d known it was there but the gray light changed it. Bushes, trees, rocks, and stumps take on a different life before the sun comes up.

Suddenly you notice your breath. Foggy plumes issue from you into the air; it’s like waving a white flag for any wise old buck to stay clear. So you breathe gently, trying to make it disappear.

When it gets light enough to shoot, you keep your head still and move only your eyes.

You hear a distinct crunch in the leaves behind you. A squirrel.

No reason even to look; no deer ever makes that much noise.

Still, you inch your head around as carefully as possible. Sure enough, there is that bushy tail.

Birds appear as out of a magician’s hat, suddenly perching on limbs around you and greeting the sun. They go about their business as you watch. But when a woodpecker drums on the tree just over your head, you almost jump to the ground in fear.

Minutes drag, but suddenly you have been in the tree for hours. The sun is high and bright and there has been no sign of a deer. But just as you decide to leave for the day, you see a whitetail standing broadside to you not 30 yards away in the open. How in the world did it get there? It must have popped out of the ground like a mushroom.

Your heart pounds louder than the woodpecker’s racket until you see it is a doe, and you are not meat hunting today.

You enjoy her beauty as she browses on acorns. Again you feel that conflict over shooting such a pretty animal but know that when the time comes, you will, and enjoy the venison cooked many ways.

The doe leaves, so you decide it is time to return to the real world. It never fails. As you lower your gun to the ground, a snort behind you snaps your head around and there stands the biggest buck you have ever seen, watching you intently while your gun is 30 feet below. No matter – you wouldn’t have time to raise it to fire even if it was in your hands.

The buck bounds off, and you know he will avoid this stand for the rest of the season. But you have other stands and plans in mind. His time will come.

As you climb down, get your gun and start walking out of the woods, you wonder how anyone could consider such a day unsuccessful. .

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wenty-three years ago, John Williams and some friends wanted a place to casually play music, and the Williamson Music Barn was born. In 1991, Harold and Charlotte Kirkland and 18 other people got together on a back porch in Pike County with a vision to create somewhere to play, sing, and share music. That evening they created the Hollonville Opry House. Both venues, members of the SouthEastern Bluegrass Association (SEBA), take pride in their intimate settings, mixture of wonderful local and regional talent, and feeling of fellowship. %2552*6<87 ><2, *;7 John Williams and his wife Sandra opened the Williamson Music Barn on March 29, 1986. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I was a frustrated picker and didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have anywhere to pick,â&#x20AC;?

Williams says. Since music was a hobby, he would often get together with other musicians in the community and pick. â&#x20AC;&#x153;We had a little band and nowhere to go, so I said, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Why donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t we open up this place, invite our friends, and have some fun?â&#x20AC;&#x2122;â&#x20AC;? He was living next door to the barn, which was at the time an old garage. A friend owned it and suggested that he rent it, and he and four friends got together to rent the building.

Stepping inside the Barn is like stepping directly into the pure South. It is a bucolic, comfortable setting in a barn that started out as a 14 x 16 room, but has since gradually doubled in size. Every Saturday night starting at 6 p.m., three bands grace the small stage to play bluegrass, country, and gospel music for nearly four hours. Though some bands do bring electrical instruments, most of the music is acoustic, with even the occasional eccentric instrument, such as a donkeyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s jawbone.

The Music Barn books bands a year in advance. All bands play for free. If a singer is booked without a band, the Barn will provide a backup band. â&#x20AC;&#x153;We run on a very low budget; our budget isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t much at all.â&#x20AC;?

Nevertheless, the Music Barn has also featured musicians well known around the bluegrass circuit, such as the Osborne Brothers and The Marksmen Quartet, but most of them are local from Pike, Lamar, Upson, and Fayette counties. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I did not have any idea that there were this many musicians around this area,â&#x20AC;? Williams says.

On a typical Saturday night, the Barn might host 40-50 people, with 15-20 people picking outside.

Sometimes, however, the crowd can reach over 200. In addition to the three acts on stage, there are usually several more groups picking in the parking lot, depending on the weather. They sit on the tailgates of trucks, in lawn chairs, or stand while playing guitars, fiddles, banjos, mandolins, and maybe even a standup bass.

The average age for the audience at the Barn is over 50, but occasionally children who have never picked up an instrument have come into the Barn and had their interest sparked by the

experience of watching an act on stage or by being around the picking outside. “We’ve helped several children get interested in music. I know of two now that are in the music business,” Williams says.

There is no admission charge. Everything is accomplished by volunteers and run on donations. They sell refreshments donated by dedicated friends and patrons. People help with various projects, such as maintenance on the building. “It’s kind of a family thing,” Williams says. Once a year in the spring for the past 20 years, the Music Barn has sponsored a BBQ that serves as the main fundraiser for the establishment.

The crowd is usually around 400 people. Williams, his wife, and a group of volunteers cook everything at the Music Barn, all day and all night. Each year they make enough money to pay the bills that keep the place running.

Williams, who is retired from the phone company, is always there on Saturday nights with his wife, Sandra. He has missed very few nights since it has opened. “Everybody tells me, ‘It ain’t the Barn if you ain’t here.’” They have had rough times in the past when money was tight and people were not coming. One year, Williams announced in December that January 1st was going to be the last show. People were really upset, begging him not to close the Barn, some even crying, so he told them he needed help. The people got together, pitched in, and helped to pick the Barn back up again.

The aim of the Music Barn is to provide a place for people to come listen to good music or for musicians to have a good place to play. “We just try to run a good, clean, family-oriented place.” Williams prides himself on having an establishment where people can bring their children. The Barn does not allow profanity, drugs, or alcohol. “We’re there for the people; we’re there to have a good time,” Williams says, adding with a chuckle, “Anyone’s welcome as long as they behave.”

The Williamson Music Barn has prospered for 23 years, and Williams looks forward to the future. “I appreciate everyone’s who’s been here, come by the Barn, and supported me,” Williams says. “It’s been a good experience for me the whole time. Everybody’s welcome any time.”

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Harold and Charlotte Kirkland, 18 friends, and numerous other friends and family renovated an old seed barn in Hollonville in 1991. After the renovations, a fish fry, and a yard sale, they finally opened the Hollonville Opry House on July 20. They created a musical organization with a mission to promote and preserve bluegrass, country, and gospel music. They wanted it to be a place where God, country and family values were honored and respected.

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Before opening, they remodeled the seed barn into an auditorium that seats up to 250 people. The Hollonville Opry House’s spacious auditorium provides a nice, sophisticated environment for the audience. Over the years, they have also added a pavilion, a warm-up room, and a paved parking lot. “We’re proud of Hollonville Opry House,” Charlotte Kirkland, one of the original members, says.

Every Saturday, people donate food for the snack bar that opens at 6 p.m. The music begins at 6:30 p.m. The Opry House features four different bands every week – gospel, bluegrass, and country bands.

Harold does all the booking of the bands and has already begun booking for 2010. They get a lot of bands by word-of-mouth, others who e-mail them directly. Some out-of-state bands who come through the area find out about the Opry House on the internet via the SEBA forums and want to play on their stage. “We’ve got a good reputation,” Kirkland states. “Bands that come want to come back.” Once, her sister-in-law who works in Pigeon Forge talked to a band from Alabama, and her sister-in-law called the Opry House to put the group on the phone because they had heard of Hollonville and wanted to play there.

Most of the talent they get is from Fayetteville, Jonesboro, Stockbridge, Columbus, Macon, Jackson, and surrounding areas. But they once had a band from as far as Alaska. “Some of these bands are travelling bands moving through the Southeast,” Kirkland explains. “Some won’t come when they find out there’s no money, but others will come because they’d rather be playing than sitting on the bus.”

The Opry House has been lucky enough to host Alan Jackson’s family’s band. They also have featured the Larios Brothers, a popular bluegrass band of brothers ranging from age 12 to early 20s. They book quite a few young bands; some feature children who actually play instruments with the group. Some bands that are now playing festivals for money, Kirkland notes, “haven’t forgotten Hollonville.”

The Opry House has two staff bands. Harold Kirkland fronts one house band that plays country music, and Lynwood Lynch fronts the other, a bluegrass band. They fill in whenever they can if they are needed, and play regularly every other week.

The crowd varies, but is usually around 200-250. “The crowd has been outstanding this summer,” Kirkland says. “We have had more musicians outside under the pavilion picking and jamming, on the porch visiting, and inside listening to the band.” The music attracts mostly retired people, but Kirkland claims, “We do have younger people who come, and that tickles us to death. We love to see young people.”

Music Barns – continued on page 22.

Music Barns â&#x20AC;&#x201C; continued from page 21.

Last November, the Hollonville Opry House was inducted into the Atlanta Country Music Hall of Fame. Charlotte and Harold went to the reception in Atlanta to accept the award. â&#x20AC;&#x153;We were blessed to be able to go and receive the award,â&#x20AC;? Kirkland states. â&#x20AC;&#x153;It was more of an honor than we realized. When the 20 people got together in 1991, they were thinking small; they were just thinking about a place for people to pick. They never realized it would last over 15 years or draw the people it has from all over the country.â&#x20AC;?

The Hollonville Opry House is a clean, family-oriented place. People have gotten to know each other from being in the audience; even the bands feel that way. Kirkland observes, â&#x20AC;&#x153;They love the fellowship; they love the friends they make; they renew friends and make new friends. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a team effort â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the bands, the people who show appreciation for the bands, the workers who work in the snack bar and do the sound â&#x20AC;&#x201C; everybody contributes, whether theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re there to listen, play, be on staff, or donate the food.â&#x20AC;?

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Both the Williamson Music Barn and the Hollonville Opry House are located in Pike County on GA Hwy. 362 West.

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7HE 7HIRD $NNUAL 7ILNEY $VENUE SOAPBOX 5ACE Sponsored by Kitchen Drawer

If you’re a Griffin local, you may have heard about the annual Labor Day event where grown men, women, and even children gather to race homemade soapbox cars down Tilney Avenue. The event was founded when four close friends (and Tilney Ave. residents) stumbled across an antique soapbox racer at the Lakewood Antique Market in 2006. They all instantly had the same idea – creating both their own racer and their own racing event. Work began immediately. Word quickly spread to friends and family, and soon many people were working away on their own soapbox cars. The first and second annual soapbox races were a great success, with the sleek “Street Luge” winning as the fastest car each year, followed closely by the creative “Hand Truck” racer.

Tilney Avenue was quiet on Labor Day this year because the race was postponed until Saturday, November 28, and for a very good reason. This year, all proceeds will go to the Georgia Transplant Foundation that helps people in need of transplants raise money to support the patients after the transplant. Many people are under the impression that finding a suitable organ donor is the most difficult hurdle to receiving a transplant.

While this is true in most cases, new laws prohibit doctors from even performing the surgery until the patient has raised enough money to cover after-surgery costs that can reach upwards of $10,000.

Join in the fun at the Tilney Avenue Race on November 28. Get with friends and family to build or buy a car. The owner of the winning racer will be featured in an upcoming issue of Kitchen Drawer.

For more information: stuff@kitchendrawer.net.

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ELVIS Even when clad in his red Loweâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s vest, like all the other employees, Obie stands out. For one thing, he has unmistakable Elvis hair â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a jet-black pompadour with pork chop sideburns. And he is not averse to sampling a few of The Kingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tunes for prospective clients, wherever they may be.

photos by Katie Snyder Photography, www.katiesnyderphotography.com.

It all started at a New Yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Eve party in Henry County when 15-year-old Obie challenged the hostâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s claim to have written a song that Obie recognized as one of Elvisâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Steamroller Blues. The host, who was also lead singer and drummer of a band, invited Obie on stage to sing the song for his guests. The music started and Obie struck a familiar Elvis pose. They played together until 3 or 4 a.m. to a thrilled audience. When it was over, Obieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s host signed him up as one of the bandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s members. Because of Obieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s age, they had to get him a fake I.D. so he could play in bars. And they toured in the summer only because Obie was still in school.

Obieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s father and stepmother had no idea that he was moonlighting as Elvis. â&#x20AC;&#x153;They didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know where the heck I was. I had no friends and no girlfriend. I grew up hard, so this is what I did.â&#x20AC;?

Tribute Artist

OBIE SPARKS Obie played with the band for six or seven years until it finally broke up. At one time his wife asked him to stop the Elvis act and Obie capitulated â&#x20AC;&#x201C; shaving his sideburns and cutting his hair. But Obie felt he wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t being true to himself and what he feels is a sort of calling.

photos by Katie Snyder Photography, www.katiesnyderphotography.com.

Obie has won and placed in numerous Elvis look-alike contests in the Atlanta area, including an Elvis LookAlike and Doughnut-Eating Contest sponsored by Power 99 Radio in 1987 and hosted by Steve McCoy. Obie took first place in the Look-Alike competition, but he wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t feeling 100 percent that day and placed third in the Doughnut-Eating event. He has also worked as a wrestling announcer named â&#x20AC;&#x153;Elvis Parsley.â&#x20AC;?

â&#x20AC;&#x153;If I can make them forget their troubles and re-live some memories thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m there for.â&#x20AC;?

Obie has been paying tribute to Elvis for 30 years. He comes to all his events with a variety of songs spanning the 50s through the 70s and is willing to accommodate and perform some song requests. He gives out scarves at different times during the show. He works with his brother-in-law, T.R., who pays tribute to Conway Twitty.

They sometimes work with a D.J. who has over 500 songs to choose from. The D.J. plays filler music before and after the shows so that people can dance and have fun. Their prices are reasonable. They have performed in shows all over the Southeast, including birthday parties, grand openings, nursing home events, anniversaries, and even commercials and radio.

Obie has now been â&#x20AC;&#x153;Elvisâ&#x20AC;? almost longer than Elvis. Just type â&#x20AC;&#x153;Obie Sparksâ&#x20AC;? in YouTube to get a sampling of Obieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work. â&#x20AC;&#x153;If I can make them forget their troubles and re-live some memories, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m there for.â&#x20AC;?.

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+LVWRU\ DQG SKRWRV SURYLGHG E\ :DOO\ %URZQ IURP WKH w6HVTXLFHQWHQQLDO +LVWRU\ RI *ULIILQ d <HDUV RI 6HDVRQLQJu When the last of the teachers and students of Taylor Street Middle School packed up at the end of the 2008-2009 school year, the doors closed on the campusâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; 136-year history of public education in Griffin.

Despite hard times after the War, education was a top priority for town alderman Dr. N.B. Drewry who pledged $7,500 from the City of Griffin, along with the land, if an equal value could be raised from private donations.

Samuel Wesley Bailey, a wealthy landowner and banker, was instrumental in raising those necessary funds, and the building was subsequently named in his honor. Construction began on the Sam Bailey building. Gilman Drake served as architect, contractor and master carpenter on the project. Sam Bailey, built with a four-over-four design, had large classrooms that were heated with big brick fireplaces.

Providentially, that same year the Georgia General Assembly passed a bill that provided for a State Board of Education and a State School Commission. This paved the way to organize a Spalding County Board of Education under the auspices of the bill. Still, universal public education had much to overcome.

Dr. N.B. Drewry

Sam Bailey opened as a private school, but only slightly more than half of the school-aged children in the system were enrolled. Tuition was prohibitive for most, even though the stateâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s â&#x20AC;&#x153;Poor Fundâ&#x20AC;? helped with the tuition of needy students.

The new BOE made an attempt to establish a citywide public school system. The City voted $2,000, and the state added $500. The Rev. J.H. DeVotie secured another $1,000 from the Peabody Fund, a grant to further education in the South.

Sam Bailey, as the first public school in Griffin, had a first class of 70 students but would last only four years as such.

The Georgia Constitution provided a plan for public schools, but offered state aid for elementary education only. Many people who lived outside the City sent their children to the free schools, but they, along with some in town, werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t paying property taxes to support the school. By this time, the school was bled dry financially and was forced to revert back to private operation.

The City once again tried its hand at a universal public school system. In June, the first successful BOE was established with Dr. Drewry as its President. That fall, Griffinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s first official public school, Sam Bailey, offered six grades with one teacher for each grade, and the sixth grade teacher was also the Principal!

Sam Baileyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s first graduating class consisted of nine students â&#x20AC;&#x201C; six girls and three boys. In this same year, construction began on a new high school â&#x20AC;&#x201C; known as the â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sam Bailey Annex,â&#x20AC;? or the â&#x20AC;&#x153;Administration Building,â&#x20AC;? which is the brick building with the empty bell tower next to the old Childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Free Library building.

After 60 years of juggling the growing numbers of Griffin school children among the available buildings, construction began on the building that is now known as Taylor Street Middle School. With the closing of the school comes the end of a long era of education on this site.

Sam Bailey, once the pride of the town, is now used only for storage. But, to many, it is a reminder of Griffinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s early and tenacious commitment to the education of its youth. Quimby Melton, Jr. reflects on Sam Bailey in his History of Griffin: â&#x20AC;&#x153;â&#x20AC;Śits strong old exterior almost as it has been always, it typifies todayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Southland which is modernizing so quickly but which at the same time is holding staunchly to the finer and better and stronger things of the past.â&#x20AC;?

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Bunjee’s Comics greets its clientele with a neon Batman sign, World of Warcraft and X-Men action figures, a Pikachu piñata, and a life-sized stuffed Spider-Man in a Bunjee’s t-shirt reclining in a cargo net in the front window. roprietor Bill Phillips tells the kids that Spidey sleeps by day and works as the security guard by night. Griffin is home to the original Bunjee’s, which has been in operation for 16 years. Bill’s McDonough store has been open for 5.

Cloth-covered tables fill the center of the room, stacked with long boxes of neatly organized back issues of comics, while new releases line the walls on metal shelves. Here you can find the latest issues of new comics, along with such classic characters as Superman, Spider-Man and Batman. The opposite wall is mostly bookshelves full of graphic novels and trade paperbacks collecting complete stories in book form. Action figures, statues, role-playing games, card games, posters, t-shirts, snacks and drinks round out Bunjee’s offerings.

Bill’s penchant for comics began with comics strips in the 1970s. He and his older brother Dave (of Dave’s Guns and Guy Stuff ) discovered a wealth of old newspapers in their uncle’s room. Bill says they pulled out all the comics pages and “had a stack almost as tall as me.” Bill says he was first attracted to the art of the comics and, later, the stories.

Dave and Bill collected Coke bottles from around the neighborhood near their grandmother’s house and bought comic books at nearby Bowen’s Pharmacy with the money they made from deposit refunds. Years later, the brothers were working in a TV station in Athens that Bill compares to WKRP in Cincinnati, and, when their paychecks started bouncing, they figured it was as good a time as any for a career move. Bill had collected roughly 80 boxes of comics, including 30 he’d purchased from a former Griffin shop that quit the comics biz. He began by selling these comics to friends and at a flea market, and did far better than he’d expected. So he found a retail space to rent and has been there ever since.

Bunjee’s demographic is mainly male – from teenagers to adults, but while we were there, the first customer to enter the store was a woman in her 30s, coming to pick up “The Preacher Volumes 2 and 3.” A young man asked for manga, followed by another woman who moved some boxes of comics off a piece of sectional sofa behind the counter to make room for her to sit and eat her Subway sandwich. Neither an employee nor a customer, she is one of Bunjee’s regulars.

The social scene took off here with the popularity of Magic cards and the resulting in-store play. Some of these regulars started coming into Bunjee’s when they were just kids, like Jay who was a rat-tailed 12-year-old when he entered the brand-new store, now 27 and still a comics aficionado.

Bill gets new books in every Wednesday and handles subscriptions and special orders. Come see him. Grab a Yoo-Hoo from the fridge for a buck. Then browse – you may lose track of the hours, or even the years, that have passed.

1414 Hwy 16 West Griff in, GA 30223

photos by Katie Snyder Photography, www.katiesnyderphotography.com.

(770) 412-6723

569 Jonesboro Road McDonough, GA 30253

(678) 565-4886

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orm Daugherty, pastor of New Salem Baptist Church and Chaplin of the police department, wasn’t feeling well in October of 2008. What he expected to be a routine checkup revealed that Norm had terminal cancer. Less than three months later, he was gone, leaving behind his wife Donna and nine children. Seven of the Daughtery children still live with their mother in a doublewide modular home. Donna homeschools her children and was trying to carry on in her grief, but her home was in serious need of repair. Norm had been involved in a number of ways in the hearts and lives of those in his community, and they wanted to give back.

Donna was not forgotten. From time to time, those who’d known and admired her husband felt impelled to check in on her and care for any needs she might have. As some of these volunteers were patching her roof, they began to notice that there was more repair needed than the house was worth.

Inspired by the reality show Extreme Makeover – Home Edition, they figured that if Hollywood could bring about a true transformation, why couldn’t God? That’s when the vision for the Daugherty’s new home began to take shape. There was enough land behind the Daugherty’s present modular home on N. Walker’s Mill Road, for “The House That God Built,” named such even before the foundation was laid. Second Baptist Pastor David Hill explains, “The past tense is intentional. In God’s eyes the house was already built. We are just waiting to see the manifestation of it.”

Contractor Mark Riggs; Pastor David Hill; New Salem Baptist Church deacon Ed Shepherd; and Norm’s brotherin-law, Tim Riordan banded together to meet with other pastors and church representatives. They began to raise the funds and materials needed to build a brand new home for the Daughertys. Generous and talented members of the community stepped forward – graders, plumbers, electricians, framers, cabinet makers, flooring specialists – volunteering their time, their labor, and their materials, despite the fact that most of these trades are suffering setbacks in this difficult economic climate.

At present, the house has been framed and roofed, and volunteers are busy roughing in the plumbing, HVAC, and electrical work.

Soon the house will be bricked and sided.

Despite the tremendous outlay of labor and materials, there are many things that simply have to be paid for by donations to the project fund. For example, all of the labor and ductwork for the HVAC were donated, but the fund had to purchase the units. Likewise, a local roofer volunteered all the labor to put on the new roof, but the shingles had to be purchased.

Pastor Hill credits Blake Building Supply for being “just wonderful to work with,” offering deep discounts on many of the materials they’ve needed to keep moving on the project.

In hard times, it’s all too easy to “circle the wagons” and stop reaching out to others. The House That God Built is a heartwarming reminder that helping to bear the burdens of others makes all of our loads lighter.

Would you like to get involved? Donations can be made to New Salem Baptist Church. Please designate “Benevolence/House That God Built” on your check or envelope. These can be mailed directly to New Salem Baptist or dropped off at Second Baptist. If you’d like to receive regular updates on progress or volunteer time or materials to the cause, please email SBC Secretary Deborah Knight at Deborah@ sbcgriffin.org.

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Pictured on Cover and Table of Contents: Dakota Housman and her pet chicken, Blount.

Dakota’s dress was borrowed from her great-grandmother. It’s made from a World War II parachute!

Sadly, Blount passed away on September 25, not long after these photos were taken. Kitchen Drawer offers its sympathies but is glad to have had a part in preserving Blount’s memory.

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Income Tax Preparation - Corporate, Partnership & Personal – Free Electronic Filing & Free Direct Deposit with Return Preparation – Computerized Bookkeeping Services – Business Consultation

Johnny Barlow

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We can...

Rebuild the prongs Replace or rebuild the shank Repair or replace the head Restore it to “new” condition

Crystal Swygert

Lisa Housman

(770) 227–2595 SINCE 1951

124 W. SOLOMON ST. Downtown GRIFFIN

Freeze Frame

featured photographer

Sunlight makes me happy, I talk A LOT, and “Chucks” are almost always the shoe of the day. My parents bought me my first camera from a pawn shop when I was about 14; it had a couple of lenses and a flash. I read the manual many times to figure out how to take the first photo. I put that camera away years ago to pursue being a wife and the mom of five amazing children. About two years ago I began to do web photography while working for American Mills. My interest in photography was renewed. Since October of 2008 I have been pursuing it as a career.

One of my greatest loves, outside of photography, is music. I was recently given the opportunity to photograph Carrie Lelsz, a new Christian Music artist, during her recording session at Black Cat Studios. A growing passion of mine is live concert photography. Concert photography is very challenging – you’ve got a few songs to capture the images, with no flash and no re-takes. The lighting and artistry of a live show is an amazing thing to capture.

My knowledge of photography is all self-taught through reading and experience, so I enjoy most new opportunities. Each project brings about a new way to create.

Currently, I am available to photograph your newborn, family, soccer star, high school senior, family dog, wedding, or even create that perfect photograph for advertising. My style is very laidback, fun, and natural, with my goal being to create an image that is a reflection of you.

Party of Seven Photography by Lisa Housman | 770.584.7435 | www.partyofsevenphotography.com

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e often hear of the pitfalls of our technological lifestyle â&#x20AC;&#x201C; filling up our homes with gadgets that absorb a staggering amount of our time and attention at the expense of spending time in the natural world with the people we love. The Rock Ranch in Upson County is dedicated to help us break free from our connection to technology and strengthen our connections with people and nature. Have you been?

Rock Ranch is a beautiful 1,250-acre working cattle ranch owned by Chick-fil-A founder S. Truett Cathy. Known for his philanthropy, Cathy does not believe in keeping this pastoral setting all to himself. The mission of Rock Ranch is to use this natural, decidedly low-tech setting to reinforce basic values and character strengths, particularly in children, through â&#x20AC;&#x153;uniting families with the land and each other.â&#x20AC;?

While the Rock Ranch is closed, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a good time to bounce around the grounds in a Jeep-like Polaris with â&#x20AC;&#x153;Director of Funâ&#x20AC;? Vivian Morgan. As we take off on our tour, baby donkeys look up blandly from their grazing area in front of a young corn field thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s being cut into this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Corn Maze â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a Lincoln penny design â&#x20AC;&#x201C; to commemorate both the 200th anniversary of Lincolnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s birth and the 100th anniversary of the penny that bears his image. A new maze is professionally designed each year with a specially chosen theme. It takes about 30 minutes to walk through the maze (unless youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a particularly clever rat), and there are surprises and activities to discover within.

We zip by the Petting Zoo and Goat Walk, a structure that allows the many goats who live here to climb as goats are inclined to do. One of them, a free-range goat named Clover, goes home each night with one of the young women who works here.

In the middle of a field is a wooden box â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the Corn Box â&#x20AC;&#x201C; itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like one of those ball pits, except that itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s filled with flat, smooth kernels of fragrant dried cow corn. Burying oneself in the corn is a restorative experience, and Vivian swears that makes your skin feel fantastic. Sure beats plastic balls that smell like socks and diapers!

Nearby is an arena bordered by large circular bales of hay.

This is where families can come for a rousing game of Family Dodge Ball. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a good way for families to work out any issues,â&#x20AC;? Vivian laughs. So does your brother always grab the â&#x20AC;&#x153;goodâ&#x20AC;? controller? Does Uncle Billy always feel obligated to remark at the amount of mashed potatoes on your plate?

Hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s your chance to even the score.

Brand new for this fall, Tiny Town looks like the Old West, with buildings set around in a large oval. But your little ones will be thrilled to explore these playhouse-like buildings â&#x20AC;&#x201C; tiny replicas of their larger counterparts. Among other things, Tiny Town features a General Store that will sell real penny candy and other goodies, a Church with tiny stained glass windows and pews, the Rural Roundup Playhouse Theatre that will show movies to its tiny crowd, and a miniature two-story Firehouse with brass pole and (stuffed) Dalmatian.

Nearby, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a paved track for racing pedal cars and tracks for the Cow Train, manned by professional engineer of 30Â years, John Turner. Two large PVC pipes are built side-byside into Slide Hill for racing fun. The Giant Jumping Pillow is one of the most popular activities, along with volleyball, horseshoes, and pony rides.

AÂ beautiful pond in the center of the ranch offers paddle boats and catch-and-release cane pole fishing.

Explore the 1880s hand-hewn log cabin, carefully transferred from Tennessee to the ranch grounds. Furnished with a sleeping loft and rough period furnishings, the cabin gives guests an idea of how Abe Lincoln and his contemporaries lived.

Besides all of these great regular activities that Rock Ranch offers, the crew has a wonderful time thinking up new ways to bring wholesome fun to families and the community. And thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s always plenty to do on the working ranch, even for the office folks. Vivian loves the variety: â&#x20AC;&#x153;We never know what our day is going to be like. One morning weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll come in and pick blueberries all day, and the next day weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be cutting cornstalks for centerpieces.â&#x20AC;?

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Feed Your Body

Your Soul Wants

PASTA

COOKIES!

2 for our readers GI NA F I CK LE N

1 lb. peeled and deveined large shrimp 3 T. butter 1 tsp. chopped oregano 1/2 tsp. minced garlic 1/2 c. white wine 1 jar of a good Alfredo sauce

(Homemade can be used, but I rarely have time.)

1 lb. penne or pasta of choice Freshly shaved Parmesan cheese

Melt butter in large skillet. Sauté oregano and garlic over medium heat until softened. Add shrimp and cook until pink, stirring often. Add wine and Alfredo sauce. Simmer while you cook the pasta. Serve sauce over pasta topping with fresh Parmesan cheese.

Variations: I love serving this over penne or cheese-filled ravioli. You can add minced green onions with the garlic if you prefer. Sometimes I like to crumble bacon on top also.

The great thing about a good sauce is that you can change it to suit your taste!

3:.:7,?0 34; ::640> For me the heart of the house is the kitchen. Cooking is an expression of my love for family and friends.

Eating together nurtures the mind, body, and soul.

Great conversation in the kitchen fills the mind while good pasta fills the body, and nothing fills the soul like a good, warm chocolate chip cookie!

From the heart of my kitchen to yours, Gina Ficklen

1 c. butter, softened

(It has to be real butter!)

3/4 c. sugar 3/4 c. light brown sugar 1 large egg 1 tsp. vanilla 2 1/4 c. all purpose flour 1 tsp. baking soda 1/2 tsp. salt 24 oz. semisweet chocolate chips

BEELAND FINANCIAL GROUP, INC. www.beelandfinancial.com

NEW

Location!

Preheat oven to 375°. Beat together butter and sugars until creamy. Add egg and vanilla. In a separate bowl, stir together flour, salt, and baking soda. Slowly add flour mixture to butter mixture until just blended. Don’t over mix! Stir in chocolate chips. Place spoonfuls of batter on ungreased baking sheet. Cook in oven 8-10 minutes. Sit down and enjoy!

(770) 229-1188 2927 ETHER IDGE M ILL R D. GR IFFIN, GA ZZZ NLWFKHQGUDZHU QHW

The following is the third and f inal installment of Amanda Cera’s “Sorting Laundry” series, a first-person narrative told from the three perspectives of Sarah, her husband Edward, and their son Eddie Jr., respectively.

We hope you have enjoyed listening to their story as much as we have.

$ " My father was John Wayne. I don’t mean the actual person, but the type. You know, the man with his hat cocked slightly to the side as he swaggered through the world. The man quick and confident with his words, but with eyes that never quite matched the gaiety of his tone. There’s always been an edge to his eyes, a dullness that made it impossible for me to stare directly into them when we talked, father to son.

I always focused on the mole to the left of the bridge of his nose. The dullness scared me when I was a kid, though I could never articulate that fear or even make sense of it in my own mind.

I’ve never been as tough as my father, as smart as him, as confident as him. I never wanted to work as hard or toil in the sun to grow food. The grocery store produce was faster, easier, and more convenient. Good enough for me, thank you and good day. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not lazy. I just never wanted to make things more complicated than they had to be.

I’ve worked for the things I have, but I used my mind, not my muscle. I’m content sitting at my desk delegating work to those still working their way up in the world. My nameplate reads “Director,” and I’ve earned it. I’ve earned my two-story townhouse in a gated downtown subdivision and a vacation home in Orlando. I still enjoy driving my Lincoln Navigator even when the gas prices top $3.00 per gallon. I put in my time wisely, so now I don’t have to worry about the things others worry about. My job is secure. I planned it that way.

My father wanted me to join the military. He was a pilot in WWII. A U.S. flag always waved proudly from our front porch. Memorial Days and Christmases were the two biggest events of the year – God and Country – that was my father.

“Every young man should be proud to serve his country – peacetime or war – teaches discipline, pride,” he said to me at least once a day from the time I turned 15 until I graduated high school and headed off to college. You couldn’t convince him his ideals were outdated, old relics like the behemoth floor-model TV still cluttering up his living room. He was as rooted in the past as a 1,000-year-old living oak and about as tenaciously tied to his home, his strip of earth.

He wasn’t sentimental, that was my Mom, who saved every baby tooth I ever lost and catalogued my first two years of haircuts in my baby book. He was old-fashioned, unchangeable. He wore the same color, cut, and style of Wrangler jeans his entire life. It was comforting as a child, I guess, to know that your father was as constant and steady as the rising and setting sun, and he did seem bigger than life to me then, but when I got older his self-assuredness seemed stifling.

He was so certain of who and what he was, what he stood for, what he believed in. He never wavered, always knew exactly what to do. The man has never been intimidated or faced a situation he didn’t know how to control. I took after Mom, I guess. I always thought she felt as overshadowed by his presence as I did. I used to believe she tied up all of her soul in being a mother to me because he didn’t leave her room for anything else. But, no, she did it because she loved him, loved me.

Before I married and my time shrank, I’d eat Sunday dinner with my parents. Sometimes I’d stand on the front porch and watch them through the plate glass window. I’d stare in at him and it was like how I imagine it would feel to have amnesia – knowing you should know this person, and the

face is somehow familiar, but nothing stirs inside you, no warmth of recognition rises.

I tried to know him. I did. I visited home a lot during my college years, and we spent evenings talking in the backyard by the fire pit while Mom fussed about, bringing us iced tea and pimento cheese sandwiches. Those visits were as close as I ever allowed myself to get to him. It was one of those long, lazy early fall nights that drove the final wedge between my father and me.

We usually talked about college football or the Braves’ chances in the post-season, but I mentioned a college professor of mine and his opinion on why the U.S. should have stayed out of WWII, and he was off. I should have known better.

I did know better, but a piece of me liked feeling power over him. The War was the only subject that sent him off-kilter, tipped the scale of his confidence down from his Duke status, to an average guy’s, a fallible human, my equal. It was cruel of me to use his strength against him, but sometimes I resented him for not sharing it with me.

He had never talked about the War with me or my Mom, that I knew of, at least. In my mind, it was a word akin to “cancer.” You never spoke it out loud for fear of invoking it.

But that night, he told me about being shot down behind enemy lines.

“I destroyed what was left of my plane and slipped off into the wilderness. For two weeks I hid right under Nazi noses.

Only had one close call, one that damn near ended it all for me.”

As he talked, his normally self-assured movements became jerky and furtive. He was edgy, looking around the tree lines, his eyes darting from one object to the next. And in his eyes, the dullness completely disappeared, and was replaced with a wildness; he was transformed into an animal there in the backyard in suburbia; he was a trapped tiger.

I tried to stand up and walk away from him then. A cold desperation pushed out from him as he spoke and wrapped itself around me, suffocating me. All I wanted was to be away from him, but he held me steady in my seat.

“I dug a foxhole after the crash and must have been sleeping when the scouts came. By the time I woke, the woods were crawling with Nazis, and my only option was to stay put and stay quiet. Even the quietest sounds became roars in that foxhole while I willed the Germans to move on. My heartbeat pounded like kettledrums and my breath seemed to howl like a hurricane.

“I wouldn’t let them take me alive, Eddie. I couldn’t be their captive, and let them torture me into disgrace. If it came down to it, son, I was gonna shoot myself with my service revolver. Had the darn thing cocked and resting against the back of my neck.” He angled his fingers and pressed them against the spot where that revolver had once rested.

“Right here, the bullet stops your heart and lungs, quick and done,” he’d said.

“A Nazi with a bad case of diarrhea picked the spot next to my foxhole to dig a latrine. The tip of his spade actually broke through the wall of my hiding spot. Suddenly, my pounding heart grew stealthy, and my breathing slowed.

I don’t remember thinking anything, Eddie. Nothing. I wasn’t even a man anymore.”

I remember a neighbor’s dog barked as a car passed by out on the street. My father’s knuckles were white where he gripped the handle of the lounge chair where he sat.

“I crouched against the far dirt wall and waited. As much as I’d talked about dying and thought about dying, all I could see was your mother’s face. I didn’t want to leave her alone with a baby on the way. It was your Mama’s voice that talked me down, Eddie, made me take that gun away from the nape of my neck because I was gonna pull that trigger. I was gonna end it all right there.

“I sat there breathing the stench of shit and tasting the iron spit of panic, the gun tip pushed so hard against my neck that it nearly broke the skin. It was your mother, Eddie. Her voice was as plain and clear in my head as if she had been sitting there next to me in that stinking pit. ‘Ed. They don’t know you’re here. They don’t, but they will if you pull that trigger. That guy’s stomach is crampin’ so hard a jet could land behind him, and he wouldn’t know it until the wheels touched down. Take out your knife. If the wall between you and him crumbles in, slit his throat, so he can’t yell. Leave him to bleed to death, but you have to move, you have to come home to me.’

“Stop!” I’d yelled at him. His ears were deaf to my words, and at that moment, I don’t know if he even knew I’d spoken.

“She saved my life, son. The both of you saved my life. I will never leave her side.”

He sat back against his chair and watched the flames flicker in the fire pit. The dullness seeped back into place and the wildness disappeared.

continued on page 44.

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continued from page 43.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;It didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t come down to me having to kill him. The soldier finished his business, filled his hole and went back to camp.

The platoon moved out that night. All but one of them, that is, because he died of dysentery. I found him the next night when I was workinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; my way to the pick-up spot. His fellow soldiers left him in his tent, covered in shit, dead.â&#x20AC;?

I never really believed Mom spoke to Dad in that foxhole halfway around the world. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure he was the one who realized the guy was distracted and wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t discover him unless given a reason. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure Dadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s subconscious mind spoke to him through Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice because â&#x20AC;&#x201C; what was John Wayne better at than saving the little lady, being the hero who rescues the day?

Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s how I understood his story that night. He was once again pointing out to me how much stronger and braver he was than I could ever be. I had chosen college and frowned on the military. I sat behind a computer all day having other people do my work while I collected a fat paycheck. His story confirmed to me then and for all these years in between how different we were. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d have killed him, Eddie. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a scary thing to look inside and see the vileness youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re capable of. That changes a man.â&#x20AC;?

I walked away then, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been running from him ever since. At least thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s how Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always rationalized it, but if Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d really listened to what Dad was telling me, not the story itself, but the implications of it, then my parents might still be alive. I never gave my father a chance after that night.

IÂ threw myself into my career and later my family, but mostly into collecting success. I wanted to be so powerful that I never had to worry about people figuring out I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a hero, I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t as strong as Edward, the first.

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m ashamed to admit, I was actually excited that morning going out to my car. I even skipped my ritual mug of coffee in my excitement. That Tuesday was to be the beginning of the rest of my life because finally I had my say. I had the final word, and Dad couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t do anything about it. Mom would be safely tucked away in a nursing home, and Dad would be playing golf with his old buddies from the VFW, spending time with the only people in the world who could possibly understand him or tolerate him.

I was actually humming â&#x20AC;&#x153;Good Day, Sunshineâ&#x20AC;? as I backed out of the drive and onto the road. Haze rose from the pavement as the sun burned away the dampness of night.

IÂ expected a last ditch effort from Dad, but he couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t dish out anything I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t handle. I hoped maybe after heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d spent some time with his buddies relaxing, heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d actually appreciate the arrangements Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d made for him. After all, the world had moved past him. This world was mine.

IÂ understood things now that he never could. These are the things I thought about as I pulled into the drive of my parentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; house and sprinted to the front door.

Not a sound escaped the dead-bolted door, even after Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d pounded on it for a solid five minutes. I fished the house key out of my suit coat pocket and fumbled it into the lock. It refused to turn. A bird sirened a wake-up call to his fellow worm-eaters as a dulling silence seeped like poisonous vapor through the keyhole and up into my consciousness. â&#x20AC;&#x153;She saved my life,â&#x20AC;? heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d said that night so long ago. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d tried to explain that story again to me when he could no longer hide Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s obvious mental deterioration. Standing there on the front porch where Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d stood thousands of time before, I knew what I had done, what Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d find when I was able to get inside. I found them in the garage, arm in arm in the LTD, Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s head resting peacefully against Dadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shoulder.

My Dad was fond of the clichĂŠ â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hindsightâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 20/20,â&#x20AC;? but IÂ never quite appreciated it like I do now. The night Dad and I packed up my Momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s things and tucked them into suitcases, he was asking for my help. He was reaching out to me like he did that night by the fire in the backyard.

Had I been paying attention, I would have seen how his eyes darted from one corner of the room to another. I would have seen the wildness overtake his cataract-clouded eyes.

I could have offered him my hand and pulled him out of his foxhole, been the hero this time, and rode side-by-side with John Wayne into the sunset.

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Georgia Bulldogs:

Early Concern Leads To Dramatic Turnaround Taylor Gantt Disappointing. This was the adjective of choice used to describe the University of Georgia’s opening-day effort against the Oklahoma State Cowboys. Going into the game as the slight “underdawgs,” Georgia hoped to shake off the sense of impending doom that came with losing the bulk of its offensive firepower in the draft.

Star quarterback Matthew Stafford and electrifying running back Knowshon Moreno both jumped to the NFL, #1 to the Detroit Lions and #12 to the Denver Broncos, respectively, leaving the Georgia offense with huge holes to fill in both positions.

The Dogs started off hot offensively, scoring a touchdown on the opening drive of the game. But the unit soon went stagnant and managed only a field-goal in the remaining three quarters. The defense was not particularly vulnerable, but it could not stop OSU’s balanced attack enough to help the floundering Dogs’ offense. The final score of 24-10 left Georgia with more questions than answers as to how the rest of the season would play out and if success was even imaginable.

But how quickly redemption came for the beleaguered Bulldogs! Facing a tough South Carolina team at home in Sanford Stadium, Georgia knew it had to gain a win here to avoid sinking to the stinking depths of 0-2. The stadium was packed with over 90,000 screaming fans, urging their team to greater heights. After going down to the Gamecocks early, 17-7, Georgia surged back with a renewed sense of urgency and grabbed the lead away by halftime. Special Teams played a big role in the game, both negatively and positively for the Dogs. While they gave up a safety on a botched snap,

Georgia took back their opening kickoff for a touchdown and blocked the would-be tying extra point in the late stages of the game.

With only seconds left in the fourth quarter, South Carolina, fourth-and-goal and down by 4, was poised to score the winning touchdown. But the defense came up big and swatted away the pass attempt in the end zone, clinching the victory.

The Bulldogs pulled out this pivotal game by the skin of their teeth, 41-37. When they needed it most, the defense made stops, and the offense kept the game competitive and close. The Dogs, feeding off the momentum of this dramatic victory, went on to beat SEC rival Arkansas and undefeated Arizona State in back-to-back weeks.

The lesson to be learned here is that it’s a long season. Sure, every loss is a critical factor when a perfect season often means an automatic bid to the BCS Championship. But in order to be successful, every game must be isolated and treated as its own independent ordeal. To look ahead on the schedule almost always means to falter. Many people, myself included, saw the first game of the season as a harbinger of futility for our Dogs. Instead, spirits have been driven high with these latest thrillers, allowing Georgia to step back and face the season, one game at a time. photo: Dawgs.com

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