By Chas. Macauley
No simile of a coy and capricious damsel will serve to picture the gentile coming of Spring to our Sandhills. Day by day, the swelling tide of nature reveals a new charm. Day by day, the sun lingers in the western horizon to limn the colors soon to appear in bud and blossom. Here and there a shy and elusive blossom glows on the green of the Arbutus; a few white stars shine of the red tinted Pixie Moss. Down in the valleys of the Rockfish, anciently Solemn Grove, the wild Plum bushes are bursting into a mass of white and in the brown pine needles a venturesome Wood Violet flowers. The Maples show a ruddy tinge and the Dogwoods are shading into a grayish green. Forsythia and Jonquils are a mass of yellow blossoms and the Honeysuckle is clad in white. Everywhere sere grass of winter is a glistening green. Leaf, blossom and stalk are all mute but glorious signs of the reawakening of nature, precursors of our wonder months in which the alluring charm of the little sandy knows becomes irresistible.
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The freshly cemented top of our new clear water reservoir out on the Carthage road would make an excellent skating rink. All it needs is a surround rail. And a few fish in the supply pond would also help to make life attractive to our citizens during the dull summer months.
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With all the pencils manufactured, advertised and sold, is it not surprising how few folks carry one?
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The Japanese Magnolias in Mrs. E.A. Tracy’s yard are a vision of loveliness in purple and white, and the Plum trees in the City Park are well worth a visit.
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There are only 18 men in the Southern Pines Fire Company, so when the siren calls them out, follow the truck. Bring all the children and maids, and if you see any tourists not otherwise employed, fetch ‘em along. Get a good position, right in front of the fire so that you can tell the boys all about it, and if you arrive a little late, park on the hydrant. The hydrant man will have someone to talk with and you’ll make a hit.
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Mr. E.G. Couch’s letter, printed in another column, merely serves to show the wide spread circulation of the Citizen and the human interest in its columns. The “First Settlers” Club is going along right merrily for they are all live ones of serene and even temperament as befits the pioneers of the “Heart of the Sandhills.” This week we present Mr. Tomas S. Burgess, who came from Chatham County in March 1892, married Miss Mollie Poe in 1903, and now resides in East Broad Street in one of the handsomest bungalows in town. One of the first of Mr. Burgess’ ventures was the erection of the very substantial house in which Mr. Mills resides and the building of a store, immediately purchased by Mr. F.A. Ordway, and used by him some two years later in his dry goods business. This structure is now the Perkins restaurant.
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Southern Pines is becoming headquarters for all the best types of motors. Mr. Kimel is showing Cadillacs at Viall’s garage. Mr. Kelly has the Dodge Brothers cars at the Perry agency, and Mr. Walters carries the Hudson and Essex line in the Davis building.
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Thursday, Mr. Grey displayed in his window, monster Pussywillows from Mr. Reynold’s garden. Friday a little Ford rams the post office building, the street sweeper goes up Pennsylvania avenue and disappears, Nemesis falls on erring car owners and they have to pay taxes and procure tags. Saturday, at 1 o’clock, brush fire jumps across Ashe street and threatens the home of Mrs. Morrow, firemen promptly on job and keep flames away from house, Mr. Laing and passing tourist wreck their cars Massachusetts avenue and May street, later, two Fords meet same place. Sunday, Washington’s Birthday, clear and mild, temperature 70-75. Monday, holiday observed by bank and post office, fire alarm at usual time, 1 o’clock, men turn out in quick time, sparks on shingle roof of Herring house. Indiana avenue, every one in Southern Pines goes. Tuesday, white man gets up in jail about bed time weeps and howls. Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, peach blossoms appear. Thursday, peach blossoms disappear. Thursday, Mr. Grey displayed in his window, monster Pussywillows from Mr. Reynold’s garden. Friday a little Ford rams the post office building, the street sweeper goes up Pennsylvania avenue and disappears, Nemesis falls on erring car owners and they have to pay taxes and procure tags. Saturday, at 1 o’clock, brush fire jumps across Ashe street and threatens the home of Mrs. Morrow, firemen promptly on job and keep flames away from house, Mr. Laing and passing tourist wreck their cars Massachusetts avenue and May street, later, two Fords meet same place. Sunday, Washington’s Birthday, clear and mild, temperature 70-75. Monday, holiday observed by bank and post office, fire alarm at usual time, 1 o’clock, men turn out in quick time, sparks on shingle roof of Herring house. Indiana avenue, every one in Southern Pines goes. Tuesday, white man gets up in jail about bed time weeps and howls. Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, peach blossoms appear. Thursday, peach blossoms disappear. From the front page of The Sandhill Citizen, Southern Pines, N.C., Friday, February 27, 1925, Chas. Macauley, Our Town newspapers.digitalnc.org/lccn/sn92061634/1925-02-27/ed-1/seq-1/#words=FEBRUARY+27%2C+1925
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