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Architectural Eye Candy

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Living in a work of art

Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Jerry Martin

Jimmie Nell Miller is an artist and former interior decorator who likes to go to open houses and read Architectural Digest for the eye candy. But the Pell City home she shares with husband, Ray, is like eye candy to visitors, because its wide hallways, huge bathrooms and very modern kitchen are filled with Jimmie Nell’s colorful artwork. From tulips to Tuscany, cornices to credenzas, every inch of the Country French chateau reflects Jimmie Nell’s personality and her love for entertaining family and friends.

“It’s like an art gallery in here,” Jimmie Nell admits.

Atlanta architect Frank Jova designed this “art gallery,” which the Millers first spotted as a Southern Living Idea House in Chateau Elan outside of Atlanta in 1994. Jimmie Nell fell in love with its French influence, while Ray liked the way it flowed. Both appreciated the roominess of its 5,000 square feet, which may seem superfluous for two people. But Jimmie Nell says they use every square foot of it. “We entertain lots of functions, and have lots of family visits,” she says. “We live in the whole house.”

Built on a former dairy farm, the house is awash with European influences. Its wide hallways represent streets of old Europe, for example, and the extra depth of the tray ceiling in the entry hall is painted blue to keep the ghosts away. “It’s supposed to fool them into thinking it’s daytime,” Jimmie Nell explains.

The gallery tour begins in this entrance hall, where Jimmie Nell’s acrylic painting of Glen Coe, Scotland, one of seven inspired by her trip to that country earlier this year, rests on a stand. Her oil paintings of lemon trees flank the front door, along with sculptured fruits made of composite materials resembling stone, which she purchased.

Turning right, you come face-to-face with sunflowers and peppers in a red vase, done in oils, while the butler’s pantry features another oil painting of a rooster in bright plumage of blue, gold and red.

Kitchen cabinets are made of cherry, countertops are granite, and the appliances are Bosch and Kitchen Aid. The refrigerator is disguised as a tall cabinet, and an appliance garage hides the toaster, mixer and electric can opener. Bunnies nibble cabbage from a ceramic pot on the wall behind the gas range, thanks to Jimmie Nell’s ingenuity. She painted the tiles, then installed them herself because she didn’t trust the tile man to get the ears on the bunnies right.

“I designed my kitchen because I wanted the cabinets to look like little pieces of furniture,” Jimmie Nell says. “My cabinet maker said he’d build them that way, but he didn’t think I would like them. When he finished, he liked them, too.”

Pell City artist John Lonergan did the portrait of Ray, their son Adam when he was 12, and Adam’s dog that hangs over the fireplace in the den. That portrait and the 106-year-old watercolor duo by Ray’s great-grandmother that hang in the music room are among the handful of artwork in the house that weren’t done by Jimmie Nell.

She has a glass table with eight upholstered chairs in her formal dining room, which she uses a lot. Her china cabinet, housed behind mahogany doors, holds Noritake china, cut-glass and redneck wine glasses (small Mason jars on stems). Jimmie Nell’s favorite piece of furniture is in this dining room, and it, too, features some of her artwork. It’s a bar made of two separate pieces that probably weren’t originally meant to be together. The bottom portion is a mahogany cabinet, while the top is a pine hutch with stained-glass tulips and a center canvas on which Jimmie Nell painted more tulips before installing it between the glass panels. “We bought this from an antiques dealer who used to be in St. Clair Springs,” she says. “We had it in our house before we moved here.”

Another painting of tulips, this one in acrylics, hangs between the dining room and music room, because “tulips are easy to paint,” says Jimmie Nell. She has had the room’s baby grand piano more than 40 years and believes it was built in the 1930s. While neither she nor Ray play piano, their two daughters, one son-in-law and a granddaughter do. Nevertheless, the music room happens to be her favorite, the place where she loves to curl up with a good book or take a nap.

From the screened porch off the dining room, the sound of ceiling fans overhead and an Italian bronze garden fountain outside soothe the soul. The peaceful garden features knock-out roses, daylilies, limelight hydrangeas, magnolias and blue point juniper spirals. Both Ray and Jimmie Nell work in the garden, but Ray, a retired banker, trims the 10-year-old topiaries himself.

Back indoors, the art tour continues down the hall from the entryway into the powder room, where Jimmie Nell has an old credenza on which she depicted parrots, monkeys and a leopard “back when jungle themes were so popular.” Nearby is the media room, where a 72-inch wide-screen TV is set into a niche in one wall. Movie posters of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood adorn other walls and a bronze replica of Remington’s Mountain Man dominates the center. Two leather couches and four mission-style gliding rockers with fake-leather bottom cushions and Southwestern-print back cushions provide ample seating. Jimmie Nell made the glider’s back cushions and the room’s matching cornices herself. The media room happens to be Ray’s favorite in the house, a place where he keeps up with the news and email via television and computer.

The master bedroom is near the media room and features another tray ceiling, a portrait of Jimmie Nell done in 1986 by Pell City artist Evelyn Whatley, and a huge bathroom with his-and-hers sinks and vanities on opposite sides of the room. The vanities are separated by a glass-enclosed shower, and Ray and Jimmie Nell have separate closets, too. More of Jimmie Nell’s artwork is featured in a buffet from her old dining room suite that has panels she painted with shell designs.

Upstairs are two guest bedrooms, one with a 100-year-old washstand on which Jimmie Nell painted a Colonial couple at a fence, and a doll house made from a kit one of her daughters gave her 20 years ago. An open balcony connects the two bedrooms and overlooks the dining room on one side, with a glass-less window overlooking the entry hall on the other.

In the second upstairs bedroom Jimmie Nell used French toile for the bed’s coronet and a chair skirt, but a nautically-themed fabric on the bed pillows and valance.

After 12 years in the house, the Millers still find it very livable. “We like the way it flows,” says Ray. Jimmie Nell agrees. “I like the roominess of it, and the private areas where we can get away from each other,” she says, with a wink. “That has probably saved our marriage.”

Features

Barn Owls on the Lake

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin
and Kathy Henry

Hagan, the last of the barn owls to leave their roost in July, flew the coop from an unlikely perch — the rafters of a covered pier on Pell City’s Logan Martin Lake.

He, his brothers and mother took up residence some weeks earlier. The mother first, of course, and brothers coming along later, hatching a few days apart.

They didn’t seem to give a hoot about their unusual surroundings of water instead of land. In fact, barn owls don’t hoot at all. Their vocal repertoire is more like a blood-curdling scream, the kind Alfred Hitchcock might fancy to play a role in a terrifying scene.

It seems only fitting that a ghoulish face and silent wings in flight, swooping toward their prey at night, would make this scene complete. Hitchcock would be proud.

For Kathy Henry, owner of the last known address for Hagan and his older brothers, Aaron and Mit, her visitors haven’t been frightening at all. That is, unless you count the time one night when the mother silently swooped down behind Henry and friends, letting out that scream because she thought her young were in danger.

The owl lunged toward the family boxer, “and he took off running like a sane person — as did we. She screamed four times until we got to the door,” Henry said.

Other than that near miss, owl watching has been an entertaining pastime around the Henry property. She rigged a Wingscapes BirdCam she dubbed “owl cam” to a PVC pipe to watch as the family grew. She named them. “The first born was Aaron, after the friend that found them. The middle born was Mit, after a friend of ours who has overcome an extreme fear of birds and now loves birds. And the youngest was named after the 4-year-old grandson of our favorite neighbor.

“Hagan, the owl, was hatched about five days after we found the first two, and Hagan, the human, climbed up and was the first to see it,” Henry said.

Barn owls hatch their young in the order the eggs were laid, so when the youngster climbed the ladder to look and came down saying there were three, she tried to correct him. When he didn’t give up, she ascended the ladder to see for herself and discovered the trio staring back at her.

Over the owls’ month-long stay, Henry, a pharmacist by trade, has learned all about her winged friends. “They nest in caves, hollowed trees and old buildings,” she said. But somehow, they took a turn across the water and ended up at Henry’s lakeside place. “I think it was because she (the mother) knew they would be safe. At least I like to tell myself that.”

She has taken dozens of photos and hours of footage, studied their habits and shared her knowledge with other curious onlookers. But it never seemed to faze those being looked upon.

Perhaps Henry’s right. They knew they were safe. “It’s been fun,” she said. “I really enjoyed it. I hope they come back.”

Features

Gover’s Gardens

There is gardening and then there is something very special

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Mike Callahan

Jennifer Gover did not intend to follow in her mother’s footsteps, at least not in the path of a master gardener. But one look at the bountiful gardens that frame her home and property each spring, and it is evident she inherited her mother’s green thumb and a passion for flowers.

“My mother was an avid flower gardener,” she said. “You know how mothers have you busy doing stuff and you say, ‘I’ll never do that.’ ”

Take in the abundance of blossoming azaleas, dogwoods, wisteria, irises, daylilies — they’re all here and more — and you immediately recognize the promise made to herself as a child was never kept.

Her mother’s favorite flower? “All of them,” Jennifer replies without hesitation. She apparently inherited that, too.

The drive leading up to their King’s Circle home in Pell City is quite a welcome mat of color, vibrant azaleas and dogwoods leading the way. Bursts of color in beds found in virtually every corner and along every path on the property show off her handiwork.

The retired Pell City High School principal is quick to point out that she has help. Husband Kenny Gover, whose day job takes him to Coldwater as principal of the elementary school, is “the hands,” she said. “I’m the planner. He’s the worker.”

In the early years, the Govers began with white dogwoods from the wild. She thought, “I’m not going to get into a big yard.” Azaleas followed “little by little.”

A dozen years later, and the Gover home and grounds are a spring color showcase. And they share it with family, friends, neighbors and anyone else who happens to stop by for her “open house” at the peak of their blooming.

Passersby on drives to see spring color will stop and inevitably recognize the legacy and say, “Oh, your mother is the plant lady. We always would go by there.”

One little girl told her, “The colors are so beautiful, I need sunglasses.”

It’s easy to understand the youngster’s sentiment on a tour of the gardens, which saw an average of 20 people a day coming to get a closer look. “Some came back to walk through a second or third time,” she said. “It’s a word-of-mouth thing.” And she greets them not only with her flowers, but with open house fare, like cakes and other refreshments. “I love them coming.”

She is part of a flower group called Mahogany, and its retiree members meet once a month. But their discussions and activities go well beyond blooms and blossoms. “It’s a group of people who like to help each other.”

They clean yards and make an impact. They visit, have lunch with guest speakers — like a registered nurse or a banker — who “impact us individually or as a group.”

They go on trips to learn more about their state and its history. They have been to Gee’s Bend, Brown’s Chapel Church and the National Voting Rights Museum in Selma. They traveled to Dexter Avenue in Montgomery to see the church and parsonage of Martin Luther King.

Here at home, Mahogany gets back to the business of flowers, this year naming Gover’s creation a not-too-surprising ‘Yard of the Month.’ “It’s probably month and year,” laughed Gover.

Like a proud mother gathering her young, she is constantly traveling to and fro to flea markets and home centers to add to her collection.

She specializes in bringing distressed plants back to life so that all may enjoy the pleasures of what she has known since childhood. It is not unusual for people to “leave things for me,” she said. They may be irises or daylilies, and they tell her, “I can’t keep this alive. What can you do?”

“They never come back and get them,” she said.

And she gladly accepts the challenge, simply adding to her gardens year after year and thinking of each flower left behind as a gift.

“There is nothing like early morning in the yard,” she said. “There’s a presence of God. A bloom leaf opens. Birds are singing. You reflect, think about life — where you’ve been and where you’re going.”

Her husband enjoys the pleasures of the gardens, too, not just the work, but to sit back and “see what you’ve accomplished.

“It’s a time to bond with each other,” she added.

She tells young people when they build a house, put the plants out now. “You’ll look back and enjoy it in your life,” she said.

Her other piece of advice? “You should love what you’re doing. I love the plants. It should have been my calling.”

One look around Govers’ gardens, and it doesn’t take long to conclude that that is exactly what it is.

Blackwood Gallery

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Springville home to art gallery of national note

Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin

As college kids in love tend to do, Dean Black and Sharon Williams would hold hands on the front porch of the old house that Black called home in his college days and talk of marriage and exactly how their lives would play out.

What their friends and family chalked up to as a cute couple with big dreams was actually a game plan for the couple who in 1980 became Mr. and Mrs. Dean Black. It was a game plan that has come to fruition with Blackwood Gallery in Springville. “We’d sit at that old house near Auburn and talk about how we’d have an art gallery one day and I’d draw and Dean would make the frames for my artwork,” Sharon Black said in their gallery on US 11 in Springville. “That was our goal in 1977, and that is how it has played out.”

Today, Blackwood Gallery houses the couple’s work as well as the works of more than 40 other craftsmen. Visitors are often surprised to find bronze work, blown glass, leaded glass, handmade furniture and other woodworking treasures from Alabama’s top craftsmen in a place like Springville.

But it was the only location they ever considered for their gallery, both say. Traditional places where you might expect to find an art gallery, like Mountain Brook, lacked that laid-back atmosphere that is so important to both. Besides, many larger cities tend to frown on people riding their horses to work these days.

“I grew up in Hueytown on a lake with horses, and Dean lived in Homewood, but he spent a lot of time in Springville around his grandparents’ summer getaway that had a lake and horses,” Sharon said. “When we built the gallery here, in addition to Dean’s woodworking shop he built in the back part of the gallery, he built a stable where we could put the horses when we rode them to work.”

For all their dreams of one day owning a gallery, surely the couple could never have envisioned the success Dean would find in the field of woodworking. In his college days, his woodworking consisted of building custom gun stocks at what he called Deano’s Gun Shop, an out-building at the home he rented in Society Hill.

In those days, being accepted into the prestigious Alabama Designer Craftsmen group and constructing many breathtaking pieces for the Birmingham Museum of Art and the Birmingham Botanical Gardens was even too much for him to imagine.

Chances are you might have seen his work and not even known it.

“I did the columns for the Asian murals at the Birmingham Museum of Art and that opened a lot of doors for me,” he said. “I came back and built the bell stand at the museum from wood that they presented me from the 1939 World’s Fair. I followed that by building the bases for the samurai helmet collection.”

In 1996, the Birmingham Museum of Art had a coup as it became one of a handful of cities in the U.S. to land the traveling Qin collection. The artifacts from the tomb of Qin Shihauangdi, who established the first empire called China, are hailed as one of the most awe-inspiring collections in the world. The collection was taken from a burial site the size of Manhattan and included full-size horses and protecting warriors made from terracotta.

Black was chosen to do much of the accompanying woodwork that supported the treasures. That woodwork was seen by thousands of visitors from across the U.S.

The museum is home to one of the largest and most comprehensive collections of Wedgwood pottery in the world and the only collection of its kind in the United States. Black was chosen over other craftsmen to build the supporting woodwork for that, too. He also did the delicate woodwork in the museum’s Korean Room.

As word of his skills spread, Black was also chosen to construct the Tori, a large gate at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens.

Today, Black says he’s amazed at how word of his work has spread and at the inquiries he receives from across the country. His work has ranged from columns for a hunting lodge belonging to dog-racing magnate Milton McGregor to crosses and offering tables from large churches across the U.S.

All of the work is done in his shop in the back of his gallery in Springville.

“I have equipment that can do pieces substantially larger than many people can do,” he said. “It has opened doors for many of these larger projects.”

Black says he has made some inroads into one project that he really hopes never comes to be. An Auburn graduate and devout Auburn fan, he has offered to build museum-quality pieces for the school free-of-charge from the wood from trees at Toomer’s Corner should they not survive the poisoning.

“I love Auburn, but I haven’t been as diligent as I should have been in sending my money down there,” he said. “This would be a way that I could give something back. I just hope it never comes to that.”

Black said he is a firm believer that small things steer people along the paths of life and if not for a woman and her dog, there probably wouldn’t be a Blackwood Gallery today.

“I grew up an Alabama fan, but I wanted to be a veterinarian,” he said. “I went to Auburn to become a veterinarian and took all the pre-vet classes.

“I was working with a vet down there, and a woman brought in a large sheep dog that had been hit by a car. The vet did everything he could but couldn’t save the dog. He told me that I needed to watch how he handled it because it would be something I would have to do frequently in my career.

“We had this little window in the office, and I watched through the window as he told the woman and kids. I was looking at the back of his head as he was facing them. I saw him shake his head, and I saw them burst into tears.

“I knew I could handle the gory stuff, but I wasn’t prepared for that. I knew in that instant that I couldn’t be a vet. I went in and told my professors that I wasn’t even going to take the final exams because I was changing my major. I lost more than a year’s work but I changed to marketing.

“I will always be glad that I did.”

Winnataska

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Almost a century of fun: Camp boasts spirit and history

Story by Carolyn Stern
Photos by Jerry Martin
Submitted photos

A wild place with a rushing creek and a waterfall; a chance to test your skill in canoes or on horses or to take on a Robin Hood pose by learning to handle a bow and arrow in archery class — the stuff of dreams for a boy or girl stuck in the city in the summer. Wild and wonderful, Camp Winnataska has made those dreams come true for almost 100 years.

The secluded woodland camp close to Prescott in St. Clair County is not pretentious. It has no grand entrance nor elaborate buildings. But this collection of some of the best of the natural world and of human efforts holds a special place in the hearts and minds of those lucky enough to spend time here.

Hundreds of young people flood the camp during June and July, a week at a time. They swim, hike, work on crafts, learn to function as a team and sing, sing, sing. Everything they do during their week is based on the principles on which the camp was founded, but the way they’re presented is pure enjoyment.

A fortunate coincidence laid the groundwork for this dream to come true.

In 1914, Dr. Elwyn Ballard, the first commissioner of Boy Scouts in the Birmingham area, had been looking for an isolated retreat away from the city to establish a Scout camp. One spring day, he and his wife, Florence, took a ride in their Model T from Birmingham out past Grants Mill and through Leeds to Prescott to meet up with friends Lucien Brown and a Scout worker, Hewlett Ansley, at their favorite fishing hole. In the heavily forested area, the road narrowed to just a path between the trees, and they found the friends at Kelly Creek, which would eventually become part of Camp Winnataska.

In her book, “Winnataska Remembered,” Katherine Price Garmon, daughter of future camp Director D.R. Price, quotes Florence Ballard, who was her aunt. “We fell in love with the place; the small pool, the falls, and the big pool below with towering cliffs … but its inaccessibility was one of its greatest charms.”

With Dr. Ballard’s strong endorsement, the Boy Scouts purchased some of the property, leased other acres and used it for overnight camping for two years. By 1918, however, the leaders decided that a camp closer to Birmingham was more suitable for their needs.

As luck would have it, the interdenominational Birmingham Sunday School Association had been thinking about starting a pioneer effort in religious camps for boys, and Dr. Ballard was able to bring the two groups together. The association board agreed to sponsor the program to accomplish “the fourfold goals of the association: physical, mental, spiritual and religious development.”

However, Rosa Strickland, a board member and a respected Birmingham teacher and Sunday school worker, had an objection to the plan. She insisted that a similar camp should be provided for girls. D.R. Price said, “Nobody argued with Miss Rosa.”

Other camps established around this time were taking Indian names, and Mrs. Ballard was asked to choose a name from a list of Indian words. Considering the waterfall was (and is) a primary feature of the camp, she chose Winnataska, which means “laughing water.” The number of arrowheads found on the property, along with the fact that there’s plenty of water at Kelly creek for use and to draw game to the area, indicated there had been a sizable settlement. This connection made using an Indian name even more fitting for this ancient land.

Affirming Price’s prediction, Miss Rosa’s proposal for a girls’ camp was accepted and had outstanding results when the first Sunday School Association camp took place in 1918. Out of an expected 75 boys, aged 12 through 15, only 31 registered. To be fair, some boys this age were already working. In contrast, the girls’ registration had to be stopped at 108, leaving some disappointed.

The earliest female campers (aged 15 to 17) boarded a train at Birmingham’s Terminal Station on July 17, 1918, got off at the Brompton stop and walked the final five miles to Winnataska, dressed in the long skirts and the hats of the day. (A photograph in Stockham Hall at the camp shows smiles on many faces and skeptical looks on others.)

As time passed, school-type buses were used to pick up campers at designated sites around Birmingham. Today, automobiles filled with whatever the camper feels is necessary (no cell phones are allowed) crowd the parking lot on registration days. Then the fun begins.

The camper’s huts are named for Indian tribes: Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole, Chickasaw and Navajo. At the time camps for younger children began, the Sunday School Council was helping a religious education camp in Mexico. Winnataska began sending their Sunday worship offerings to that camp and used Spanish words to name the Chico (“little one”) cabins (ages 6 to 8): Siesta, Casa Nueva, Tienda and Adobe.

Each hut has leaders who encourage their groups to take pride in themselves and their surroundings. A simple task (to some campers) is to keep their hut clean. The fun comes when they are required to sing or cheer (loudly) whenever they’re walking outdoors. Each tribe has special songs and are encouraged to drown out the others.

“I’m Chickasaw born and Chickasaw bred/And when I die I’m Chickasaw dead./So, rah, rah for Chickasaw/rah, rah for Chickasaw/Rah, rah, rah./Bum-diddly-um-dum. Chickasaw!”

Staff members, Blackfeet (for boys) and Comanches (for girls), plan activities that encourage competition as well as teamwork — swimming, riding horses, canoeing and rope climbing. Campers take part with enthusiasm, all with the hope of being named the Honor Hut on the last day of camp.

Each day begins with Bible study in the 1930 Branscomb Chapel and ends at Hillside (which overlooks the waterfall) with an inspirational talk or a short worship service. Through all these specially planned activities, the camp continues to fulfill the fourfold purpose of the Sunday School Association — physical, mental, spiritual and religious development.

Mary Margaret Shephard is director of the summer camps, and Courtney Bean is the programs director. In 1922, D.R. Price became the first director. The camp was growing so quickly it was clear a formal leader was needed to oversee the property and activities.

Price held the position for 35 years. His immediate priority was to replace or update the existing housing for leaders and campers. Some structures were usable, and they were made more comfortable by being fitted with screens and new bunk beds. Before the luxury of the new beds, the 1920s girls sang a song about their old double-decker bunks, which had straw mattresses.

“In our bunk, in our bunk, where the hay comes trickling down, ‘till it hits you in the crown, in our bunk, in our bunk.”

In 1930, property was cleared for Branscomb chapel, a circular open-air stone structure. Lester Coupland, a stonemason and carpenter who lived near Branchville, was the principal builder. Coupland’s son, Carl, says his father and his father’s uncle, Sam Simpson, rode their mules eight miles to the job.

As construction moved along, campers were recruited to gather rocks for the walls. Price reminded them that some rocks with color or distinct shapes were more attractive than others. He always told them to get the “pretty rocks,” his daughter says. The floor and seats are made with flat stone pieces from the creek below the waterfall.

Mrs. Garmon says the building’s round shape was chosen because Native Americans revered that shape, and Winnataska’s founders wanted to honor their tradition. Another custom, also thought to be from Indian lore, has continued to dictate movement in the chapel. One doesn’t walk straight across the floor from one doorway to another. To do so is believed to be unlucky. Movement goes around the circle.

Lester Coupland was asked to be caretaker of the camp in 1935, and he moved his family from their farm near Branchville to the premises. He remained caretaker until 1940. Friends of many years, Carl Coupland and Mrs. Garmon laugh about the times they and Garmon’s sisters played in the sand pile and all around the camp when their fathers were at work. Coupland says, “I was always smaller and the girls picked on me.”

The “big hole” at the foot of the waterfall is a really good place to fish, Coupland says, but his favorite memory of living at Camp Winnataska is not about the fish. “I was able to hear the water rushing over the falls every night,” he says. “There’s no better sound in the world to put you to sleep.”

Kelly Creek runs through the property and eventually into the Cahaba River. Over the years, a number of bridges were built to join the two parts of the campgrounds, but heavy rains that raised the level of the rushing water washed them away. Finally, John Elon Stanley (caretaker of the camp from 1940 to 1961) and architect Walter Holmquist, with help from Roy Connor and Blackfeet Bingham Ballard and Fletcher Yielding, completed the bridge that carries campers over the falls today. The bridge was officially named for him at the camp’s 50th anniversary celebration.

The bridge isn’t the only sign of Stanley’s creative talent. He had been a railroad bridge builder and his impressive techniques can also be seen in the ceilings in Stockham Hall and Brewer Chapel. The beautiful and sturdy ceiling rafters were made of wood harvested from Winnataska land.

A number of structures and markers on the property honor those who have been key to the growth of the camp and in keeping alive what D.R. Price called “The Winnataska Spirit”.

They include Branscomb Chapel, Brewer Chapel, Reimel Hall, Stockham Hall, the Stanley Bridge, Rosa Strickland Lodge, Price Lodge, Norton Flagpole, Grayson Lodge and Grace Lake.

The present caretaker, Mark Buerhaus, was a Blackfoot from 1994 to 1998, and he just couldn’t stay away. He’s responsible for management of the 1,400 acres of camp property and for 55 structures that encompass 87,000 square feet. He says he couldn’t possibly do it all without his assistant, J.T. Braxton.

Buerhaus is a busy man with a family on the property and is on call 24-7. He’s an enthusiastic supporter of Winnataska and knows where the campers are at almost any time of the day or night. Yes, night: neon (ask a camper) and pirate nights, mission impossible hide-and-seek, country night and Indian night. All include some sort of costumes and the absolutely necessary singing and dancing. Wherever Mark is needed, he goes. Even if it’s into the night activities.

Mrs. Garmon, as the daughter of the camp’s first director, a camper herself and a niece of the Ballards, who found the property, feels a family responsibility about retaining the camp legacy. She tells about walking around the grounds one summer day and hearing very loud music coming from Stockham Hall. “I went over to check on the activities. The girls were being taught line-dancing.” She wasn’t quite sure about that or the music. But one little dancer caught her eye: “I thought, ‘If doing this gives her the feeling she’s a real dancer, that’s a good thing.’”

To date, more than 100,000 campers have sung the songs, hiked the trails and established friendships that last through the years. “Many campers are fourth-, fifth- and sixth-generations of families,” says Mrs. Garmon, “mostly from the Birmingham area. They wouldn’t think of going anywhere else.”

At a celebration of Winnataska’s 50th year, D.R. Price quoted a postcard sent home by a Chico camper: “Dear Mother, went swimming in the morning. I almost drowned. Camp is fun. This afternoon, I’m going to play with snakes.”

Why do kids like to go to camp? That about sums it up.

For a first-person account of what it was like to live at Camp Winnataska during the depression, check out the full edition Discover, The Essence of St. Clair online at ISSUU or in print.

Hell and Back Again

Movie gets special Pell City premiere

Story by Carol Pappas
Photo by Jerry Martin

It was a phrase and a sentiment Sgt. Matt Bein borrowed after multiple deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan as a Marine sergeant, but he says it describes life after war best. “We were ready for anything … until we came home.”

He had been wounded by IEDs, improvised explosive devices, more than once on his deployments, but it never deterred him from the fight until the last one.

On a foot patrol in Afghanistan, he set off what he now believes to have been a remote IED, and he suffered brain injury. “I remember waking up in a corn field … soggy mud. My right leg was buried in the mud, and I thought I had lost it.”

When medics put him on the stretcher, he could feel that his leg was still intact, and he thought, “Thank God, I still had all my limbs. I’ve got everything. I’m good. I’m good,” he told them, and he got off the stretcher to walk the rest of the way.

He took one step, “fell flat on my face,” and then noticed the ground covered in blood.

A medivac helicopter was on site within 20 minutes, and he was on his way to medical care. “I was in and out of it from there. The only thing I could think about was just breathe, just breathe,” he said.

While civilians might think the rest of the story is a ticket home and return to normal life, for soldiers like Bein, there is a new definition for normal. Coming home is a whole new battleground for them, full of challenges, adjustments, coping and simply trying to survive.

Today, Bein is involved in helping other veterans come home, to talk about their experiences, their fears and get them the resources they need. He is part of a program called MAPS, Military Assistance Personal Support, and the St. Clair County-based group may be the first of its kind.

For Bein, the road has been a long one. For two years, he never spoke of the horrors he had seen, the buddies he lost. He had lived for deployments, fighting, “avenging and honoring” his fallen brothers.

His injuries were so severe doctors couldn’t believe he was still walking. He had a blood clot in his brain. “‘With your brain injury you should be almost paralyzed,’” Bein said one physician told him when he walked into the office.

Through it all, he still believed that one day he would deploy again. He had friends who were deploying, and when he went to see them off, he took his young son with him. “When the white buses pulled up, my son started screaming frantically, ‘Don’t go, Dad! I don’t want you to go!’ He knew what the buses meant — you’re coming back or you’re leaving.”

It was at that point that he decided to cooperate. The husband and father of three told himself, “I don’t need to do this to my kids and family anymore.”

He began to talk to his doctors. “I lost four friends. That’s why I was so intent on avenging and honoring their deaths. I can’t do my job in the civilian world.”

But one doctor’s response gave him pause, helped him see a different path. “He asked me, ‘If those guys were still here what would they say?’ ”

And Bein found the answer he is living today: “The best way to honor them is not to fight but to spread awareness about where we have been and find people that need help.”

Bein and others are hoping that awareness will come through a new, award-winning documentary set to be premier in Bein’s hometown of Pell City. Hell and Back Again is the story of a marine platoon in Afghanistan — Bein’s platoon. It is the true story of what he and his platoon encountered in war, but it’s the rest of the story, too, the hellish, real-life drama of coming home.

It is the Alabama premier of the Academy-Award-nominated film that won the Sundance Film Festival, showing at the Pell City Center on June 14. A reception will honor the veterans at 6 p.m., followed by the film at 7.

Afterward, Bein and Sgt. Nathan Harris will hold a panel discussion for the audience, yet another avenue for building understanding.

A film producer was embedded with this platoon in Afghanistan in 2009, which was part of the surge ordered by President Barack Obama. The film is about war through the eyes of the platoon, but when Harris was shot, the film turns to the new battleground for him and centers on his nightmare of a journey home.

“We have done research, and 500,000 veterans will come home mentally or physically distraught — basically disabled,” Bein said. “We need to make our best effort to reach out to them and get hem the help they deserve.”

Being able to talk about it “eventually made me see how I could honor the guys who died.

“It was an amazing time — one of the greatest times of our lives. If given the opportunity, I’d do it again,” Bein said.

But he noted that he tries to encourage fellow soldiers with a poignant piece of advice: “We all did great things on our deployments. Don’t let that be the best thing we have ever done.”

Visit the official Hell and Back Movie Site

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