Marshall Good Life Magazine - Fall 2021 by The Good Life Magazine

MARSHALL COUNTY

Davis Lee shares some wisdom his parents passed on to him

If you have a “special inheritance,” you are indeed a lucky person FALL 2021 | COMPLIMENTARY

Fall is the season of the soul ... to be savored, not survived

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6/30/21 8:30 AM

Welcome

You could call this a ‘shoestring’ issue ... but, hey, at least my pants didn’t fall off

im Boone, owner of some 40 newspapers in 12 states, used to say editing a paper is like juggling on the trampoline. Not to argue with my former boss, especially when he was offering empathy, but I corrected him: “It’s like juggling on the trampoline without wearing a belt and using one hand to hold up your pants.” Magazines are pretty much the same, just not daily or weekly. Here’s an example from this issue ... Last fall, I invested time into shooting pictures for the Out ‘n’ About feature in this fall’s GLM. I got some images I was excited to share with you. The wrinkle came much later when I learned HydroFest would return this summer. It’s big doings, and I wanted it covered, but over the past few years I used all the feature angles I knew – as opposed to a “news” angle that would be two months old when GLM published. My reluctant solution was to scrub my fall pix in favor of running boat racing pix on pages 70-71 in this issue. Meanwhile, I was eagerly anticipating hitching a ride on a tow boat in Decatur that would deliver barge-loads of, probably, grain to feed mills in Guntersville. Most folks go to the river to play, but tow boat crews go there to work. Cool –and fun – story, I thought. By May I had everything lined up with a towing company except a date. But, over the ensuing two months, the company hit all sorts of logistical issues. Finally, by the first of July, with deadlines looming and nothing finalized, I was forced to postpone the story. Bummer. But, more importantly, I needed a Plan B story. Fast. Fortunately, Seth Terrell was receptive at the last minute to writing what we half-jokingly called a “pondering piece” on fall. That, in turn, allowed me to run some of the fall pix I had in the can. It all reminded me what Jim Boone said about that trampoline. So ... we pulled a stewed rabbit from the hat. Now, will someone please toss my shoe up here? It bounced off while I was juggling.

Mo Mc PUBLISHING LLC David F. Moore Publisher/editor | 256-293-0888 david.goodlifemagazine@gmail.com Sheila T. McAnear Advertising/art director | 256-640-3973 sheila.goodlifemagazine@gmail.com Vol. 7 No. 4 Copyright 2021 Published quarterly

MoMc Publishing LLC P.O. Box 28, Arab, Al 35016 www.good-life-magazine.net

Proudly printed in Marshall County by BPI Media of Boaz 6

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Contributors Steve Maze writes in this issue about the “special inheritance” his grandfather left him. He’s says he’s willing to bet many others received similar inheritances from their grandparents. “If so,” he adds, “we are all fortunate.” Jacquelyn Hall is the proud wife of Michael, recently promoted to assistant chief of the Arab Fire Department. When not “momming” their four children, she’s often found being creative in the kitchen, and writes about cooks for GLM Seth Terrell of Albertville holds a BA in history from Freed-Hardeman, an MA in divinity from Vanderbilt and an MFA in creative writing from Spalding University. He also learns from his students at Wallace State, his wife, two daughters and raising cows. David Myers contends there are many great dining establishments in the area. Be it breakfast, lunch or dinner, he and Rose have a flair for finding and spreading the word on local eateries. Follow along for their latest recommendations: Julia’s. When not writing book reviews, Deb Laslie makes lists of books to read while sipping coffee from her Shakespearean Insults Mug. Anyone who thinks the lady reads too much is a beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave and light of brain. Verily! Ad/art director Sheila McAnear of Guntersville grew up in eastern Cullman County. She’ll soon be moving back to her childhood home with her aging mom, who has dementia. “Change can be good,”she says. “Take me home, country roads.” In eight years, publisher/editor David Moore of Arab and his business partner, Sheila McAnear, have dealt with their share of last-minute deadline obstacles in getting the magazine out. But, as they say, “It always seems to come together.”

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Inside 10 | Good Fun

From SugarFest to the replica “Pinta,” fall brings much to do

16 | Good People

Businessman, philanthropist Davis Lee credits his parents

20 | Good Reads

‘The Evening and the Morning,’ and ‘Emory’s Gift’ – must reads

23 | Good Cooking

Stephanie Hadwin communicates love through abundant plates

32 | Good Getaways

Snoopers Rock is the pinnacle of this mountain/river adventure

36 | Staying ‘country’

At Dan and Mary Nell Smalley’s house every room has a story

42 | Good Eats

Get great Mexican at Julia’s ... and perhaps make a new amigo

46 | Special inheritance Writer Steve Maze paints his grandfather with word pictures

50 | Hydrangea ‘jungle’ Teresa Ferguson’s garden is a delightful fairyland of blooms

57 | Season of the soul

Seth Terrell takes you on a deep, moving personal trip into autumn

62 | Mountain biking

Riders at the state park share camaraderie, wind-in-the-face fun

70 | Out ‘n’ About

Thousands watch HydroFest on the ‘fastest water in the South’ On the cover | Whippoorwill Creek tumbles over a small falls near its confluence with Scarham Creek. Photo by David Moore. This page | This Pinky Winky bloom is on one of the hundreds of hydrangea grown by Teresa Ferguson. Photo by David Moore.

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On September 4th, 2021, the Arab City Park will be transformed into a fun-lovers dream! SugarFest is a one day festival promoting culture and community in Arab, Alabama. Everyone is guaranteed to have a great day packed with all SugarFest After kinds of fun. So, Dark Concert Sugar Rush 5K bring your chair, stay awhile and end your day with the SugarFest After Dark concert and the grand fireworks Trotline and Everett Sweet Rides Cruise In showcase!

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Miss SugarFest Pageant

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Some 8,000 folks turned out for the first SugarFest– at least one of whom got an awesome face-painting. Bottom, reigning pre-teen Miss SugarFest Makayla Burks stands with her proud mom Sandy Watson.

How sweet it is!

SugarFest returns to Arab City Park with fun, food and fireworks

he much anticipated second year of SugarFesrt was cancelled last year due to Covid-19 pandemic, but it’s back this year, set for Saturday, Sept. 4, at Arab City Park. It starts on a fast foot with a 5K race through the streets of the Arab, followed by the Miss SugarFest pageant set in the old Hunt School in the Arab Historic Village. Quality arts and craft vendors will cover the park from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Kids can enjoy inflatable bounce houses, an obstacle course, a rock climbing wall, a petting zoo and much more. And the city pool and splashpad at the park will be open for patrons to cool off. There should be no shortage of delicious food options this year. A variety of food trucks will line the sidewalks, serving up everything from Philly cheesesteaks, gourmet 10

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burgers and BBQ to pizza, wings, funnel cakes and cotton candy. Don’t miss the homemade lemonade and old fashioned ice cream floats – best sellers from the inaugural event. The Classic Car Cruise-In will be happening from 4-7 p.m. And, due to popular demand, a SugarFest cornhole tournament will take center stage of the horse arena, tossing bags all afternoon and evening. A beverage tent in a designated area will be available for your enjoyment beginning at noon. Adding even more fun will be live music on the amphitheater stage, kicking off with Rippy Dippy at 4:30 p.m. followed by Trotline at 6:30, And of course, the main event that started it all, the fireworks spectacular will begin at 8:15 p.m., followed by music headliner Everette at 8:30. For information on SugarFest events or to be a vendor, visit: www. thesugarfest.com.

• Now thru Aug. 23 – See the “Pinta” A replica of Christopher Columbus’ famous ship is set to sail into Guntersville City Harbor July 30. It will be docked there through Aug. 23. Launched in 2015 in Brazil, the fullscale ship will be open for walk-about, self-guided tours daily from 10 am-5 pm (except Aug. 23). No reservations needed. Guided tours for teachers and other groups can be arranged: call 1-850686-3612; or visit: ninapinta.org.

Good Fun • Now thru Aug. 11 – Cast of Blues There’s still time to celebrate Mississippi’s rich musical heritage with a visit to the Guntersville Museum’s “A Cast of Blues” exhibition. It features 15 resin-cast masks of blues legends created by artist Sharon McConnellDickerson, as well as 15 color photographs of performers and of juke joints by acclaimed photographer Ken Murphy. The exhibition includes musical playlists and is a multi-sensory experience with sight, hearing and touch encounters. The Guntersville Museum is open 10 am-4 pm, Tuesday-Thursday; 1-4 pm Saturday-Sunday. Admission is free. • Now thru Aug. 27 – Belcher/Kelleys exhibition Paintings by Deborah Belcher of Guntersville and Wood Art by Ken and Kendall Kelley – K4Kreations – of Grant will be on exhibit at the Mountain Valley Arts Council Gallery.

Set sail for a fun fall, y’all A reception for the artists will be 5:307 pm, August 10. The MVAC gallery at 440 Gunter Ave., Guntersville, is open 10 am-5 pm Tuesday-Friday, 10 am-2 pm Saturday. For more info: www. mvcarts.org; or: 256-571-7199. • Now thru Aug. 29 – Bluegrass in the Park Thursday nights, 6-8 pm, enjoy bluegrass music and blue plate specials at Lake Guntersville State Park’s Pinecrest Dining Room. For more info: www.alapark.com; or call: 256-571-5440 ext. 7485. • Aug. 13 – Car, Jeep, Truck Cruise-in This will include a 6:15 pm dedication for Boaz’s big murals – from Wagons to Progress, Celebrating Transportation in Boaz – which you don’t want to miss. The cruise-in is from 5-8 pm on North Main Street. In addition to cool vehicles, there will be food vendors. Vintage music and raffle tickets. For more info, contact the Boaz

Chamber of Commerce: 256-593-8154; or boazchamberassist@gmail.com. • Aug. 14 – Casino Night Join the big rollers – with play money fun and real prizes – as the Lake Guntersville Rotary Club helps raise money – real money – for Every Child’s Playground. The “casino” will be open 6-10 pm at Guntersville Town Hall. Your ticket gets you catered food by Rock House, two drink tickets and play money to bet at poker, Texas Hold ‘Em, craps, the roulette wheel and a prize wheel. Donated prizes range from an autographed Chris Lane jersey to bicycles and more. Enjoy the DJ and music. Buy extra play money if you lose it all. Take home a photo booth memento. This is Rotary’s way of funding scholarships and other community needs, including the inclusive playground project started by the Guntersville Ladies Civitan Club. Tickets and sponsorships sold for

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

sponsored trip set for March 20-29, 2022. Highlights include Edinburgh Castle, York, Chester, Llangollen, Wales, Stratford-upon-Avon, Oxford and London. The double-occupancy pricing option is $2,998 per person; an extended three-night stay in Paris is available. Pricing includes round trip air from Birmingham, nine nights in hotels, including H10 London Waterloo, hotel transfers, 12 meals and various fees. For more info, contact Kathy Gore at the Albertville Chamber: 256-878-3821, or kathy@ albertvillechamberofcommerce.com.

Oxford is on the agenda for the Albertville Chamber trip. 2020 will be honored. Tickets are $75 and available from Rotary members, online at Eventbrite, at the door or by calling Rotarian Windy Zahn; 256-5057889.

• Aug. 17 – Learn about the British trip Jack Brinson from Collette Travel will be at the Albertville Chamber Office at 5:30 pm to give details on “British Landscapes,” a chamber-

• Aug. 26-Oct. 6 – Water/Ways Guntersville Museum will host The Smithsonian Institution’s Water/ Ways exhibition, which dives into water – an essential component of life on our planet – environmentally, culturally and historically. The exhibit is in partnership with the Alabama Humanities Foundation. Guntersville Museum is open 10 am-4 pm TuesdayThursday; 1-4 pm Saturday-Sunday. Admission is free.

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Located at 393 County Road 174 Grove Oak, AL 35975. To reserve your site call 256-659-6288 or visit www.alapark.com/parks/bucks-pocket-state-park 12

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

• Aug. 28 – River Run Car Show From 8 am to 2 pm hundreds of cool cars, trucks and motorcycles will be at this annual car show, as will several thousand people, including some regular favorites: Barney will be back along with Floyd the Barber (get your picture made outside his barbershop). There will be entertainment, fun for kiddos and lots of food trucks to keep your tank filled. Door prizes will be given throughout the day. Sponsored by the Guntersville Lions Club – celebrating their 91st anniversary – the show is one of the biggest and best car shows in Alabama. Register online for the car show at www.RiverRunCarShow.net; or call at 256-677-9763. Gate admission is only $5 per carload. It all happens on U.S. 431, 1.5 miles north of Guntersville. More info? Visit: www. riverruncarshow.net. • Aug. 30 – Deadline for Irish trip This is the deadline to register for this eight-day trip, sponsored by the Arab Chamber of Commerce, to the Emerald Isle that combines fabulous

Visit Cabra Castle on the Arab Chamber trip to Ireland. accommodations, stunning scenery and incredible cuisine. Visit Dublin, Christ Church Cathedral, Blarney Castle, Killarney, Dingle Peninsula, Farm Visit, Cliffs of

Moher, a visit to a tasting at one of three whiskey distilleries in Tullamore and see Cabra Castle. The trip will be March 5-12, 2022. Double occupancy is $2,498

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per person, single is $2,848. Other options include a medieval banquet in Limerick and Guinness Storehouse and traditional night out in Dublin. Cost includes round trip flights from Birmingham, stays in four hotels, numerous meals, various fees and transfers and a ton of memories. A deposit of $600 per person is due upon reservation with final payment due Jan. 4, 2022. For more information, contact Jynnah Mooney at the Arab Chamber: 256-586-3138; or jmooney@ arab-chamber.org. • Sept. 1-30 – A Few of Our Favorites Talk about eclectic, this art exhibit is what happens when Mountain Valley Arts Council member art fans and artists share their favorite art – whether they created it, bought it, received it as a gift, or inherited it. A reception for the artists will be 5:30-7 pm Sept. 7. The MVAC gallery at 440 Gunter Ave., Guntersville, is open 10 am-5 pm Tuesday-Friday, 10 am-2 pm Saturday. For more info: www. mvcarts.org; or: 256-571-7199. • Sept. 3-4 – 51st Annual Seafood Festival The good eats for this Labor Day Weekend classic will be at St. William’s Foley Center at 915 Gunter Ave., Guntersville. Drive-thru hours for quarts of gumbo and Cajun boiled shrimp by the pound are 4-6 pm Friday; 7:30 am until sold out Saturday. Dine-in hours Saturday are 10:30 am until sold out for Cajun boiled shrimp by the pound, hot or frozen gumbo by the quart, catfish or BBQ halfchicken dinners with coleslaw and hushpuppies, crawfish by the pound, gumbo pints served hot and a la carte items. Don’t be surprised to find a line. • Sept. 4 – Concert at Lake Guntersville State Park Love live music? Then head up to the Lake Guntersville State Park Lodge to see Peyton Gilliland 6:30-8:30 pm. For more info: 256-571-5440. • Sept. 24-Oct. 3 – “Frights of the Night” The Whole Backstage production – directed by Joshua Barksdale and 14

Sara Elizabeth Phillips in the Black Box Theatre – will consist of intimate readings from horror classics, including “The Woman In Black,” “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” “Amityville Horror,” “The Raven” Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” and more. Readers are . Aniah Havis, Jan Price, Hannah Grace Yost, Debbie Moss, Gary March Force, Leilani Hayes, Susan Ruhlman, Liz Lincks, Rich Resler, Morgan Parker, AnnaMarie D’Angelo and Jules Oliver. Performances are at 7 p.m. Sept. 24, 25, 30, Oct. 1 and 2; and 2 pm. Sept 26 and Oct. 3. Tickets are $15 and will be available beginning in September at: wholebackstage.com. Not recommended for children under 13. • Sept. 25 – Grant’s Mile-Plus Yard Sale The Grant Chamber of Commerce’s annual Mile-Plus Yard Sale starts at 6:30 am to browse and shop their way a mile down Main Street where a hundred or more vendors will offer tons of yard sale bargains. Food vendors will also be on hand. Booth space rents for $30. For guidelines visit: www.grantchamberofcommerce. com; or Grant’s Mile-Plus Yard Sale on Facebook; or call: 256-728-8800. • Oct. 1-2 – 57th Annual Harvest Festival Fun starts at 8 am both days at Old Mill Park and downtown for this big, Boaz Chamber of Commerce event. Enjoy lots of arts and crafts, gospel, country and bluegrass music, food trucks and enter the free pumpkin painting contest. Sign up by Sept. 30 with the chamber for the third annual Harvest Fest, double elimination cornhole tournament starting at 6:30 pm Friday. The Miss Harvest Festival Pageant starts at 9 am Saturday at Old Mill Park. To Register, pick up an application and pay your $50 fee at the chamber office. Register 8-10 Saturday for the car, truck, Jeep and tractor show. Entry fee $10. For more info, contact the chamber of commerce: 256-5938154; or boazchamberassist@gmail. com.

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

• Oct. 5-29 – Book Cover Photography Guntersville photographer Judy Vest Kennamer LeBlanc has had numerous photos published worldwide on the covers of books. Her book covers were featured in the winter, 2018, issue of Good Life Magazine. See these and more examples of her work at the MVAC Gallery. A reception for the artist will be 5:30-7 pm Oct. 12. The MVAC gallery at 440 Gunter Ave., Guntersville, is open 10 am-5 pm Tuesday-Friday, 10 am-2 pm Saturday. For more info: www. mvcarts.org; or: 256-571-7199. • Oct. 8-9 – Lake City Fallfest The annual event, with an outdoor market and food trucks, open 10 a.m.-6 p.m. Friday in downtown Guntersville. Hours are the same Saturday with a return of the above, live music, pumpkin patch, games, contests, train rides, hay rides, costume contest and more. Follow on Facebook @LakeCityFallfest. • Oct. 22-31 – Little Shop of Horrors Director Wesley H. Rorex will bring the classic to the Whole Backstage for the Halloween season. Auditions were still underway as this issue of GLM prepared for press. Performances are 7 pm Oct. 22, 23, 28, 29, 30; and 2 pm Oct. 24 and 31. When available at wholebackstage.com, tickets will be $20 for adults, $18 for seniors, $12 for students. • Oct. 30 – Pink Pumpkin Run Pink Pumpkin Run/Walk – sponsored by the Foundation for Marshall Medical Centers at Guntersville Civitan Park – always draws a crowd, and after last year’s virtual run because of Covid, this could be more “pink” than ever. Details were incomplete at press time, but the 10K, 5K and a 1-mile fun run begin respectively at 9 a.m., 9:15 and 10:15 with awards at 11. The pancake brunch – free to participants – starts 9. Register online at: www. pinkpumpkinrun.com.

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AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Good People

5questions Story and photo by David Moore

o one ever accused Davis Lee of doing things in a small way. His AlaTrade chicken processing plants in Boaz and Albertville are among the largest employers in Marshall County. When Davis decided to “retire,” he sought a way to thank his workers and decided to convert AlaTrade into an employee-owned business. That action in June made Guntersville-headquartered AlaTrade one of the largest ESOPs – employee stock ownership plans – in Alabama. During a particularly heavy time for littering in Marshall County, Davis, who lives north of Arab at Cherokee Ridge, pumped some $50,000 into cleanup and educational efforts. After buying discarded iron from a renovation of the Statute of Liberty, in 2008 he created Liberty’s Legacy and gave replica figurines containing shards of that iron to elementary students as part of a curriculum on liberty. A dozen years ago, when he heard about a drive to fly Tennessee Valley veterans to the nation’s capital to see the World War II memorial, he wrote not one but two $100,000 checks to the cause. Much of Davis’s character development traces to his parents, who raised him in Arapahoe, a wide spot in the coastal plain roads of North Carolina. “They had everything to do with what I am.” And, he adds, “I also picked up a few good points from people I worked with, associated with over the years.” After a management career in the poultry industry, Davis developed a lucrative streak of entrepreneurship from which he fueled his philanthropic spirit. And he keeps it all colorful with a knack for anecdotal storytelling. “People ask me all the time about how I made such a success out of AlaTrade,” Davis says, explaining why he rewarded 16

Davis Lee

Folksy sayings impart useful wisdom ... a simple truth he learned from his parents his AlaTrade employees in such a big fashion. “I tell them I’m like the turtle on top of a fence post … I had a lot of help getting there.”

elp notwithstanding, Davis ascended that fence post from humble, North Carolina roots. His dad, Lytle Lee, was a civilian aircraft mechanic at Cherry Point Marine Corps Air Station who ran a ferry on the Neuse River as a side job. Davis lived his first years in a two-room house. He was born so sickly the doctor gave him only two weeks to live. But his mother, Eva, who finished the seventh grade, refused to accept that. “I think she willed me to live,” says Davis, who was called Davie growing up. “She would not let me die.” Later, the family upgraded to a fourroom house. “We were not much worse off than the general population,” Davis says. “We just took what we had and made the best of it. I can’t remember ever being cold. I remember being hot. I slept outside under an oak tree a lot of summer nights.” But poverty didn’t drive him to succeed. “The only thing I ever tried to do was be better at whatever I did,” says Davis. Eva helped cultivate that attitude. “If you’re a bread truck driver,” she told young Davie, “be a very, very good bread truck driver.”

rom age 8, Davis worked in the fields to earn money to buy school clothes. “I’d buy two or three pairs of overalls and new pair of shoes for Sunday. I’d rotate last year’s Sunday shoes for that year’s work shoes. “You were committed to work,” he adds. “It’s what you did.” At age 13, Davis didn’t know what “foreshadowing” meant, but he knew he had to turn in an agricultural project

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at school. Deciding to raise and sell chickens, he ordered 100 chicks. Purina shipped him 150. He kept records on feed costs, but as the chicks grew, so did his appetite. By the time they were ready for sale, only 52 were left. He’d eaten the rest. His teacher was impressed with his bookkeeping, if not his profit margin. Once, some teen-aged buddies of his – Davis wasn’t with them – broke into a camp house on the river. They didn’t steal anything, but they got caught. “The sheriff scared the hell of them by taking them to jail before turning them loose. I told Daddy the scare seemed pretty harsh. He looked at me with his steely eyes and said, ‘You want to stay out of the trouble with the law?’” “I said, ‘Yes, sir.’” “Then behave yourself,” Lytle replied. The law within the Lee family was basically the same. “There was always an underlying tone not to embarrass the family,” Davis explains. “Even your brother or sister would call you down.”

n high school, Davis played all sports, but baseball was his love. “I was not a gifted athlete, but I took what I had and worked to make it better,” he says. He had confidence, too, which showed when he went out for baseball at Atlantic Christian College (now Barton College), in Wilson, NC. The coach had asked him to try out after playing him in ping pong and noticing his hand-to-eye coordination. The first day, when the coach asked what position he played in high school, Davis said outfield. But after seeing a lot of big, tall, fast guys shagging flies, and seeing only two scrawny guys at third, Davis he’d like to play there. “Ever played third base?” the coach asked. “Nope,” Davis replied. “But I guarantee you I’m better than those two.”

SNAPSHOT: Davis Lee

EARLY LIFE: Born March 1, 1940, Arapahoe, N.C.; second child of the late Lytle and Eva Lee. Siblings, Tommy Lee, Union Grove; Judy Roads, Arab. EDUCATION: 1957, graduated Pamlico County High School; studied business three and a half years at Atlantic Christian College, Wilson, N.C. FAMILY: 1981, married the former Beth Johnson. Combined, they have six grown children: Davis Jr., Wendy, Melinda, Michael, Steve and Justin Roberts. CAREER: 1960 accountant, sales manager, Rose Hill Poultry Co.; 1969, plant controller, National Spinning Co.; 1971, general manager, Rose Hill Poultry; moved to Alabama in 1977 as complex manager, ConAgra Poultry, Decatur; 1982, complex manager, ConAgra, Ruston, La.; 1983, vice president, live production, Foster Farms of California, Turlock; 1985, VP sales/marketing, (Spring Valley Farms, soon purchased by) Tyson, regional production manager, Oxford, Ala.; 1992, VP sales, Tyson, Springdale, Ark.; 1996, president, Keystone Foods Poultry Division, Huntsville; 1999, retired; 2000, started AlaTrade Foods, now a part of Davis Lee Companies, through which he started some dozen companies. AWARDS/AFFILIATIONS – Member, Arab First United Methodist Church; 1992, elected president, Alabama Poultry & Egg Association; Alabama Poultry Hall of Fame; first recipient of Marshall County Economic Development Council’s Industrialist of the Year Award.

Davis made the team and got a scholarship. Even so, Lytle and Eva could not support his education. Plus, he was married with two children. So in college he worked various jobs, including refereeing high school basketball, a night shift in a pork processing plant and two summers aboard a fishing trawler. Out of college in 1960, Davis worked as an accountant at a poultry processing plant in Rose Hill, NC. Within three years he’d become sales manager, and three years later company sales were up 100 percent. A few years at a textile plant taught him a keen attention to detail. Returning with those lessons to Rose Hill in 1971 as general manager, he turned the company around from a $500,000 loss to $1 million in profits in two years. In 1977, Davis came to ConAgra Poultry in Decatur, Ala., as complex manager. It was there he met the former Beth Johnson in 1979, and they married in ’81. After top positions in Louisiana, California and Arkansas, Davis worked about 11 years in management for Tyson. In 1996, he became president of Keystone Foods Poultry Division in Huntsville.

avis gave retirement a whirl in 1999 – briefly. In 2000 he started AlaTrade, which became a part of Davis Lee Companies, which in turn grew to “umbrella” about a dozen businesses. “I don’t think I ever had an original thought in my life,” he laughs. “But I was always good at copying. And it worked out for us. “I’m interested in learning from people. That’s why when I started playing golf, I played with older folks – they have experience and sense and you don’t pick that up from the young guys.” Besides selling off a few former holdings and exiting AlaTrade this June, Davis Lee is no longer directly involved in Liberty’s Legacy. “I set up funds that will support it so it can be successful for the foreseeable future,” he says. As CEO of Davis Lee Companies, Davis remains invested and involved in an armful of diversified, new and existing companies, including: • DSide, a fast, insurance research 18

engine that Rockefeller Capital Group is trying to sell to a large internet company; • QuantumX, a cyber security system designed for business and national security interest, in which Davis is a major investor; • A partial investment in his youngest son’s business – with one plant in Huntsville and another being built in Crossville – that recycles aluminum by melting old engine blocks and such into bars and selling them to manufacturers of parts and engines for autos, boats and aircraft; • Heav’n Lee, a horse farm he and Beth own at the entrance road to Cherokee Ridge; • A Cessna XLS, his eight-passenger private jet on which he charters flights; • A fully integrated company producing CBG to fight inflammation, pain and nausea, and CBD to fight anxiety, all processed from legal cannabis grown in Union Grove. “It will be,” says the man who doesn’t do things in a small way, “the largest CBG and CBD operation in Alabama.”

How would you describe the corporate culture you created at AlaTrade? A: As long as we do good – not just for customers but for our corporate family – we’re going to be successful. So we try to do good, to be good corporate citizens. But for our citizenship mission to be successful, you first have to turn a profit. That’s my 11th Commandant – Thou shalt turn a profit. You’ve got to have that or you can’t add these other things. My daddy once had me shoveling wheelbarrow loads of chert for our driveway, and told me that I would probably be working all my life, so I should make work fun. “Where’s the fun in this?” I asked. He handed me his watch and said to time himself shoveling the next load. “Then what?” “Then do it faster on the next load,” he said. He was telling me to be the best I can be, and that meant doing better the next time I did something. Some days it might be 10 percent better, some days just a half-percent better. It’s not necessarily that the actual action you do is better, it’s that your attitude is always to do better. That’s what we do at AlaTrade – do

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a better job today that we did yesterday. We have 1,800 employees, and I dare say probably three-fourths of them have that do-it-better attitude. I appreciate that. That’s why I gave thank-you bonuses to management when I left AlaTrade. But it bothered me that I hadn’t done anything for the line workers, except the ESOP. Then I had this epiphany – the Davis Lee Legacy Lottery. We will have a $50,000 lottery drawing at each plant every year. The only thing employees have to do to be eligible is to come to work every day when they are not sick. So every hourly production person will have a chance to win $50,000 every year. I’m funding it for three years for sure and might do it beyond if it’s working.

Philanthropy appears to be important you. How did that come about? A: It all goes back to my upbringing. One evening I was complaining to my momma about something going on at school. She asked me what I’d done to try and change that. I said “Nothing.” “Let me give you some advice,” she said. I used to ride the bus sometimes, but we lived close enough to school to walk, and when I did I took a shortcut through some woods. “Davie,” she said. “You know that shortcut you take, that mudhole that’s always there in the middle of your path?” “Yep. It was there this morning. I had to walk around it and tore my shirt.” “Go out there behind the garage to your daddy’s rock pile every day, and put some rocks in your pockets,” she said. “Then throw them in that mudhole as you pass it. You keep doing that, and eventually you’ll fill it and make your travels easier.” I said that made sense. Then she leaned over the kitchen bar and said, “And it will make the travels easier for all the people who come behind you.” You don’t just fill up the mudhole for yourself. You fill it for everyone who comes behind you. Mom died in 2004. She was 94 and had been living with Beth and me 13 years. We buried her in eastern North Carolina. I did the eulogy. I was so nervous Beth gave me half a Xanax. There are no rocks to speak of in eastern North Carolina. Only sand and water, but after the funeral I looked down

and there was a little heart-shaped rock, like a symbol of what she told me to do with my life – to fill up mudholes so that your travels, and everyone who comes behind you, will be easier. I still have that rock. About six or seven years ago, the principal at DAR High School asked me to speak at their graduation. I asked if I could present something to each senior, and he said yes. So I told them that story. When they came across the stage, he gave them a diploma, and I gave each one a heart-shaped rock – or the best I could find. A few years later I was at the grocery store to get fried chicken for lunch. A young woman with a small child and bunch of groceries was about to check out ahead of me. I’m thinking, “I’m in the wrong line.” She looked back and said, “Mr. Lee, come on and get ahead of me. You don’t know me, but you spoke at our DAR graduation.” And she reached in her purse and she had her rock. She said she carried it with her every day. I laughed and said, “You’re probably the only one in a hundred.” “No,” she said. “A lot of my classmates still have their rocks.” Maybe we all need a reminder about filling up mudholes.

In 2008 and early 2009, you made two donations of $100,000 each to Honor Flight Tennessee Valley, paying the way for 250 World War II veterans to fly to Washington, DC, to see the WWII and other memorials. How did that come about? A: That’s the best contribution I could have ever made. I still don’t go a month without running into someone who says, “You helped my dad go to Washington.” That happens all the time. I had an accountant who was a great advisor, but he left out some tax opportunities for AlaTrade. When he retired he put me with a firm in Birmingham. They went back three years and found those opportunities and refiled. I went home one night and had gotten a check from the IRS for $94,000. Beth said, “I know you can use that toward your business.” I could have, but I said no. I had read about this guy in Huntsville,

Joe Fitzgerald, who was trying to raise money for three Honor Flights. What a great way to honor our veterans! So I called him, we had lunch and he said they were not doing very well with fundraising. I had already written a check for $100,000 and said, “Now you’ll be able to take the first flight.” He made a big deal of it, and the first flight was great. The next year or so, I came home again and there was another check for almost $100,000. When I opened it, Beth said, “I don’t think I have to guess where that’s going.” Back when I was growing up, my mother might get a birthday card with maybe $3 in it, and she’d say, “That’s found money. You’re supposed to do good with it.” “Found money ...” I had some found money from the IRS. Yes, I could have used it in the business, but that is not what I wanted to do. Beth and I went on the second Honor Flight. It was very touching. I cried like a baby. I later supported a Korean flight in honor of my brother, who was in the National Guard and activated during that time. And earlier this year, after selling a 12-house poultry farm in Centre, I created a trust and made Wounded Warriors the beneficiary. When I was in college I tried to join the Marines. I did fine on the physical and such, but they said they couldn’t take me. “Why? Am I blind?” They said it was because I had two kids. So I didn’t’ serve in the military – and I regret that – but it’s not that I didn’t try.

The Honor Flights included veterans from Marshall County, but talk about some of the other local groups that have benefited from your philanthropy. A: Last November, I asked Tracy Champion, in our office to check with the bank and see if I could get $120,000 in $100 bills. “What do you want it for?” she asked. There is so much talk about defunding police that I wanted to give cash Christmas gifts to all the law enforcement personnel in Marshall County. Guntersville Chief Jim Peterson gave me the number for each town and

the sheriff’s office, but the bank could not get the cash fast enough for me. So my son, Michael, called a man in Lakeland, Florida, who deals with cash. I met the guy at the Albertville Airport and he handed me a wrapped up cardboard box about half the size of a box of sheet paper, full of bills. We gave every uniformed officer in the county five $100 bills and each clerk or jailer three $100 bills. That was one of the most satisfying things I’ve done. Some of the letters we got back from those people would just tear you up. About 10 years ago, I gave some money from our “give-back fund” to several groups to help spruce up Marshall County. The litter had gotten really bad. Working through PALS, I donated $10,000 to the sheriff’s office to spend on gas to transport inmates on clean-up detail, help defray overtime for guards and to buy plastic bags. I offered $6,000 for the same sort of use by the police departments in Arab, Guntersville, Albertville and Boaz. As part of the clean-up effort, I offered $1,000 to each of the sixteen or so primary and elementary schools in the county to buy materials for teachers to use for anti-litter lessons. My hope was the kids could learn lessons and pass them on to their parents. There are other local things, too, like supporting Arab Musical Theatre, and, before Covid, Beth and I funded a scholarship program at our church that paid talented high school kids to lend their voices to the adult choir.

What’s something most people don’t know about Davis Lee? A: I’m not good about holding in my feelings and emotions or my love of country, but I really don’t have any secret desires. I do remember one day while my daddy was teaching me to drive. “Son,” he said, “you’re doing good. I want you to learn to keep in the right lane. But you also need to know how to look on each side of the highway.” I said, “What? Everything is flat and mostly pine trees … maybe a pig farm.” “There are opportunities in life son,” he told me, “but there are not any if you don’t see them.” Good Life Magazine

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Good Reads

Follett writes the must-read prequel to his ‘Pillars’ series

Cameron makes you ask questions ... then gives a gift

n 1989, Ken Follett began the Kingsbridge series with “Pillars of the Earth,” followed by “World Without End” in 2007 and “Column of Fire in 2017.” Now (yippee!) comes the prequel to the Kingsbridge series “The Evening and the Morning.” If you held me down and threatened me to When the Roman Empire disclose my top 10 favorite books, “Pillars” would declined, Britain went surely be on the list and Mr. backward. As the Roman Follett definitely appears villas crumbled, the in my top 10 authors list. It people built one-room may be trite to say, but his wooden dwellings without books get better and better. chimneys. The technology He writes about real people, his characters of Roman pottery – richly drawn. His storylines important for storing food are all you want – action, – was mostly lost. Literacy suspense, a smidge of declined. This period romance, history writ well. is sometimes called the “The Evening and Dark Ages, and progress the Morning” begins in 997 AD, drawing you was painfully slow for into the lives of a young five hundred years. Then, boat builder, a Norman at last, things started to noblewoman, a humble change. . . monk, a power-mad church aristocracy and Vikings. Intrigue, danger, fierce rivalries, love and hate, make this book unputdownable. It simply must be on the top of your to-read book stack. – Deb Laslie

very once in a while you need to read something uplifting, and thoughtful. Something that causes you to pause with the book in your lap, ponder what you’ve read, read that part again and wonder, “Is this about me?” “What do I believe?” “Emory’s Gift” by That day in the woods W. Bruce Cameron (“A Dog’s Purpose”) is a it seemed as if the birds book about a boy and and all other creatures his bear – and more. For went quiet at the sight some, it’s the place a of a thirteen-year-old miracle happened; for boy walking alongside a others it confirms we grizzly bear. The breeze don’t know everything. Charlie Hall and his died down, even, as if father George are reeling stilled in awe. I couldn’t from the loss of their keep the grin off my face mother/wife. Adrift and at the sheer mass of him bereft, they find their moving next to me. way to each other with Emory the bear. the help of Emory, a grizzly. But is Emory real? Is Charlie simply making all this up? Charlie doesn’t understand the nuance of adult perceptions about life. He has no past grounding in “spin” or the foundations of religious faith. He only knows that Emory is his friend, so he does what 13-year-old boys do. He protects his friend, believes in him. And Emory’s gift? It’s what you receive when you finished the book. – Deb Laslie

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Experience Hadwin House! We are so much more than a place to shop and have lunch. While you’re here, you discover your new favorite candle scent and you learn about combinations of olive oils and balsamics to take your home cooking to a new level. All of our candles are carefully hand-poured right here at the store, and we take pride in each and every jar! We offer shipping or free in-store pickup so you can shop from the comfort of your home, car, office or wherever you find solace.

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Good Cooking Story by Jacquelyn Hall Photos by David Moore

tephanie Hadwin did not seek out candle-making and cooking as a career. Rather, it seems, candle-making and cooking sought her out. What started as a mission to find candles that she could use in her home without triggering her husband’s and son’s asthma, turned into a passion-filled career which is built on a lifelong love of creativity, cooking beautiful and delicious food, and sharing her generous heart through everything she makes. Living in New Jersey in 2016, Stephanie realized that some of her and her husband Damon’s favorite candles were triggering his asthma. Through some tedious trial and error, she and Damon found that soy-based candles were the culprit. So, after much research, Stephanie started pouring her own custom blended candles. Shortly after she began, a friend asked to do a fundraiser with her to raise money to dig a well in Honduras. One well and 175 candles later, Stephanie found her footing and decided to open Hadwin House from their basement. After nurturing their budding business there for two years, they opened their first store in 2018. In March 2020, with the business growing, they had no sooner gone through a mountain of paperwork and moved into a bigger store, when life abruptly pulled the Hadwins in an entirely different direction. They decided to move to Guntersville to help her mother-in-law. “We say all the time, ‘If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans,’ and boy did He laugh!” Stephanie says.

n a November whirlwind in the midst of a pandemic, they not only moved their family – which includes children Noah and Reagan – and life into a rental house in Guntersville, but two weeks later they reopened Hadwin House on Gunter Avenue. And three months after that move, they purchased their home in Guntersville. “Everything felt crazy,” Stephanie says. “But I thought, ‘Hold on tight to the palm

‘Beautifully full and abundant’ plates are Stephanie’s way to communicate her love of God’s hand.’ And we got through it all – even better than we could have imagined.”

lossoming from her long love of

have benefited the Hadwin home for years. Cooking and feeding people are favorite ways to communicate her love. She wants the plates she serves to family, friends and

New Jersey transplant Stephanie Hadwin rewards herself with an iced coffee after cooking a family feast at home in her kitchen. the food arts, Stephanie has added a bistro to her repertoire at Hadwin House. “It’s all like spaghetti,” she laughs of the new effort. “Throw it up against the wall and see what sticks.” In running her bistro, Stephanie leans on lessons learned over the years through different restaurant jobs she’s had. One of her first was as a country club hostess and server, but she always made a point to watch the chefs in the kitchen, picking up every detail and skill she could, from how to hold a knife to artful plating. “Presentation is everything,” Stephanie says. “We eat with our eyes first.” She expects those lessons and her love of cooking to help her build the bistro side of Hadwin House, but those same factors

strangers alike to always be “beautifully full and abundant” and say to people, “I love you this much.” Using fresh and locally sourced ingredients whenever possible is a priority for her. Those extra steps in preparation add to the experience of enjoying one of her meals and communicating her love to the diner.

tephanie’s favorite quick and easy meal is shrimp with bow-tie pasta. “You can whip it together in 30 minutes, and it’s always a hit,” she says. A hit for the chef with its expeditious preparation, and a hit with the diner for its wonderful flavors. Of her more involved recipes, her

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THOSE PORK CHOPS

In our house these don’t have a fancy name, they are simply “those pork chops.” 2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour 1 Tbsp. zhug (you can also substitute cumin for less “kick”) 1 tsp. sea salt 1 tsp. fresh ground black pepper 4-6 oz. pork loin chops 1 Tbsp. olive oil 1 Tbsp. butter 2 small apples (Granny Smith gives more tart) cut into thin slices ¼ cup of fresh parsley chopped, more course than fine ½ cup beef broth – chicken broth will also work for a lighter flavor or if using white balsamic 2 Tbsp. dark balsamic (I like to use a red apple flavored dark balsamic or a Mediterranean) Mix together flour, zhug (or cumin), salt and pepper on a large plate. Lightly coat each chop with flour mixture and set aside. Heat olive oil and butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Sprinkle the apple slices with a pinch of salt and pepper and cook about 5 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from skillet, cover and set aside. Place pork in the skillet, sprinkle with parsley and cook until the meat is golden brown and crispy (4-6 minutes per side or longer depending on thickness of cut). While pork is cooking, whisk together broth and balsamic. Remove the pork from skillet once cooked to desired temp and set aside. Pour the broth mixture in skillet, stirring and scraping up any browned dripping bits to create a sauce. Bring to a boil carefully (the balsamic will boil quickly) and remove from heat once boiled and lightly thickened. Place apple slices over the pork and drizzle the sauce mixture over the pork and apples. Enjoy! TIP – For added flavor experience, serve with a small bit of stone-ground mustard.

favorites are stuffed chicken and what her family calls “Those Pork Chops.” “It’s not that they are difficult to make – it’s all easy – but the steps can be tedious and boring, Stephanie says. “But the results are always fantastic and worth it.” The chicken always turns out perfectly moist, with just the right amount of cheese and bacon to round it out. It’s one of those meals that’s a balm to the soul; a wonderfully rich comfort food that instantly puts mind and body at ease. Likewise with “Those Pork Chops,” 24

which also come with an amusing name. Over the years, when she’d ask what the family wanted for supper, Damon would often answer “those pork chops.” The name eventually stuck. The chops are popular for good reasons. They are perfectly tender and juicy with a balance between savory sweetness and a tangy, not-too-spicy kick. The caramelized apples really make the dish something extra special.

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

hile Stephanie loves to cook just

about everything, her favorite cuisines are Italian, American Southwest and traditional southern fare. She particularly enjoys incorporating her favorite blends of olive oil and balsamic when she can to add those extra layers of unsurpassed flavor and visual detail. Her ultimate culinary goal is to make sure her plates are as beautiful as the food is delicious, so the person enjoying her cooking knows she cares for them, whoever they are. Good Life Magazine

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CAPRESE INSALATA This Italian favorite makes the hostess look fabulous and keeps the kitchen clean! 2 tomatoes, sliced ¼ in. thick 1 pre-sliced log of mozzarella (or 2 large mozzarella balls sliced to ¼ inch thick) 10-12 basil leaves Mediterranean balsamic

Starting with mozzarella, make a pattern of mozzarella, basil, tomato, mozzarella, basil, tomato and so on. You can go in straight lines or make a ring around the plate. The one thing to make sure of is that there is

a leaf of basil between each slice of mozzarella and tomato. Once you have created your plated masterpiece, drizzle it with a nice, thick balsamic such as a Mediterranean.

CHICKEN CAPRESE 5-6 tomatoes (I prefer a sweet variety such as Roma or Vine), cut into large chunks (you can also use at least 12 cherry tomatoes) 6 large basil leaves cut into ¼-inch strips 2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cleaned and cut in quarters Sliced mozzarella log Extra virgin olive oil In a large skillet lightly coated with 2 Tbsp. of extra virgin olive oil add cut tomatoes and basil; cook on medium-high for about 5 minutes, stirring constantly to make a roasted tomato blend; do not over-cook, tomatoes should not be too “mushy.” Once the tomatoes have softened and cooked, remove and place in a bowl. Using the same bowl add another 2 Tbsp. 26

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of olive oil and heat to medium-high. Sear both sides of the chicken breasts. Once seared, cover. Turn stove temp to low. Cook until juices are clear and chicken has reached an internal temperature of 180 degrees. When chicken is almost done, add the tomatoes back into the skillet with the chicken and cover for remainder of cook time. When chicken has reached temperature, place a slice of mozzarella on each chicken section and cover for 5 minutes to allow the mozzarella to soften. Remove chicken from the pan and serve with the tomatoes topped over the chicken. Add additional basil leaves for more basil flavor and/ or for garnish. Enjoy! TIP – Use a flavor infused olive oil, such as an Italian herb style, to add a savory flavor to your dish!

BUFFALO CHICKEN SALAD 2 12 oz. cans chicken breast 3 Tbsp. ranch dressing ¼ cup Frank’s Red Hot Combine ingredients and blend thoroughly. Serve as desired.

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BACON MUSHROOM SWISS CHICKEN BREAST 4 boneless skinless chicken breasts Bacon, uncooked 1 can of cream of chicken soup Sliced mushrooms Swiss cheese slices Preheat the oven to 350. Clean chicken and cut away any fat. Butterfly cut (create a pocket cut) in the side of the chicken breast. Then fill with 1 tablespoon of the cream of chicken soup. Next, make an “x” with 2 slices

of bacon. Place the filled chicken cutlet on the bacon at the center of the “x.” Top with desired amount of sliced mushrooms. Wrap the chicken with the bacon and allow it to cross over the mushrooms. Place bacon-wrapped chicken in a 13x9 pan (or whatever best fits your needs) and cover with foil. Bake approximately 1 hour or until the juices run clear (may take longer depending on thickness of chicken).

EASY BOWTIE PASTA WITH SHRIMP AND SUN-DRIED TOMATOES 1 lb. box of bowtie pasta ½ cup Parmesan Romano cheese blend ½ cup light cream (half and half will do in a pinch) 1 bag of shrimp (sometimes I’ll use a small shrimp ring if the price is better) 3 Tbsp. butter ½ lemon Minced garlic Sun-dried tomatoes, julienne cut Parsley 28

Cook pasta according to directions. Once cooked, add cheese mix and cream to make a simple white sauce. (You can add more cream or less Parmesan, depending on desired consistency.) In a skillet combine butter, ½ tsp. of garlic, the juice from lemon squeezed directly over the skillet and the shrimp. Cook until shrimp is moderately firm. Dish out the shrimp over the pasta and add sun dried tomatoes once plated. Complete dish with parsley and serve.

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Once chicken has reached temperature remove the pan from the oven and uncover. Place 1 slice of swiss per chicken wrap and gently spoon over juices to melt the swiss. Be cautious not to over-run the cheese so that it doesn’t over melt and make its way off of the chicken. Serve and enjoy. TIP – I find that this particular dish pairs very nicely with rosemary cooked red potatoes. PICO DE GALLO 6 tomatoes, diced 1 yellow onion, diced 4 serrano peppers, finely chopped (I use a Ninja) Juice of 1 lime 2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil (for added kick use citrus Habanero extra virgin olive oil) A dash of garlic salt Place ingredients in a bowl and blend together with two spoons. Refrigerate and serve when ready.

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APPLE CRUMBLE DESSERT CUPS Graham cracker crumbs 5 apples, peeled, cored and diced small ½ cup brown sugar 2 tsp. cinnamon 2 Tbsp. cornstarch Honey granola

Whipped cream Preheat oven to 450. Combine apples, brown sugar, cinnamon and corn starch in a bowl and toss together.

CINNAMON PANCAKES 1 ¼ cups flour 1 Tbsp. baking powder 1 Tbsp. sugar ½ tsp. salt 1 tsp. cinnamon (2 if you like) 1 cup milk 2 Tbsp. vegetable oil 1 Tbsp. vanilla extract 2 Tbsp. water Whisk flour, baking powder, sugar, salt and cinnamon in a large bowl. In a medium bowl (or extra-large measuring cup) combine milk, vegetable oil, vanilla extract and 1 Tbsp. of water. Add water if needed. Cook on griddle or skillet.

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Place in 13x9 baking pan, cover and bake for 25 minutes; allow to cool. Place 2 Tbsp. graham cracker crumbs in each of three large dessert cups. Top with granola and whipped cream and serve.

HONEY CORNBREAD honey and egg. Melt 2 Tbsp. 1 cup cornmeal of butter in microwave (careful 1 cup all-purpose flour not to scorch) and combine with ¼ cup sugar milk mixture. Blend well. At this 1 Tbsp. baking powder point, place the other 2 Tbsp. 1 tsp. salt of butter into the skillet in the 1 cup 2% milk (or whole milk) oven. ¼ cup honey Combine milk mixture and 1 large egg flour/cornmeal mix to make a 4 Tbsp. divided into 2, to be used at separate times thick batter. Once butter has fully melted in skillet, remove Preheat oven to 400. Place a from oven and add the batter to the skillet. Return the skillet 10-inch cast iron skillet in oven for 10 minutes or so (enough to to the oven and bake for 20 heat well). While that is heating minutes or so until the top has up, whisk dry ingredients in achieved a golden brown and a a large bowl. In a separate skewer/knife/toothpick comes medium bowl combine milk, out clean from the center.

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Good Getaways

Taking in a five-mile stretch of water, the view of the Tennessee River Gorge from Snooper’s Rock, above, is epic. An elevation of 1,410 feet puts the bluff 776 feet above the river’s horseshoe bend. Left, the I-24 and U.S. 41 bridges cross the river/reservoir four miles upstream from Nickajack Dam. The photo was taken from Look Out Winery (and pizzeria) on U.S. 41. The second ridge back in the photo is where scenic Grant Summit Cabins, pictured at far right, is located. 32

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Nickajack

and the Tennessee River Gorge Story and photos by David Moore

hen Hunter and I stepped out of the dark forest onto Snooper’s Rock, I was hit by a sense of discovery, as if maybe my son and I were the first humans to ever behold this expansive view of the serpentine Tennessee River Gorge. “First,” of course, is preposterous. Another photographer was already set up there in the predawn gloom hoping to catch a stunning sunrise, maybe with the river fogged over, as it sometimes does, in the pit

of the deep gorge. Soon, 15 more people joined our vigil. As it worked out, sunrise was a flat, gray, overcast bust. I ended up driving again to southeastern Tennessee a few days later for an afternoon shot from Snooper’s – but I truly didn’t mind the drive. The feeling of discovery was still palpable, even though a few others were visiting then, too. That sensation of discovery, for me, is the exclamation mark that accompanies any trip to this stretch of the Tennessee River from Nickajack Dam up through the relatively narrow, looming walls of the

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Walden Ridge Game Preserve Road •

• Suck Creek • Suck Creek Road

Snooper’s Rock •

• Elder Mountain

Mullins Cove Road •

• Top of the Rock Restaurant

• Look Out Winery

Hicks Mountain

• Nickajack Dam

• Grant Summit Cabins

gorge before reaching Chattanooga 43 miles upstream. Experiencing the gorge by boat is amazing, but you can thoroughly enjoy this area by car and foot. Hunter and I stayed two nights at Grant Summit Cabins, which is tucked into the northeast corner of Alabama atop a mountain directly overlooking Nickajack Dam. On the drive over, we ate in Jasper, Tennessee, at Top of the Rock. It has good food, on-site brewing and a knockout view – a foretaste, really – of where we were heading. Grant Summit Cabins aren’t exactly central to the area. But the view is tremendous and this was pretty much a road trip anyway, so I’d say they’re perfect. The drive to Snooper’s Rock takes just over an hour. The route is scenic but a bit involved, with the last six miles on a gravel road. So if you want to catch a sunrise, I suggest a daylight reconnaissance trip first.

The area boasts numerous hiking trails, but before taking off on state land first check the state forestry website. Prentice Cooper State Forest and other areas are closed certain days of the year for hunting. Call ahead: 423-658-5551. Hunter would have probably been up for any hike, but his old, gray dad’s hiking legs ain’t what they used be. So for the full Saturday we had, we took a loop drive back over the river, up the scenic Sequatchie Valley, across Hicks Mountain and – still on the same road, down into Chattanooga. Next trip, I want to drive Mullins Cove Road which hugs north shore of the river through the gorge. And, for sure, revisit Snooper’s Rock. Good Life Magazine For more information: • topoftherockbrewery.com • grantsummitcabins. holidayfuture.com • www.tn.gov/agriculture/forests/ state-forests/prentice-cooper.html

Hunter Moore, upper right, explores along Suck Creek, which parallels Tenn. 27 as it tumbles down Hicks Mountain into the gorge. At right, is a view of the river from US 41 at the bottom of the gorge. 34

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Taking U.S. 72 north from Guntersville, it’s a little over one hour to Top of the Rock Restaurant and Brewery in Jasper, Tenn. From there, it’s 21 miles to Grant Summit Cabins. From the cabins to Snooper’s Rock, cross the Tennessee on U.S. 41, drive up the Sequatchie Valley on Tenn. 27 to Powells Crossroad, then follow 27 up Walden Ridge, and watch for signs to Prentice Cooper State Forest. Tenn. 27 continues back down the mountain and into Chattanooga, and U.S. 41 loops you out of the gorge.

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When ‘country’ beckoned, the Smalleys built a new house on the backroads of Scant City

Story and photos By David Moore

t’s said that every picture tells a story. At Dan and Mary Nell Smalley’s house, at the end of a long drive tucked into the backroads of Scant City, every room tells a story, bears a memory, nods to family history. Even if the house is relatively new – they moved there in 36

July 2019 – and even if the Smalleys downsized from their original house, they still have 5,700 square feet, and that can hold a lot of stories, memories and history. Just for instance … On the mantle in the “outside” kitchen sits a pipe rack with pipes that belonged to Mary Nell’s granddaddy, Billy McDonald Nunnelley, who lived in the HulacoBaileyton area. Hanging on the mantle in the living

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room is Dan’s great granddaddy’s “rabbitear” 12-gauge, so-called because of the dual hammers that stick up from the chambers. That big grandfather clock standing at attention between the hall and Mary Nell’s kitchen? Dan’s dad, Jerrel, traded someone a diesel fuel tank for that. On Mary Nell’s custom-built, square dining table is displayed a quilt made by grandmother Beulah Smalley. Comfy old

They filled it with lifetimes of memories and stories and family history passed down

quilts made by Dan’s mother, Louise, hang on a rack in the hall near the grandfather clock. “Every room has a story,” Dan says. “It makes the house special … it makes it warm because everybody had touched everything before we got here. We can reminisce over family and friends and history.” “And why we are like we are,” Mary Nell grins.

“For better or worse,” Dan adds.

hat “for better or worse” business was agreed upon when they married in 1972. But back in school in Arab, Dan and Mary Nell knew each other only peripherally. Born in Ohio to Mary and Henry Linsky, she moved to Arab before turning 1. At age 5, Mary Nell got a jump on her education when, with her mom’s

permission, she simply walked off to school with the neighborhood kids. That put her a year ahead of Dan, who even at an early age was a budding mover and shaker. “I was,” he says in his trademark, baritone deadpan, “president of my third grade class three years in a row.” “It takes a lot of repetition for him,” says Mary Nell, who knows her man well. “He majored in freshman English.”

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Son of Louise and Jerrel, Dan spent his early years living behind Burger King. Jerrel owned the Shell station where Wilks Tire is today, and later moved his family to the farm he bought on Fry Gap Road. Dan grew up farming – working Jerrel’s chicken houses, hauling hay for cows. But he got to work high school summers as a life guard at the Arab pool. “It was lot better than hauling hay,” he insists. While Dan and Mary Nell had common friends, they remained on each other’s periphery until her senior year at Arab High. “We got to know each other at a Beta Club Convention,” she recalls. Despite his claim to multiple third-grade presidential terms, “Dan was Beta Club president.”

hey dated off and on several years after she graduated AHS in 1966. She got degrees in music education and math at Birmingham-Southern. “I had no intention of going back to the farm,” says Dan, who graduated from AHS in ’67. “I was going to be a pharmacist until I got to Samford University and found out they spelled pharmacy with a ph.” He ended up with a business major and, despite his declaration to never farm, soon found himself working with Jerrel after college. Meanwhile, Dan and Mary Nell’s offand-on dating ended in the “on” mode. “He found out I was going to teach school and could support his farming,” she laughs. She taught music a year in Decatur and, after they married, math for 10 years in Guntersville Dan worked for his dad three years until his business acumen kicked in. “I figured I would never get ahead at $80 a week,” he laughs. So he went out on his own. Jerrel, a good sport and giving dad, sold Dan 60 acres at the foot of the mountain on Fry Gap Road, for the balance he owed. Dan convinced the former Security Bank & Trust to lend him 100 percent of the money to build his first chicken house. In 1982, Mary Nell quit teaching to play a big part in the success Red Hill Farms was becoming. “I came home one day and Dan said, ‘I believe if you quit your job and kept the books, you could pay for yourself.’ I 38

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Dan and Mary Nell, far left, have two grown children. Jeremy Smalley, pastor at First Baptist Church in Bayou La Batre, and his wife, Amber, expect their first child in October. Dana and Brian Camp, who live off Fry Gap Road, have a son, James, 8. Dana teaches pre-K at Arab Primary; Brian is assistant director of Arab Park and Recreation. Dan has a sister, Jan, who is married to Brad Kitchens. Jerry Williamson, owner of Peacock Decor, not only helped the Smalleys with wall hangings, but he found a large cedar log from which he made round tables in the living room, upper left, as well as the mantels there and in the “outdoor” kitchen, above. That’s Mary Nell’s grandfather’s pipe racks and pipes on the second mantel. Hanging below them is the 12-gauge shotgun that Dan’s father, Jerrel Smalley, got once in a trade – for a black angus calf – with the uncle of late Arab businessman Sid McDonald. Jerry Williamson also built Mary Nell’s 16-seater dining room table, on which they display an heirloom quilt made by Dan’s grandmother, Beulah Smalley. AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

looked at the books and I did pay for myself. They were a mess.”

hose were the days … or, at least, some of them. When Dan and Mary Nell married, they’d moved into a 1,600-square-foot house overlooking Browns Valley from atop Brindley Mountain at Fry Gap. They raised a family. And millions of chickens for Gold Kist. Over the years they added onto the house, almost regularly, until it encompassed 6,700 square feet plus a basketball gym for good measure. It was home to hundreds of memories and stories. Family and house are not all that grew. Red Hill Farms expanded into a 16-chickenhouse operation with 407 acres – one of the largest poultry farms in the state. Dan went on the Gold Kist board in 1985 when it was still a co-operative. He later became chairman. After Gold Kist went public in 2004, it was bought out the next year by Pilgrim’s Chicken. From then on, Dan grew birds for that company. With an eye toward “one day,” he and Mary Nell bought a second house in 2004, an old, block, lake house on Browns Creek Road. “We never went inside,” Dan says. “We bought it for the lot.” Red Hill Farms took a direct hit the fateful morning of the 2011 tornado outbreak. Nine of 15 of the Smalley’s chicken houses were destroyed. They decided not to rebuild, rather they continued operating three more years out of their remaining houses, then retired in 2014. It was about then they decided to peek inside that old lake house. It was actually solid inside with wood floors and tongue and groove walls. They cleaned it up, remodeled and moved in. Though they held onto most of the land, they sold their big, old house at Fry Gap and the chicken operation in the valley.

o the Smalleys took up lake life … or tried to. Meanwhile, Dan toyed with somewhat grandiose ideas for building a new lake house. He worked with architect Susan LeSueur at the Glenn Group in Arab. We wanted a lot of glass and everything,” Dan says of those initial plans. Mary Nell grins at him. “When he 40

started doing plans, I said that we didn’t need that much house.” So she applied the brakes. “I eventually told Susan I had it exactly how I wanted it, the size of rooms and everything. ‘Now you just have to cut 2,000 square feet out of it,’” says Dan the

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

deadpan. “Susan is great to work with, but she probably would not say the same about me.” “She is very patient,” Mary Nell nods. Cutting out lots of space wasn’t the only big change looming with the new house

They noted the view off the mountain. The distant lake. And they were sold.

Dan’s office – man cave, Mary Nell insists – is full of stories, from the desk of D.W. Brooks, founder of Gold Kist and advisor to seven U.S. presidents, to a framed paper bag on which his dad wrote his only letter to Dan. Quilts his mom made hang in the hall, above. Mary Nell’s kitchen is full of conveniences, such as pop-up sockets in the island. At far left is the guest bedroom. plans. Even trimmed down, it was a lot of house for the lot. Privacy became an issue, especially with lots of glass. Plus, the realization dawned on the Smalleys like their morning views to the east, they never utilized the lake much anyway.

“We like the country,” Mary Nell explains. “We’re country people.” Answering that call, they looked elsewhere for land, and Dan came across 20 acres off Brashiers Chapel Road. They walked the ample property. The privacy.

orking with Susan, they modified their lake plans and built a place in the country to live with their stories and memories. It’s also a place of light. “We like open and a lot of light,” Mary Nell says. “When we decided to build up here with the trees, we put lots of glass back into the house,” Dan says. “And we got it all on one level.” While their grandparents might be unfamiliar with the Smalleys’ open floor plan, they’d feel at home with the wood walls and ceilings. “I wanted it to look like Grandma’s old house,” says Dan. “So we used tongue and groove on the walls and ceilings, but nailed it up backwards, knowing the cracks would separate some when it dried.” There was no question as to hiring Parker and Sons Construction in Arab to build the house. Dan and Randy Parker have built 10 or more houses together over the years. It was Randy who suggested installing crank windows to close in a planned outdoor porch kitchen, located across a hallway from Mary Nell’s big, open kitchen. The windows keep appliances cleaner and allow for yearround use of the room. “But we have,” Mary Nell grins, “gotten laughs for having two kitchens right next to each other.”

hough highly livable, the expansive house in the country remains a work in progress. The backyard, nearly all of it on solid rock, still needs grass. Shrubs and tomatoes await planting in the front. Off to the front side, a pole barn is under construction. It’ll be some sort of hybrid rec room with a kitchen and garage space. “I’ll know what it is when I finish it,” Dan promises. Besides a tractor, he needs parking space for two vehicles – a boat-size 1976 Cadillac and a 1989 Dodge Dakota convertible truck. Dan got the truck through Billy King back when Billy managed Bob Scofield’s dealership in Arab. Dan traded multiple loads of chicken manure for the vehicle. Just another story, just another memory … for a home that’s built for them. Good Life Magazine

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Good Eats

Julia’s ... Meet your new amigo Story by David Myers Photos by David Moore

hen a server rolls a cart up to your table and starts chopping, juicing and mixing to your personal preferences, you know you are in for a treat. That’s exactly what Rose and I got after a drive up the mountain to Julia’s Mexican Restaurant in Guntersville. Keep this in mind, now … we’d just returned from a week in San Antonio. I couldn’t help but wonder how Mexican fare in Guntersville would stack up with true border cuisine. I’m happy to report that Julia’s does more than stack up. I’m still happy two days later. We had hardly slid into our booth before the salsa and chips were on the table. I’m a fan of that service because by the time I’ve entered a restaurant I am ready to eat. We dug into the wonderful combination of warm chips and spicy salsa. The salsa met my benchmark test of being not overly thick but not so thin it won’t stay on the chip. It was tasty with just the right amount of spiciness. The chips were thin and crispy, just as I like them. We intended to make quick work of it, but after a couple of minutes the guacamole cart arrived and we made a new amigo. He mixed the ingredients at tableside to our specifications. The result was a guacamole that was creamy but chunky and loaded with tomatoes, onions, fresh cilantro, garlic, jalapenos and, of course, avocado. We had to force ourselves not to fill up too soon. Here’s a tip that can make your visit fun. Learn a few basic words of Spanish and parley with your server. It’ll be fun for both of you. Don’t worry about getting it perfect, just enjoy. 42

The Jael Plate is a jumbo fried tortilla packed with grilled steak, chicken, shrimp, chorizo and special sauce. And at Julia’s, a large beer is exactly that.

’m known to be a beer man, but Rose favors girly drinks like wine and margaritas. She invited our server to choose a flavor for us from the list of margaritas. It took two hands to sip the generous concoctions of pineapple and strawberry. Not overly sweet, the drinks were delicious. We sipped as we perused the massive menu. Again, we asked for

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

recommendations and our amigo outdid himself. My eyes popped out when I saw the Molcajete Azteca arrive smoking and sizzling. Molcajete is a hot volcanic stone bowl and is the traditional Mexican version of the mortar and pestle. It was loaded with big slabs of steak, chicken, shrimp, chorizo sausage, cactus, poblano peppers, veggies and a pork rib. I had a ball sticking my fork in and

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Clockwise: The Hawaiian, house and Azul are among margarita choices; Amigos Plate has steak, chicken and shrimp; meet the authentic Mexican Molcajete Bowl; and the interior is inviting. Julia’s is open 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., Sunday through Thursday and 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Friday and Saturday. It’s located at the top of Sand Mountain on U.S. 431 in Guntersville. seeing what it came up with. I was really surprised when I pulled out a slab of cactus. The bowl was accompanied by a “special salad” – a platter of warm tortillas and toppings of sour cream, Spanish rice, refried beans, pico de gallo and guacamole. I shoveled food into tortillas and then into my mouth until Rose warned me to slow down. It was all muy delicioso.

ose got the more elegant Amigos Plate, a platter with chunks of chicken, steak, shrimp, mixed with broccoli and onions, on a bed of rice smothered in cheese. Whew! I found out how to keep her quiet for a while. When you dine at Julia’s, plan on 44

having leftovers the next day because you get a lot of food. We made ourselves stop eating before we hurt ourselves. Little did we know that an irresistible dessert was on the way. A lovely presentation of churros was served warm with whipped cream and ice cream. We allowed ourselves one churro each, and that delicate pastry was the perfect end to a wonderful meal. There are too many entrees on the menu to list but suffice it to say anybody can find something to fit their taste. Going down the menu, lists of specialties, combination dinners, burritos, fajitas, chicken dishes, nachos, steaks and seafood – each sounds better than the previous. Nothing is over $20 and most are closer to 10 bucks. Good

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

luck choosing – just make sure you’re hungry. Of course, your amigo can always make recommendations. Owner Julia Palacios and her husband, manager Rony, make sure every dish is made from fresh ingredients every day. Their goal is to serve the highest quality Mexican cuisine in this area. In addition to that, the restaurant provides a feast for the eyes in its inviting and warm decor. Paintings of beautiful Latina women line the deep red walls. Light fixtures are giant globes of colorful blown glass. Plus, it’s spacious enough that it doesn’t seem loud. All in all, a great place to make a new amigo. Good Life Magazine

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A special inheritance Story by Steve A. Maze Photos from the author’s collection

y grandfather’s character was one I used to size up all men. I guess that’s why a lot of them never measured up. A simple lifestyle gave Paw Paw – a name he preferred and one he cherished – the greatest pleasure. Paw Paw was a hard-work and nononsense type of man. His work clothes consisted of overalls, brogan shoes, longsleeved shirts and a broad-brimmed straw hat. He was similar to a blue collar worker who carried a lunch pail to his job. The only difference was the lack of a name patch sewn above his shirt pocket. He rose before the fields shook off the morning dew to work in the dust and buzzing insects on his little farm in northeast Cullman County. After sunset, he would milk the cow inside his barn of weathered wood turned gray by years of hot sun, rain and cold winters. Paw Paw then walked to the house he hand-built of sawmill lumber back in 1911 to enjoy Grandma’s good cooking. He was small of stature, but his muscular body looked to be put together by a welder. His face resembled a clenched fist from the long hours under the fierce sun that boiled the sweat on his leathery brow. Paw Paw’s soft and loving heart was totally different from his hard-bitten outward appearance, however. His rough, calloused hands could gently and lovingly hold one of his dozen grandchildren. And he never failed to find each of us a shiny quarter in his change purse when we sat atop his knee.

fter a rain-shortened day in the fields, he might join us grandkids in a corncob battle behind the barn, or allow us to swim in the creek that ran through his property. Even though he believed hard work was the key to being lucky, Paw Paw indulged us while we scrambled to find four-leaf clovers hiding in his luscious green pasture. He taught us to toss horseshoes – which he had hammered into shape on his anvil – over our left shoulder in an attempt to find good fortune. 46

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Jay Hugh “Paw Paw” Maze photographed with his wife, the former Earlie Bannister, and daughters Fleecie and baby Lorene, circa 1913.

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Paw Paw welcomed sons- and daughters-in-law into the family as if they were one of his own. The only time I saw him cry was when a son-in-law died at a young age from a heart attack. He took to his bed as soon as we came home from my uncle’s funeral. Man-sized tears rolled down his face in the deep, sunburned lines that more resembled ruts. Things were either right or wrong in Paw Paw’s world. There was no gray area. Doing the right thing applied to all – no matter how much money you had or didn’t have. A handshake or a man’s word was better than a written contract in his day. Honor was still in style at that particular time period, and Paw Paw gripped his Bible tightly in such matters. If a neighbor was in distress, he felt it was his duty, as well as other members of the community, to help them. He and others regularly tended and harvested the crops of widows and those who fell ill. After the harvesting was finished and the cool autumn air was upon them, the men erected barns, doctored farm animals or butchered a hog for a neighbor because it was the right thing to do.

Showing off new clothes and prized possessions in 1933, Paw Paw holds his shotgun with one hand, his bird dog with the other. Grandson Coy Holaway holds his ukulele. Grandma holds the author’s father, Marlon Maze, with his toy gun and pet pigeons. that passed their home. I guess that was an unwritten law in the South.

aw Paw only owned one car during his lifetime – a brand new 1926 Model-T Ford he purchased for a whopping $500. He sold it for $50 when unable to obtain fuel and tires for it due to World War II rationing. Paw Paw purchased a Farmall Super A tractor in the early ’50s and that became his mode of transportation. He also obtained a salvaged military trailer after the war to pull behind the tractor. Sideboards were added so Grandma could ride atop the dried corn Paw Paw carried to the mill to have ground into cornmeal. Of course, she waved at everyone they met driving on the route. Much like a creeping iceberg, old age and poor health slowly sneaked up on Paw Paw. In his mind, you were either lazy or no account if you didn’t do some type of work. He said there was always something to do on a farm, and doing “something” enabled him to keep his pride and self worth. When no longer able to work the fields, he “hulled” butter beans or helped Grandma string green beans while sitting 48

Jay Hugh and Earlie Maze at their 50th anniversary in 1958. in his cane-bottomed chair on the front porch. Paw Paw could tell who was coming up the dirt road whenever he spotted a cloud of dust a quarter-mile away. A squeak, rattle, roar of the motor or speed of the vehicle allowed him to identify the driver. And, of course, he waved to everyone

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

he stoop in Paw Paw’s back gradually increased over the years until it morphed into a permanent fixture. When he became bedridden the stoop was so pronounced that he appeared to be trying to rise up out of bed. Like an old car, Paw Paw was simply worn out at the end of his life. There were no missing pieces, but the pieces he had simply no longer worked. And death finally relieved him from his arthritic body 15 days short of his 90th birthday. It’s still hard to believe he has been gone for almost a half century. I still recall that cool fall day in 1977 when we buried him, but I most remember my griefstricken Grandma. Paw Paw took her heart with him when he died. He had been the only egg in her basket for 70 years. Paw Paw did leave something for the rest of us, however. He left his descendants an inheritance of a strong moral compass and a good work ethic, which has benefited us all these many years. Many of you, I certainly hope, recognize some of Paw Paw’s characteristics as similar to those belonging to your loved ones. In that case, we all have a special inheritance to celebrate. Good Life Magazine

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Teresa stands on one of the paths through her garden, awash, as it were, in a sea of foamy hydrangeas. The paths developed over time as rings of hydrangeas eventually grew together.

Exploring Teresa’s incredibly delightful ‘jungle’ of hydrangea Story and photos By David Moore

eresa Ferguson’s backyard is a jungle – just not in any stereotypical way one might think of jungles. No deep, dark, dank foliage grows dense and wild here. No sense of unforeseen danger looms in shadows of gloom. This is a jungle in its joyful tangle of vegetation. The Albertville woman has cultivated a fairyland garden blanketed by literally hundreds of beautiful hydrangeas. Their sheer density is tamed by meandering, shaded paths that, in early summer, take you almost swimming through wild seas of Annabelle and oakleaf hydrangeas, their big blooms glowing white like fluffy balls of snow. Teresa’s mophead, tardiva and limelight – early in the season – hydrangeas add bold splashes of blue, purple, pink and light green to the blizzard of white blossoms. Exploring the glorious grounds she has cultivated is simply and amazingly delightful. “Late in the day,” Teresa says, “the blooms are like a

light themselves. I had a visitor come late one afternoon. She said, ‘You have a moon garden.’ The blooms just glow at the end of the day like the full moon was out. “One guy told me, ‘You know you have a $200,000 yard,’” Teresa continues. “I told him I don’t know about that …” Then again, he might be right. Her backyard – along with most of the side yards – is not your typical chunk of jungle.

s if her garden is not amazing enough, consider this: All of her Annabelles started from just two small plants. And only a few of the other varieties of hydrangeas in this fairyland jungle were purchased. Teresa propagated the rest. “I knew I couldn’t go out and buy this many hydrangeas, even if they were cheaper back then,” she says. Exactly when she started her hydrangea garden extraordinaire is hidden in a haze of time as thick as the AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Annabelles across her backyard today. Teresa can’t quite remember when she bought those first two. She and her husband, retired educator Dr. Richard “Butch” Ferguson, moved into the house in 1979 with two of their eventual three children. They now have seven grandchildren. “I have a picture of my oldest grandson – who’s now 17 – toddling in the grass with several hydrangea behind him,” Teresa says. “So I’ve been doing this for 20 years … maybe?” And the idea of blanketing the backyard in hydrangeas did not hit her all at once. It grew gradually, organically, as do her flowering shrubs themselves. But as she grew and planted more and more Annabelles, at some point it occurred to her: “It would be so nice to look out and it all be white.” So she set out to propagate hydrangeas in earnest, which took some trial and error. “This was,” she grins in her defense, “before we all had internet.”

t’s rare one finds Teresa in the garden without shears in her hand or pocket. She begins pruning at the end of summer, in time for plants to put on new growth before the first freeze. “It usually takes all year to prune them,” she says. “And it’s OK to deadhead them in January.” But she carries shears for a reason other than pruning. Teresa loves to give people cut hydrangeas as well as zinnias, dahlias and other blooming plants in her yard. “I cut flowers and take them to shut-ins and other people,” she says. With so many folks hunkered in during the height of Covid, Teresa would cut flowers, put them in vases, and enlist friends to drop them off on people’s porches. She was recently stopped at Foodland by one of those recipients. “You just don’t know how much I appreciated that,” the woman said, “just to know someone thought of you and brought flowers.” Teresa realized something else during the height of Covid. “I know people who were so bored for the last year,” she says. “But I was so blessed to be in the yard – and have something to show for it. “There is something every day to do out here,” she adds. “If it’s above 50 degrees, I am out there doing something.” 52

A few years ago she had cancer and, for a while, was unable to work her garden. She missed it something terrible.

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

t’s not a regret, but another, much larger

chunk of Teresa’s life exists during which she could never have worked this much in the yard, even if she’d been inclined at the time. She was busy raising children. A Birmingham native, Teresa was a

Blue, pink and purple mopheads add splashes and waves of color to the mostly white blossoms around the house. The majority of the white hydrangea in the back yard are Annabelles. On side yards, which get more sun, Teresa, in blue, admires the later blooming limelight, which are also white. senior at Banks High when she met Butch, then a junior at The University of Alabama, at a Campus Crusade for Christ event in Panama City. They married in 1970 and lived in

Tuscaloosa while he earned his MA in math and AA teaching certification. She attended junior college for a year before they married and for a while after she and Butch moved to Lafayette, Georgia for

two years. Then he was invited to Albertville High – a county school at the time – where Vernon Wells, his former coach in Fort Payne, was making a name for himself. Continued on page 55

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Teresa’s tips for growing pretty sticks N

ot surprisingly Teresa Ferguson is sometimes asked to speak to groups about raising hydrangeas. People visit and pepper her with questions. She enjoys sharing what she’s learned about propagating her beloved hydrangeas over the past 20 years or so. “It’s not really hard,” she says. “I told someone if they would stand still long enough, I could propagate them.” Here are the steps Teresa follows … • Annabelles – spring cuttings 1. In early March, cut stems 5-6 inches long from existing plants. Stems should have no leaves, but they might have leaf nodes from the previous year. 2. Put a damp mix of dirt and sand 2-3 inches deep in a small pot. Poke a hole in the mixture and insert a stem. (Teresa uses a window box and fills it with 30-50 stems at a time; you might want to start on a smaller scale.) For weather and direct sun protection, place the pots under branches of a shrub. Ensure the dirty sand mix doesn’t dry out. 3. Leaves should be growing on stems by July. Lightly tug stems to determine if roots are growing. Keep the young plants shaded and the dirty sand mix moist. Some of stems may die and never root. 4. When weather starts cooling, transplant young plants into maybe a pint or quart-size pot with potting soil; keep soil moist. As cooling continues, the leaves will fall and the plant will go dormant for the winter. 5. By March they should be growing again, and by April or May you can transplant into bigger pots or the earth. They like morning sun and afternoon shade but can live in full sun. • Annabelles – fall cuttings 1. Cut stems as above, only in October and from plants with leaves. Remove all leaves but the top two, and cut those leaves in half. Plant in moist sand/soil mix. 2. Leave outside for the winter under the protection of a shrub. Moisten soil again when weather begins to warm. By March, live stems will begin growing leaves, and in a few 54

months you can transplant to potting soil in a larger pot or the earth. • Limelights and other panicles You can propagate with stems as you would for Annabelles, or you can use what Teresa calls the layering method. For this … 1. Locate 1-2-foot long limber limbs near the ground on existing plants. 2. Pull the center of the limb down to the ground; loosening the dirt at that point. Remove the leaf or two that touch the loosened dirt; if no leaves are on that section of the limb, roughen the bark with your shears. 3. Place a brick on top of the bent limb to hold the leaf nodes or roughed bark to the ground. This is where the roots of the new section of the hydrangea will grow. • Colored mopheads 1. Cut 4-5 inch stems from the end of limbs with blooms. Less mature, green stems work better than larger, woody stems. Remove all leaves but the top two, and cut them in half. 2. Place stems in containers with water. Most will begin sprouting roots in about a month. 3. When the cutting has a number of roots, transplant it into a 3-inch pot with potting soil and grow from there. “People have different ideas on how to propagate,” Teresa says. “But it’s not really complicated. If I’m cutting the grass or something, and accidentally break off a limb, I just stick it in the dirt and it usually grows.” Good Life Magazine

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Top, Teresa shows white roots, formed in water, on a mophead cutting. Above, dozens of young Annabelle sticks take root in a window box planter in the shaded protection of big hydrangeas.

Continued from page 53 So the Fergusons – along with their new daughter, Kristy, moved to Albertville in 1973. Son Lee came along the next year. In ’79, the Fergusons moved to their current home, with nary a hydrangea in sight. “There was nothing in the back yard but trees and a dog pen,” Teresa says. Lee was 11 when David, their third child was born. By then, Teresa was a full-throttle stay-at-home mom, who did occasional substitute teaching just for a break. “I had at least one kid at home for 31 years,” she laughs. The boys were always involved in sports, and Kristy was a cheerleader and played in the band. Later, Lee, like his dad, was a walk-on at Alabama, and the family went to all his games.

y the time David left home for UA in 2004, Teresa was a few years into her own import business, Simply Pearls. She started that with the help of Lee, who lived a while in China after college. She continues selling pearls along with that new hobby she started about the same

A white limelight blossom pops nicely against a background of red roses. time – propagating and planting hydrangea. Initially, she planted her Annabelles around trees in the backyard. “I ringed all the trees and ran out of space around them, so I re-ringed the

trees,” he says. Then she started mixing in some evergreen azaleas to keep something green year-round – which took up even more room. “So I started planting a few Annabelles here and few over there,” Teresa grins. “Then I had to start filling in between beds, and two beds became one big bed …” Meanwhile, back in 1989, Butch had earned his PhD and transferred from Douglas High School to the Marshall County Schools central office as a supervisor. Later he served as assistant superintendent and interim superintendent, retiring in 2015. He’s perfectly happy to let Teresa continue having her way in the yard. “If I waited for Butch to plant hydrangeas, all we’d have is grass,” she laughs. “But he loves them.” As apparently Teresa does too. “My gift for my 50th anniversary from Butch was to put in a watering system for my hydrangeas,” she grins. After all, you can’t grow a lush garden of any kind – or a jungle, for that matter – without water. Good Life Magazine

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Autumn

A season of change to be savored rather than survived; a ginkgo truth awaiting the word; a now-you-see-it moment in the passing of yet another year Story by Seth Terrell Photos by David Moore On the last day of the world, I would plant a tree. – W.S. Merwin

easons are not years. And the most hopeful and wisest among us measure time by them. Seasons are temporary phases, holdovers. They are liminal spaces wherein something shall come and something else shall come to pass. They are modest and forgiving intervals in which life’s newest lessons are ripe on the vine and the old heartbreaks have grown brittle; any moment now they break away and dwindle down to a soil ready to reclaim them, a ground ready to refine them. We do not bow down to seasons in the same way we are often marked and weighed down by years. After all, seasons are meant to be experienced rather than survived, savored rather than endured. Autumn is nature’s sleight of hand, the now-you-see-it to winter’s now-youdon’t. Our eyes fix on the vibrant colors of hickories and maples, the sorrel and yellow, russet and burnt orange, then it goes, the earth creeping into deeper sleep. Autumn is a mindset. Autumn is the memory of what was. It is the soul’s season. Find your footing somewhere on the back side of Sand Mountain or Georgia Mountain or Brindley or Wyeth. Cast your gaze like a well-spun fishing line,

Seen from the bridge on Martling Road, Scarham Creek runs through autumn-tinged woods on its rocky course down Sand Mountain. out over the waters of this slinking stretch of Tennessee River. Shape the clouds into poems. Count the stubborn pines as they, in autumn, hold to their green like the last colors on earth. Remember the ancients. Know your people, know yourself – know yourself. Taste the world as it was, as it is – the persimmon barely ripe, the cider beginning to sweeten, deeper south in the county, the golden hayfields and the tides of burnished corn, their

tassels waving like a million tiny flags of surrender, reaching for all we cannot see. Tell yourself it is good. Make a promise. Speak a name. Say a prayer. Cry and laugh. Dream. II.

hen I was younger and restless and a bit wild, I went looking for autumn in the backcountry of southwest Virginia. Seven hours from home and fresh out of

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college, the world was bigger than I had imagined it, stoic and eminent. Spring had been unkind, cruel even, as T. S. Eliot once supposed it. A mass shooting had occurred in April at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Virginia where I worked and lived. There was so much to process there, so much to grieve. I had stood hand in hand with college students reckoning with the tragedies and unanswered questions. I’d done my best to comfort the hurting as I dealt with my own pain. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I went out one pale October afternoon with a half tank of gas and Gillian Welch playing on my car stereo. Following one country road that lead to the next, through the gorgeous hollers of the upper Blue Ridge, the long draws of wilderness that stretched toward the Shenandoah Valley. It would become a refuge of sorts with all its holy colors and natural incense, a deep-earth balm for my wounds.

y wife and I would meander those back roads for gentle thrills, a sort of extended honeymoon where each car drive was a lesson in learning about each other. The perfect date when there was little money in our pockets for much else. But on this day in October, I was determined to mark my own trail, to complete the circle from Blacksburg, through Falls Ridge and along the Catawba Road, hoping to somehow arrive again at my front door. I remember the pastures in that back country and Galloway cattle standing slanted on the sloping ridges. Just east of Pembroke I stopped and took a walk to Cascade Falls through a trail nestled in a tunnel of cedars and sourwood trees, a place that wasn’t mine but a place that spoke of renewal nevertheless. The sudden waters of Little Stony Creek rushing down, cleansing, murmuring. A man can be forgiven for attempting to translate such sublime language. On Pandapa’s Pond Road, I remember a young bear clinging up high to the trunk of a poplar tree. I could feel his angst, wanting to lower himself and soon find winter solace deep in the woods. I remember the way October held me like a time-worn mother. I thought of my own mother. I thought of the mothers of the young victims at Virginia Tech. I detoured again, finding myself pulling over to walk a stretch of the Appalachian 58

As seen through a telephoto lens, changing fall encases this view of the Tennessee River and distant Painted Bluff from Gary and Dee Brown’s property on Georgia Mountain. Part of Guntersville Dam is visible to the far right.

Trail. Atop Dragon’s Tooth and McAfee Knob, autumn was swirling in every direction. The balds and rock faces and empty hollers told of a time when the earth was young. A time of regeneration and hope. When I finally left the woods and vistas, I eased my car back on the road. A quarter tank now and nothing but stretches of more and more wilderness, autumn in its abundance, autumn in its glory, autumn in its sorrows. The Gillian Welch album had played through twice – lyrics and old-time melodies ringing with ballads of mules and

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star-crossed lovers, waysides back in time and Camptown blues. Music has always been my steady companion, the mystic manual guiding me through my solitude. The songs were on their third cycle through as the gas hand crept toward E. I’ve always been of the praying sort. Yet I’ve prided myself on not “over-using” prayer on such miracles as getting back home on gas fumes. The engine started to sputter as I descended a long hill toward Newport.

pulled over to the side of the road with nothing but a 10-dollar bill in my

teary-eyed. I was not asking for a miracle, I was only wanting to know that somehow the arc of the universe is bent toward goodness. I didn’t close my eyes, but the last tenth of a mile felt like a dreamful blur. I had no plan, no thought beyond the present moment. Looking back, maybe it was a Zen state, a mundane self-inflicted predicament that was growing into something profound. A lesson there I still can’t quite put to words. Then it appeared at the bottom of the hill. An old-timey service station with squat little gas pumps, a rough-trod gravel parking lot. I rolled within five feet of the nearest pump and pushed my car forward, shaking my head and letting a deep buried laugh spill through my lips.

pocket and the quiet hardwoods looming over me. I held the hardest memories in my hands. I wondered what I was and what I was becoming. I thought of Sand Mountain and my fat Appaloosa horse there on my parents’ farm. I imagined my father, 450 miles away in High Point, Alabama scattering sweet feed in a trough for the horses. I imagined the sweetgum stand behind the barn. I could see the maroon leaves turning brown in the crisp southern wind. I could smell the dried manure and dust of the barn floor. Sometimes homesickness is simply

the imagination in overdrive. Heartache and heart warmth are often too akin to distinguish. With no traffic coming my way from either direction, I stood outside my car for a long time. There was no rain either, only trembling orange sunlight bleeding through the surrounding foliage and igniting the mountains in hues I had no name for. I pushed my car into the roadway and taxied down the rest of the hill longing for something more than a gas station, more than getting back home. I was tired and hungry, restless and a bit

nside this place a weary traveler could find nearly anything he wanted – fishing bait, quarts of oil, fried bologna, glass-bottled Dr. Peppers. It was a backwoods El Dorado and I was a fragile conquistador unworthy of the sweetness of the moment. On the walls were mounted animal heads of what I knew were the trophies of hunts and adventures far more exciting than my current one – bears and bobcats and foxes. The old familiar tingling bell on the door announced my entry, the smell of fried chicken and a nod from the man behind the counter as I popped the top on my glass bottle Dr. Pepper. I paid him the $10 for gas and the drink; I would have paid a thousand. I was an outsider, though my Alabama drawl wasn’t too foreign from the local Appalachian twang, and the few older men around the station didn’t have much to say to me. I inquired about directions back to Blacksburg – though in many ways I didn’t want to return. Their answer came with no road names, only cardinal directions, hints on how to divine my course by the lay of the land and the position of the sun. The only landmarks were mountains and meager bodies of water. The man behind the counter pointed out the service station window, out there to where the hollers gave way to more fields and more timber where hickory leaves were falling like souls shaking free in the crisp, late afternoon sun. In a couple of months, cold weather would come and with it, snow drifts of nearly four feet. My wife and I would then explore the quiet

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Foster Landing Road on Georgia Mountain peters out to a gravel trace lined with kaleidoscopic colors of fall. In terms of trees and colors, writer Seth Terrell calls autumn the “now-you-see-it” season preceding winter’s “now-you-don’t.” winter world like two children who’d stumbled into some fantasy realm. In time the community of Blacksburg would begin the healing process, people would find themselves being more kind to each other as the next spring would unfold and time marched on. But for now there was still a touch of warmth as autumn washed over the countryside. I resigned to let it take me wherever it so wished. “You’ll eventually find it,” the man told me. And I believed his every word.

III.

ears later in Nashville, I was sitting in a graduate class with my most beloved professor, Victor Judge. It was a creative writing class that was fused into a theology course. We students were tasked with writing about our own stories, creatively reflecting on the moments that made us who we were. To set the mood and wet our creative whistles, he recited the poem “The Consent” by Howard Nemerov. I was still restless, will perhaps always be restless. By the next fall, I would be a father of my first baby girl. I would have a little piece of Sand Mountain to call my own and a few head of longhorn cattle whose burnt orange hides would shine in the radiance of October. 60

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I would write and I would pray, I would go home to Marshall County to see what home had in store for me. I would write. Outside our classroom window, the famous giant white oaks of Vanderbilt’s campus were yielding to fall, growing heavy with leaves of umber. But through Professor Judge’s words, it was the whimsical ginkgo that spoke the best truths of autumn, of life entire. I can still hear them: Late in November, on a single night Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees That stand along the walk drop all their leaves In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind But as though to time alone: the golden and green Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light. What signal from the stars? What senses took it in? What in those wooden motives so decided To strike their leaves, to down their leaves, Rebellion or surrender? And if this Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt? What use to learn the lessons taught by time, If a star at any time may tell us: Now. Good Life Magazine

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Mountain biking

Or how I pedaled and sweated my way through a special therapy that prescribes ample doses of steep, rugged forests, wind-in-your-face fun, camaraderie and a little shot of adrenalin (Spoiler alert: I made it home safely) I wind around a curve, pausing just a moment before I turn into the park entrance, the last chance for me to call my editor, to explain my not-so-sudden but hen I turn onto Ala. 227, headed completely understandable cowardice, eventually to the Trail of Tears trailhead and then go home. My hand at Guntersville State Park, I on the turn signal, I flip it do my best to fine-tune my on just once then back off senses, to behold the day again. No. I’m going to do as it is – a lazy Wednesday this. And by this, I mean evening with a slight breeze joining a merry band of that betrays the coming fall. adrenaline junkies as they In the west, a veil of clouds send their mountain bikes parts as the sun curtseys up, down, across, and over behind the mountains. cambering roots, giant I speed along in my rocks, through mud, briers, Toyota Tundra with my chiggers and sand pits at windows rolled down; sometimes break-neck the sharp-earthy scents of speeds, and at sometimes hickory and pine invade the wicked elevations. All for a cab. Bluish shadows slant “fun” story. across the road. I try to take Going slowly on Aubrey deep breaths. Carr Drive, the pep talk You will come back has reached crescendo, home in one piece, I tell a fever pitch in which I myself. You have to come am combing through my back home in one piece. meager catalogue of ‘tough Deep breath – take it all Author Seth Terrell crosses a small bridge on a section of the 3.65guy’ moments that I have in, the shapes of the clouds, mile long Golf Course Trail at Lake Guntersville State Park. more or less survived – the very lay of the land Photos on these two pages by Jake Barnes. football in high school; itself. rugby in my 20s – never My phone rings, it is my mind the concussions; I’ve wife, Crystal. hiked portions of the Appalachian Trail in Silence on the other end. I’m sure “So you’re really going to do it?” the middle of monsoon-level rainstorms; she’s just listening and not practicing “Yep,” I say, summoning the bravado I’ve been thrown by my fair share of what she will tell our kids when their I’ve mostly kept on retainer during the 12 horses, fractures and dislocations along dad comes home looking like a smashed blissful years of me trying to impress her. the way; I’ve been charged by angry cows tomato. “I can’t back out now.” and on one occasion shattered my mouth Deep breath, I will come back home in while riding a homemade mechanical try to laugh, but the laugh comes one piece. bull; once, right in the middle of a “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she says, her out as a nervous sort of cackle. And thunderstorm, I even chainsawed a tree trademark positivity waning just slightly. such nervousness is often contagious, that had fallen across my truck (OK, so I’m certain she’s said a prayer or two. especially as it spreads among worried the catalogue also includes most stupid Life insurance policies have been quietly spouses, so I tell my wife goodbye, and moments, too). Oh, and I witnessed the reviewed. I love her and say it with the confidence C-section birth of my first daughter for “You know how people tell you, of a man who will come back home in crying out loud (if you haven’t witnessed something is ‘like riding a bike?’” I say, one piece. Have I mentioned, You have to one, then just take my word for it). trying to give myself a pep talk. come back home in one piece?

Story by Seth Terrell Photos provided

“Yeah.” “Well in this case it will actually, literally be riding a bike. It’s just in this case, it will be like riding a bike on a mountain.”

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Jason Gilliland, Jake Biddle and Dan Warnes, left, traverse the Golf Course Loop Trail at the state park. Jake Barnes’ iPhone 12 Pro Max shot over his handlebars, above, captures a sense of speed as he and fellow members of the county-based Mountain Lake Cycling enjoy the trail. For more on the group, see its Facebook page.

So surely, surely I can ride along a few miles of mountain trails on a bicycle. I close my eyes after I’ve pulled into the trail head parking lot and cut the engine. I listen for a still small voice of comfort, but for some reason it sounds an awful lot like a scream descending down into the depths of wooded oblivion.

ut when I open my eyes again, the whole parking lot is joyful and alive with mountain bicyclists. These people don’t seem like the type of folks who’d be so willy-nilly with their lives and limbs. Men and women of all ages, donned in bike jerseys and knee-high socks and slick bike helmets. Many are members of the Mountain Lakes Cycling organization; many are newcomers, some from as far away as California. They move about in benevolent swarms, readying their bikes for the trail, offering support and equipment to each other. I look down at my worn-out basketball shorts and my “biking” shoes…wait, are these just old golf shoes? No they can’t be. I swallow and squint at them again. Yes, yes, I have managed to pack old golf shoes for this adventure instead of, well, pretty much any other footwear that weren’t golf shoes. Alas, I don’t even play golf. While I’m beholding my meager get-up, a bearded man in a black and neon-green bike jersey calls my name from the bottom of the hill. The man is local attorney and mountain bike enthusiast Dan Warnes, the one who has so graciously invited me out to do the story. Just shy of 70, Dan has the wiry frame of a competitive cyclist and the welcoming disposition of a grandfather, a really, really in-shape grandfather – he’s been cycling for nearly 30 years. Fresh off an adventurous trip through Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons, Dan bounces around with the same fierce energy that propelled the formation of this thrill-seeking congregation. The Mountain Lakes Cycling organization borrows from that same energy as they foster the vision of making Guntersville a mountain biking mecca. “Guntersville is centrally located, like spokes on a wheel,” Dan says as he leads me toward a gathered band of riders. “It is connected with other trails in Cullman and Huntsville and even Anniston. It’s not terribly far from Chattanooga or Birmingham. It could truly be the hub 64

of mountain biking for this part of the Southeast.” Dan lends me one of his bikes, a sleek black machine, ultralightweight with a set of ribbed tires that many pickup trucks would envy. He looks me over: golf shoes, basketball shorts and all. “I think we have some gear you can borrow,” he says.

hris Stanley, owner of Venture Out Supply Co. (formerly Guntersville

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Outfitters), has been expecting me, too. He hands me a shiny plastic-wrapped garment, the likes of which I can honestly say I’ve never worn before: Bike shorts. I chafe at the mere mention of bike shorts (see what I did there?). “I think these are a medium,” Chris says. I take them. “Um, OK. So what…where exactly…over? Under?” He gives a nod that says, Yeah something like that.

joke about my golf shoes, but soon realize he’s talking about the “rider friendly” trail that circles the golf course at the state park. The prospects of getting bushwacked are a bit smaller on said trail. Nevertheless, when you’ve not ridden a bike in over a decade, the only “rider friendly” trail is possibly your own driveway.

The group leaves the parking lot in two herds that ride two different trails this evening. Bikers spread out, like Jake Barnes and Leif Thornton, center, and set their own pace. Forbes says mountain biking is one of the fastest growing sports nationally. “One of the great things is that anybody can do it,” says club member Chris Stanley. “It brings people together no matter ability level.” Among them are John Pate, upper right, his son, Jackson, and daughter, Harper. At left, group organizer Dan Warnes, a Guntersville attorney, pedals past a scenic overlook. Photos these two pages by Seth Terrell. I find the nearest restroom and begin the transformation from a mere storywriting biped into an aerodynamic, gearshifting heck-on-wheels (my mother is reading this). When I’ve returned to the group, Chris offers me a pair of socks and a pair of gloves. Socks for briers and chiggers (I should’ve taken the socks), and gloves for ... “What are the gloves for?” I ask Chris.

“In case you get bushwacked,” he says kindly, almost too sympathetically. “Um, bush what? Oh, OK, yeah. Yeah, that sounds bad. Like something I don’t want to happen to me, or to anyone, or… So what is bushwacked exactly?” “You know when you…?” “Crash or something?” Chris and Dan smile and nod. Dan mentions taking me on the Golf Course Trail. At first I think he’s making a

n the trail the excitement is palpable. Dan joins the merry men and women into the charge through the dancing, sunlit canopy of mimosa trees and oaks, up the grassy inclines toward the Bevill Trail. Soon, the afternoon’s journeys will take them onto Cave Trail and King’s Chapel, Waterfall Trail and Buffalo Rock. The rush is sudden as nearly 25 riders zoom past, into the golden hue of late afternoon where already a few fireflies have gathered. I’m pumping pedals, and immediately the draw of this sport is clear. There is a connection to the natural world and the fellowship of being in a group all striving for the same goals. The Mountain Lakes Cycling organization began riding in the late 90s, making usual haunts out of Bucks Pocket State Park and on old logging roads and TVA land. Many times, Dan and the rest of the members would opt for biking private land of generous people throughout Marshall County. Michael Jeffreys is the district superintendent of Northeast Alabama State Parks. “There was a time,” he tells me, “when parks in general did not understand the value or need to accommodate the needs for mountain biking.” So riders were making occasional trips through the Guntersville State Park annexing the hiking trails. They eventually reached out to the park in hopes of forming a healthy partnership. “This partnership has been as smooth and as easy to work together as any I have experienced within any of the parks I have worked,” Michael says. “All of the dedicated mountain bikers here have a true passion for our state park and its trails.” “They saw that we were good stewards of the land,” Dan says. These days there are around 32 miles of trails within the state park. Michael says plans are in the works to complete a true loop trail system and provide additional family friendly trails.

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In response to the growing interest in mountain biking, Lake Guntersville is adding new trails and improving signage on all of them. Mountain Lake Cycling members also volunteer their time to help with trail maintenance. Jason Brown, above, constructs a ramp up a difficult section. Such work also cuts down on drainage wash. Wade Wright, right, rides on the Seale Trail along the lake shore. Photos on this spread by Riley Brown.

hen Dan and I round a curve along the initial portion of the trail, there is already enough sweat clinging to my body that the breeze of our movement cools my head and clears my thinking. “This really requires you to focus,” Chris Stanley says. “You come into a flow,” agrees Michael Bernard, shop mechanic at Venture Out, waxing philosophical. “It’s almost a meditative state.” Certainly it is. Mountain biking is the 66

kind of sport where all other distractions fade quickly from the mind – mostly because they have to. A rider’s world is the five-foot radius around him or her wherein all senses must tune into the obstacles only Mother Nature can properly curate. Occasionally I stop to take in the view beyond my five-foot radius. The horizon is as gorgeous today as I can ever remember. The rippling hills that ebb toward the lake, the ruffled slopes of land once hallowed by the Cherokee, and bottomland now underwater that my own ancestors farmed

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and toiled over with plow and mule, a mouthful of prayer and hands caked with dust. Sometimes the bicyclists take the Terrell Trail, a hiking trail carved from an old footpath not far from where I stand. The trail is a testament to my ancestors having been here, some of them having moved their way up Sand Mountain to make it their long home.

eif Thornton, an Army veteran, pulls up beside me while I reflect and catch my

trail-building training with the International Mountain Bicycling Association. The volunteers have sought expert opinions and consultation as they carefully construct and maintain the 32 miles of trails throughout the state park. “After the tornado in 2011,” Michael Jeffreys says, “there were countless hours and indescribable blood, sweat and tears poured into clearing the trails by this small group of dedicated volunteers. Furthermore, since the tornado, every year has required a large amount of dedicated work just to maintain and retain our trails, keeping them open and accessible to guests.” Thinking about that commitment, I’m put in mind of my ancestors once more. While steering a tired, ornery mule was much worse than steering a mountain bike, there is a deep connection and an appreciation for the labor required to invest in the things you love most.

breath. Together we take in the view. Soon he is joined by John Pate, and also Jake Barnes, who just recently finished the Lake Guntersville Challenge Adventure Race. Like Dan, they’re all experienced riders and in great shape from biking the much more difficult trails they’re used to. But on a day like today, we all enjoy the respite of pausing to savor the space around us. “We say,” Leif offers, “if you can mountain bike Guntersville, you can mountain bike anywhere.” Though Mother Nature has certainly

had a say in the nuances of the trail – the roots and rocks, the hills and sand dives and creeks – it is a host of North Alabama enthusiasts who have mustered their own volunteer army of laborers to keep the trails in top shape both from a safety and aesthetic standpoint. These volunteers often take to the mountains armed with chainsaws and hedge clippers and lumber. Responsibly, in partnership with the state park, they build and upkeep trails, tailored perfectly for riders of all ages and skill levels. Leif, and others underwent

s we throttle through a narrow draw, passing through an encroachment of sassafras and blackberries, I take Dan’s advice and build speed and momentum to take me over the nastiest rocks and impossible roots, into a hairpin turn and up the hill yet again. I can’t help but smirk when I hear the “atta-boys” and encouragements from behind me. I relax a bit. I realize I have yet to be bushwacked, and have come to a place where I feel good and balanced, energetic and strong. I’m getting the hang of this thing. My confidence is growing. My fears all subside. My ... My back tire hits a patch of sand and I’m ... bushwacked. Yet in my sweaty euphoria, the biggest wound, as Dan points out, is only to my pride. We finish our ride as the sun melds into the lake and all around is a serene coolness cast in banded hues of orange and violet. Somehow I’ve survived, but you can’t convince my backside of that. I’m sore and exhausted and pretty sure I’m jumbling my words as we head toward the parking lot: “Ready for ... I’m a ... break little to take ... yeah.” Dan and I glide down the main drive, slowing only to behold a dozen whitetail deer grazing along the roadside. They hardly stir as we pass. When we’ve made it back to the finish, the rest of the bicyclists are waiting for us, AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

The sunset silhouettes a mountain bike after a ride on the trails at Lake Guntersville State Park. Photo by Riley Brown.

having removed their helmets and loaded their bikes. We commune over Gatorade and slices of watermelon, pickles and pickled okra to help with the soreness and cramps. We are tired, but satisfied. Riley Brown, who lives in Guntersville and works at Redstone Arsenal, is the group’s photographer-inresidence. Some cyclists gather around him and Jake Barnes; both shot photos along the ride. Somewhere in Jake’s photo stream, I find myself huffing through a turn, doing my best to keep my game face. With a mouthful of pickle, I call my wife. I call my editor and plead my case for additional hazard pay for this story. But mostly I savor the exhilaration and the newfound camaraderie the trail has offered me. Mountain biking is about so much more than mere exercise, though it’s 68

certainly a great way to stay fit. More than the adrenaline-filled turns and heartracing descents, mountain biking is about community. “Mountain biking,” Michael Bernard says, “has really blown up in a good way.” “During the early days of Covid, it was really the only socialization for some of us,” Dan says. For many cyclists in the group, mountain biking has become a year-round experience: a common bond of hard work, fun and creativity. There is no last place finisher and there is no lead dog. People help each other along the trail, often stopping to walk with other riders who need breathers. “We try to help and mentor people along the way,” Chris Stanley says, “because it’s really more about competing with yourself.” But even more, despite the occasional

AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

nicks and bruises and sore backsides, and yes, even the bushwacks, mountain biking is therapy. “It’s about just getting out in the woods,” Dan says. “It’s about what nature does for you.”

he congregation begins to disperse and there is no more light, save the pale glimmer of a waning gibbous moon. The last of indigo dusk settles on the lake surface, draping the angular outlines of bicycles at rest. I make my way to my truck with a renewed energy bearing down on me. I roll my window down once more as I back out of the parking lot. “Hey,” a voice calls, Riley Brown’s voice, “We do this every week, same time. You should come ride again.” “I think I will,” I say. And am pretty sure I mean it. Good Life Magazine

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Next to Guntersville Publix 9-11 Mon-Thur; 9-midnight, Fri-Sun

256-486-2323

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50 N. Main Street, Arab

256-586-2567

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AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Out ‘n’ About If you were out ‘n’ about June 26-27 in Guntersville, you might have noticed a crowd at the lake. You might have been a part of it ... 12,000 people showed up Saturday for HydroFest and 10,000 attended the races Sunday when J. Michael Kelley U-8 from Tri-Cities Washington won the Southern Cup in the H1 unlimited hydroplane races, at top. Also racing were the Powerboat Nationals tunnel boats, directly above and left, and pro Hydro-Cross jet skis. HydroFest returns next June 25-26. Photos by David Moore. AUGUST | SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2021

Serious athletes know: There’s no playing around with a sports injury. Every athlete knows the fun can come to a quick halt if an injury makes an unwelcome appearance. Whatever your sport or activity, getting the right treatment quickly can make all the difference between a long lay-off or a quick return to the action. Marshall Therapy & Sports Rehab is built for action, too, and our 33 experienced specialists deliver a personalized plan for every patient. Learn how experience makes the difference at mmcenters.com.

Marshall North Location 40 Medical Park Drive Guntersville, AL 35976 256.571.8857 256.753.8857 for Arab area Marshall South Location 4198 US Highway 431 Albertville, AL 35950 256.891.1226 Visit us at mmcenters.com

Marshall Good Life Magazine - Fall 2021

Articles inside

Season of the soul

Good Fun

Staying ‘country’

Good Cooking

Good Eats

Good People

Good Reads

Good Getaways

Special inheritance