Paradise Found: Sweet Apple Farm

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin

Her inspiration came from the rolling pastures, an 1840s log cabin and a nondescript barn she turned into a crystal chandelier showplace.

It was paradise found the moment she saw it, but the “vision” took nearly a year to evolve. And now, on the outskirts of Pell City lies a majestic estate known as Sweet Apple Farm — a picturesque event venue “Miss Tina” wants to share with all who dream of celebrating a special day in a dream-come-true place.

The sprawling 80-acre estate didn’t always look as it does today. “A labor of love” over 12 months transformed it into a perfect place for weddings and other special events and parties.

The empty shell of an 1841 log cabin is fully restored and decorated with period antiques to be used as a honeymoon suite. The former owners, Bill and Barbara Alvis, bought it and had it moved to the property. But it remained a shell until Miss Tina, who got her abbreviated name from Alabamians who couldn’t pronounce the longer, Italian version, began her work there. “Now it is a real home for somebody. I tried to keep the integrity as much as I could but with modern conveniences.”

Just across the way is a garage turned into a guest cottage with courtyard and patio and all the amenities for a comfortable and memorable stay.

A nearby potting shed is now a dressing room and bathroom.

A gently rolling pasture of lush green features a simple, white archway to frame a wedding ceremony. Or move the nuptials inside to a small barn turned chapel.

A white picket fence fronts the property for three quarters of a mile, and two ponds are home to catfish, bream “and very large turtles,” she said.

But the focal point that draws like no other is the crystal chandelier barn with hardwood floors that evokes a magical feel as soon as she flips on the light switch. The kinship she feels with this part of the property is evident when she refers to it as a person rather than a structure.

“When I found her, I didn’t know what to do with her. I’ll know when I get there,” she said she would tell herself.

Her contracting crew, led by Pell City’s Randall Weaver, gutted and restored the home she lives in first. “But I was drawn to the barn over and over again.” Every day when the crew left, she would sit on a trash can and think and pray about what to do — “How can it best serve other people and make their dreams come true?”

Then she envisioned it — the whole place bathed in lights from dangling crystal chandeliers, reflecting in the rich and rustic texture of hardwood floors. “Then I knew the road I was on.”

It was then that she started her due diligence, she said, researching to see if it could become a viable business. Much to her own surprise, she found there was nothing like it in the area. “I followed my intuition, and it has been an honor and privilege to create this.”

The barn can play host to 150 people for a seated dinner or 200 for a buffet. A commercial prep kitchen services the barn, which boasts mammoth windows and glass doors all around to let the outside in — bringing the rolling hills into a perfectly framed view. From the ceiling beams hang rows and rows of imported chandeliers put together by hand by her electricians.

It is hard to imagine that it once served as a home to pigs and horses containing nothing more than stalls and a dirt floor. Today, it is has the feel of an elegant ballroom nestled cozily in the countryside.

When she moved to the region from Miami, “I thought I was retiring.” But the land and all that came with it beckoned her to see it as a “gift” to be shared others.

With a background in construction developments along with a radio talk show career, stints in newspaper writing and photography as well as wedding photography, Miss Tina is quite a story all on her own. Her distinctive voice set her on a path to radio when she was discovered by Roy Leonard and Paul Harvey, she said. “I did voiceovers for them.”

That led her to a talk show from a “feminine view” and various other careers and challenges over the years in Chicago and Miami.

She was never content to do just one thing, and her versatility shows in virtually every square inch of Sweet Apple Farm.

“It took Randall a month to quit rolling his eyes,” she said of her contractor’s reaction to the plans she had for the property. Custom benches are found all over the land. Solar lights at night shine “like diamonds,” she said. And an 1800 bell stands sentry over the chapel and her home.

A fire pit, a deer sanctuary, a screened pavilion, a walkway uncommonly made of manhole covers and stone and a “serenity pond” are but a few of the unusual touches she has given the place to make it a destination point like no other.

“I love helping people. That’s my bottom line. This has been the grandest challenge I have ever awarded myself, and I am humbly pleased to have met it. I created a very beautiful place to help make people’s dreams come true.”

Just like hers.

Iola Robert’s Artistic Legacy

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John Lonergan & Wayne Spradley

By GiGi Hood
Photos by Jerry Martin

Each beginning life might be compared to the first brush stroke on a simple piece of canvas. Both new, both existing for awhile amidst the unknown. Only time will reveal just what will develop; but time will not work alone. As life’s desires are born and flourish, they will become integrated with talent, patience, determination, imagination and a strong drive to achieve. And the ultimate result will be an evolution of art that will last far beyond any one individual’s lifetime.

Such was the case of two St. Clair County boys. Both grew up as friends, products of the Avondale Mills mill village. One daddy was a fixer (a welder) at the village, the other, a weaver. Both boys shared a love of sports. They played together, skipped rocks over ponds, explored the woods and attended school at Avondale Mills Elementary. They shared tales and created lifetime memories that exist to this day.

Having shared much in their young lives, the analogy of life being compared to brushstrokes on a canvas has an enormously significant meaning, as well as an almost unbelievable parallel for Wayne Spradley and John Lonergan. Both mill village boys (who still are in their hearts) grew up to become hugely successful artists.

Each man credits the teachers and administrators in Pell City schools for the multi-faceted educations they received. They agreed that their educational experiences were enhanced by the direction and encouragement they received as their talents emerged.

John Lonergan fondly remembers Miss Iola Roberts, principal of Avondale Mills Elementrary School. “She loved what she did and she believed education was not just about books. She was a great lover of the arts — dance, theater, sculpting, painting — all of it,” he said. “Any chance she had to promote the students’ interest in such avenues, she would take.

“She was a great presence,” he explained. “Whenever she really wanted to get your attention, she would grab you by the chin to make sure what she was saying was hitting home. There was no doubt about her level of caring for the students.”

A prodigious young man, Lonergan’s interest in art was apparent at an early age. “I was drawing by the time I was 3 or 4 years old,” he remembered. “I don’t think anybody thought that much about it because I was just a kid occupying myself and having fun.”

Born to a family where hard work was the primary focus to meet the family needs, education seemingly took the back seat. But that was not the case in Lonergan’s life. It was placed in the forefront of his mind by his loving mother who aspired for him to have opportunities outside the boundaries of a mill village.

“From the time I was old enough to remember, my mother told me I was going to college. It was so deeply ingrained in me that I don’t think I ever considered not going,” he said.

And, true to his mother’s wishes, he not only went to college, he graduated twice — once with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts from the University of Alabama and the second time with a master’s degree in education and administration from UAB.

Not long after he had begun to read, Lonergan was given a set of Child Craft books that were devoted to painting. “I was young, but I devoured those books,” he said. During his third- and fourth-grade years, his teacher, Betty Cosper, was so taken with his work that she would cut out mats to go around the drawings and put them on the bulletin board.

Upon entering Pell City High School, Mrs. Dorothy Roper Mays (affectionately called “Droper” by her students) picked up where the elementary teachers had left off. She, too, greatly encouraged the development of his burgeoning talents. “One day we were talking, and I told her I wanted to be an artist one day. She quickly responded by telling me I already was,” he said. “That was a very proud day of my life. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, or where to begin, but I was determined to figure it out.”

Before graduating from high school, Lonergan managed to sell a few of his paintings. His English teacher became his first customer when she purchased a snow scene that he had painted. “To this day, that painting still hangs in her home, and I still believe I painted the moss on the wrong side of the tree.”

His science teacher also bought three of his paintings, as well as his aunt, who later he found out did so just to provide continuous encouragement for the young man’s talent.

After graduating with his first degree, Lonergan was more determined than ever to make a living as an artist, even though as he put it, “artists made no money.” While still pursuing his dream, Lonergan supported his family by working in an area very near and dear to his heart. “I returned to Pell City High School as art teacher,” he said proudly. “With the profound mark teachers had made on my life, it was only natural that I had a desire to work with young people and sew seeds that might make a difference in their lives, just as teachers had done for me.”

During the years he was busily sewing seeds at the school, his professional career took root, blossomed and bore the fruit of his dreams. After retiring from teaching, he was finally able to spend his days as the full time professional artist he had always wanted to be. Today he is considered to be one of Alabama’s finest artists. His ability to paint in different styles sets him apart from many of his colleagues.

Many of his beautiful paintings, like one of his favorites, Purple Morning, are scenes from his own stomping grounds in St. Clair County. Others are from places like Pompeii, Italy. His art is known, appreciated, enjoyed and sold at well known top-shelf art exhibits throughout the country, in places like Charleston, S.C., and Jackson Hole, Wyo. He also does commissioned pieces and displays and sells his art at The Little House on Linden Gallery in Homewood, Ala.

With all his fame and success, Lonergan is living proof that the acorn doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Today he is still teaching classes at Alabama Art Supply in Birmingham. Many, like Mrs. Gene Stallings, have had and still have the opportunity to be taught by the boy from the mill village of Pell City who grew to become a nationally renowned artist.

Career blossoms for Spradley

Coincidentally, while Lonergan was beginning to arrive at his desired professional destination, Wayne Spradley, his childhood friend from the mill village, was traveling a very similar track. At that time, Spradley, who was a few years older than John, had already begun to make his first marks, as well as his first dollars, as a professional artist.

Like Lonergan, he also was a product of both the hard working, close-knit people of the mill village and the influence of Avondale Mills Elementary School and then Pell City High School. He, too, had been privy to the school system that not only afforded a great educational opportunity, but one that nurtured and encouraged a strong interest in the arts.

He was the first from his family to receive a high school diploma. “Looking back to my first school experience, I’m not sure how I made it,” he said. “When it was time to start kindergarten, I didn’t want to go. My mother literally had to drag me into school and even resort to sometimes whipping me up the steps of the school. I don’t know why I was like that. I just had no interest in being there,” he remembered.

Apparently a precocious child, Spradley said that because he was always into something, his mother wasn’t surprised when she was called and told to come to the school. “She wondered what I had done this time,” he said. “And, when she got there, the real surprise was that I had not caused trouble, but that I had sculpted a bird’s nest from clay that caused everyone to marvel at my supposed talent. I do have to admit I enjoyed the attention my creativity had stirred.“

During his fifth-grade year, Wayne was called to the blackboard by his teacher, Mrs. Bryant. His instructions were to draw a president. To his and everyone else’s astonishment, he drew the perfect likeness of George Washington.

“Until that point I knew I liked to color, to sketch and mess around with art, but I never thought about whether or not I had any talent or desire in that direction,” he said. “But that’s where the teachers and my principal, Miss Iola Roberts, came in. They recognized my talent, and they did everything they could do to bring it to the forefront.”

From the sixth- through the eighth-grades, Miss Roberts would allow Spradley and some of his other talented friends to forego class so they could prepare stage sets for the Thanksgiving, Christmas and Halloween extravaganzas that would be presented to the whole mill village. “In February, we would begin work on Miss Roberts’ famous Inspection Plays that would be held for the community prior to the end of the school year,” he said. “Even though I was excused from class, I still had to keep up with my school lessons. But the lessons I learned about artistic creativity were invaluable to my life’s work.”

Spradley met his first real art teacher, Mrs. Armstrong, in the sixth-grade. She had just graduated from Auburn University, was really into art and could see the talent he possessed. “She would take me during study period, tell me to go outside and sketch, and then we’d talk about my work,” he said. “That was really helpful in my artistic growth. I loved helpful criticism then and I always have.”

During his seventh-grade year, a teacher asked Spradley what he was going to do when he grew up. He answered that he was going to play football, be a sailor and an artist. “She got mad at me because all she wanted me to do was be an artist,” he laughingly remembered.

True to his word, Spradley did all three. He was captain of the Pell City High School football team, he traveled the world in the Navy, and then he returned to Pell City, where he said he couldn’t buy a job. But the mill that always had been the mainstay of his family’s existence, didn’t let him down and once again provided a way for him to make ends meet.

While he was in the Navy, Spradley said, he achieved three things that were life-changing events. “I got an education in life, met and married Pat, my wonderful wife, and had time to paint and develop my artistic desires. I painted, sketched and continued to draw. I knew it was in my heart and soul, and that’s what I wanted to do for a living,” he stated.

Finally at age 28, Spradley got really serious about his artwork, and thanks to the advice and direction of Mrs. Dorothy Mays, who had graduated from the Pratt Institute of Art, he used his GI bill to study three years at the Drawing Board School of Art. It was during his first year of art school that he discovered he could make money doing what he loved. He entered five pieces of art in the Birmingham Botanical Gardens Art Show, sold them all very quickly and made $25. Spradley said he was so thrilled by his success he told his wife that they were going to take the opportunity of selling his art as far as it would go. That day was the truly the beginning of his professional art career. No longer did he just hope that one day he could do it. The journey had begun, and he was resolute in his decision to make it a life time career.

And make it he did. Invited to the country’s biggest art shows, Spradley has sold hundreds of pieces of his art, received awards too numerous to mention, and gotten to know people like Katie Couric, who commissioned him to paint her ancestral home in Eufaula, Ala. Presidents Jimmy Carter, George Bush Sr. and Ronald Reagan have all been recipients of his work.

His loving and supporting wife not long ago passed away. During her sickness, he was not able to paint as much or travel to the shows he loved. “I miss her terribly,” he said. “She was with me every step of my way and she always will be. The best thing I can do to honor her and all of her support is to get busy doing what we loved, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve already started, and hopefully, I won’t quit till my last breath. She may not be beside me, but now I have an angel on my shoulder.”

Both men are amazing; both true to the gifts they have been given; both still teaching and encouraging others as they were taught and encouraged.

Neither have ever forgotten their St. Clair county roots, steeped in the mill village, the friendships they forged and the teachers who put them on their paths. Both know that the teachers who recognized their talents, gave them their first accolades and always said “yes you can” were the ones who started them on the paths to the successful highways they still travel.

• Both men are still St. Clair County residents

where they are active in their hometown.

Wadsworth Farm

A family tradition
100 years in the making

By Carol Pappas
Photo by Jerry Martin

Born and raised near a town now under the waters of Logan Martin Lake, Mike Wadsworth went out to make his way in the world as a commercial artist. But the family farm eventually drew him back, continuing a legacy that has been 100 years in the making.

Wadsworth Farm, in the same family for 100 years, reached a milestone in 2011, earning both Heritage Farm and Century Farm designations from the State of Alabama Department of Agriculture and Industries.

Located just off US 231, south of Pell City, Wadsworth Farm is a remnant of an era gone by in an area known as Easonville before the Coosa River was dammed to create Logan Martin Lake in 1965. Most of what remains of the town now lies underneath Logan Martin, including part of the old highway.

As a boy growing up there, Wadsworth said, the family farm was surrounded  by other farms — low-lying pasture land that enabled him to see all the way to present-day Voncile Lane, a road off Alabama 34 several miles away.

The farm started as a peach orchard in 1911 by his grandfather, William Lee Wadsworth. He and Wadsworth’s grandmother, Ella Ritch Wadsworth, had all their children in the house, and as the years passed, the family clan thrived.

It was more than a half century earlier that the original Wadsworth family first settled the area around Treasure Island on the Coosa River. Some were tanners and trappers, and they traveled the Coosa all the way to Wetumpka, trapping along the way and selling their pelts.

The story goes, said the modern day Wadsworth, that on one trip, the dealer would not pay what the group thought the pelts were worth. They pooled their money and could only buy one train ticket. One man returned home on the train with the pelts while the rest of the group walked back to Easonville from Wetumpka.

Another story handed down is the purchase of the first “store bought” match, when his grandfather sent for the children to witness a match struck for the first time.

It was a time when his grandfather and a great uncle operated two syrup mills, and 630 gallons of syrup could buy his great uncle, George Ritch, a brand-new, 1930 Chevrolet.

Wadsworth also recounted hard times, where families knew they could “always go see Mr. Lee” for the basics, like corn, syrup and eggs. “It’s hard to believe people lived on that,” his wife, Jeanette, said. But they were able to get their iron and protein in those basics from ‘Mr. Lee.’

Excess milk from their cows was sold to local stores and to the Southside Birmingham landmark, Waites Bakery.

Today, the Wadsworth place earns a different kind of fame near and far as a blueberry farm, where thousands of gallons of blueberries are picked each year. Originally an 80-acre piece of property, it has grown to more than 330 acres under his and his father’s time as owners.

The Wadsworths have been operating the farm as a ‘U Pick, We Pick’ farm since their first planting in 1987, and it goes by an honor system, where people from all over come to pick this seasonal favorite and take it with them. The only thing they leave behind is the payment — in an “honor box.”

The farm has done quite well under the Wadsworths’ careful nurturing and continues to grow in numbers of plants and types of blueberries.

Wadsworth didn’t set out to be a successful farmer. In early adulthood, he pursued a career in art — a gift for drawing and painting he shared with his mother.

Wadsworth graduated from art school in Birmingham and did architectural illustrations for more than 10 years. “I thought there must be a better way to make a living,” Wadsworth said. So when the Wadsworths visited a blueberry picking farm in Golden Springs, an idea that was new and expensive in the South, “I thought it was pretty neat.” The Wadsworths decided to turn part of the acreage into a blueberry farm, and they became involved with a group in Clay County. They learned the intricacies of what to do through Auburn University’s small fruits program. “I learned real quick they need a lot of water,” Wadsworth said. But as his crop grew, so did his knowledge, and he and his wife became active well beyond their Easonville farm. Wadsworth served as president of the Alabama Blueberry Association, and Mrs. Wadsworth served on the Gulf South Blueberry Board as the U Pick representative.

Back home at the farm this season, they raised a bumper crop of almost 6,500 pounds of blueberries and more than 1,000 gallons picked from their 3,200 bushes.

People have come from all over the country to pick Wadsworth blueberries. “We have met a lot of interesting people,” he said, noting one friendship he struck with “an author, geologist and archeologist all rolled into one. He has been all over the world working with oil companies.”

And as another season came to a close this summer, the Wadsworths looked back on 100 years as a family farm while looking ahead to a fourth generation continuing the legacy begun a century ago.

The way Wadsworth looks at it, “I only have the land for a short time, and I want to leave it in better condition than when I received it — better with my timber, better conservation practices.”

When he hands the land to his children he hopes they will heed their parents’ teachings about the land. “We have tried to instill good conservation and heritage values in them. Hopefully, the land will go down through generations and not into subdivisions.

“People move out in the country, and then the subdivisions come, and there’s no more country.”

Hummingbird Heaven

Every year, some of the smallest
birds alive flock to St. Clair County

By Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin

Close your eyes a minute, and you might think you’re at LaGuardia or some other heavily traveled airport as the whir of the air traffic heads in and out.

But this isn’t LaGuardia, not by a long shot. And that whir you hear? It’s just the yearly flight of the Ruby-throated Hummingbird — hundreds of them — heading in for a good meal at a familiar St. Clair County landing strip.

From the road, there’s not much to distinguish it from other residences in this Chandler Mountain neck of the woods. But step around back, and Bill and Jody Gilliland have quite a surprise in store.

Hanging from the backyard rooftop and dangling from clothes lines are rows and rows of hummingbird feeders, enticing these tiny creatures back year after year like regular customers to a local diner at lunch rush.

And they have been back every year for more than a decade. “They’re fairly loyal if they’re breeding,” Bill Gilliland said. A lot of times, they’ll come on the same date. They’re loyal to their route.

“We just furnish the yard and the birdfeeders is basically what we do,” he said, noting that he dedicates this time of year to keeping dozens of feeders stocked on a daily basis for his winged travelers. It takes about 200 gallons of sugar water a year to feed the thousands of birds in his yard.

“I buy the sugar,” Jody Gilliland said, downplaying her role in the process. Her husband handles the rest.

The Gillilands’ place has now become a hummingbird banding training station, where trackers from across the country and as far away as South America have come to train how to band a bird smaller than a person’s little finger.

According to Brandee Moore, who is a licensed bander living on Chandler Mountain, the tiny, aluminum band with a letter and five identification numbers is slipped onto the bird after a momentary capture, and the number is registered in a computer system so that wherever they travel, their frequent flyer miles can be logged. The band on the leg corresponds to measurements, like their bill, their age and sex. The number will never be given to any other bird, so the recapture can tell the history of that particular bird.

A hummingbird bander is not all that common — only 250 in the U.S.; not much more worldwide — because the bird is so small and has to be handled differently than other birds. To be certified requires a separate designation. And that’s why the Gillilands lend their property each year as a training ground.

“They like them to band 100 birds here” to ensure that they can build speed and precision during the capture process, Gilliland said.

And tracking their travels helps those who have an interest to learn about the habits of these fascinating birds. “We probably know about 10 percent,” Gilliland said. “We have lots to learn. But we know a lot more now than we did 30 years ago.”

They first start appearing at the Gillilands each March when migration begins. The male comes first, and the females follow. In late March, they are in full breeding plumage — “iridescent green, like jewels,” Gilliland said.

Thousands will make their way there each year through the end of October. “After Nov. 1, it’s likely not the Ruby Throated Hummingbird,” but some other species, like Rufous, Gilliland said.

By mid-July, traffic starts “picking up,” and in general, they’re all gone by mid to late October.

People who see hummingbirds in their yards generally think it is the same bird over and over again. In reality, though, if a feeder is feeding five birds, it probably is really feeding 25. “There’s a lot more you don’t see. What you see in the yard is four to five times more.

“That’s what we learn from banding.”

Gilliland, a retired State of Alabama engineer, and his wife, who also retired from the state, have always had an interest in birds. They were members of the Ornithological Society and the Audubon Society. They took continuing education classes at the University of Alabama at Birmingham and even taught some through the Audubon Society.

They met Bob and Martha Sargent of Clay, Alabama, who founded The Hummer/Bird Study Group. The group is nonprofit organization founded to study and preserve hummingbirds and other Neo-tropical songbirds. And they have been heavily involved ever since.

HBSG operates banding stations in Clay and Fort Morgan, Alabama. At Fort Morgan in the spring and fall, volunteers capture and band hummingbirds and other species because this coastal area is the first landfall and the last departure point for thousands of migrating birds.

“We are in the hummingbird path, passing through from the north,” said Sargent. From the westernmost point, they come from the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta Province and southern Canada.

From the east, they come from the maritime provinces like Nova Scotia and Labrador, Sargent said. After their “nesting duties, they head south” en route to southern Mexico and northern Panama “and everywhere in between.”

They are not cold-hardy birds, so when temperatures begin their descent, they in essence, “get out of town,” Sargent said. Over land, they stream southward through the Dakotas, Oklahoma and Texas. The eastern part of the population are transgulf migrants on their way to Mexico and Central America this time of year.

He likened them to a broad river, spreading out. “They are not flocking birds. They are independent, ornery, aggressive and mean. They just don’t like each other, but it works for them. That’s the neat thing.”

And that seasonal flight is something they have been doing for uncountable generations, Sargent said, “and the hummingbirds were doing just what they do now.”

 

Viewer submitted photo/John and Judy Hulsey:

Catfish Noodling

Stephan Goin (left) and Brandon Roe nab a big one on Logan Martin.

Noodling: noun

1. Fishing for catfish using only bare hands, practiced primarily in the southern United States. The noodler places his hand inside a discovered catfish hole.

— Wikipedia

2. A form of fishing in which someone runs into a lake and searches for holes on the bottom with his foot. Then he inserts his finger into the hole and lets something bite it. Hopefully, it’s a catfish.

— Urban Dictionary

By Loyd McIntosh

Photos by Jerry Martin

The following activities are illegal or prohibited in the State of Alabama: Bear wrestling matches, to chain an alligator to a fire hydrant, to wear a fake moustache that causes laughter in church, and to be blindfolded while operating a vehicle.

Those illustrations may be a bit far-fetched, but the overall point is adventure, and real endorphin-creating, adrenaline-pumping adventure can be hard to find — at least the kind of fun that doesn’t land you in the Graybar Hotel or get your face plastered on one of those mugshot magazines you see on convenience store counters.

For those looking for a good time that will get the blood flowing and, literally, get you in touch with nature, look no further than noodling, an outdoor water sport gaining in popularity among young men throughout the area. Noodling, sometimes referred to as grabbling, is a type of fishing that eschews rod, reel and worms in favor of the bare hands.

From late-May through early-July, noodlers make their way to lakes, ponds and streams around St. Clair County. Mostly young men, these gonzo outdoorsmen look for holes near or in the banks, preferably under a dock or a boat ramp, where large catfish may be hiding. Once an appropriate spot is found, a noodler will leap over the side of their boat and into the murky water.

After a couple of tense minutes as God only knows what takes place under the water’s surface, the noodler emerges, one arm wrapped around the flapping catfish, the other inside the mouth of the catfish. And thus you have an emerging adventure sport that is growing in popularity on lakes like Logan Martin and Neely Henry.

“I’ve been dong this every summer since I was 14 or 15 years old and I love it,” says 19-year-old Cropwell native, Stephan Goin. “There is a just a rush you get when you catch that fish that I can’t explain. It’s just a lot of fun.”

Goin, an aspiring competitive angler, was introduced to noodling by a friend while out fishing on a hot summer day, one of those days when the high temperatures makes sitting in a boat with no shade unbearable. “We had been out there for a while and he said to me, ‘Have you ever been noodling?’ I said ‘noodling? What’s that?’ He went through the process and taught me how to land a fish, everything I needed to know,” Goin says.

After identifying a smaller hole and learning the basics, it was time for his initiation. Goin jumped in the water and noodled for his first catfish. The first few moments were tense and alarming, but, before long he was hooked.

“I felt something brush my hand then it hit me and scared me a little. It hit me so hard with this blunt force. I thought ‘I’ve go to do this’ and I pulled him out eventually,” Goin says. “I remember telling my mom and dad about it and if they had ever heard of noodling. It was like telling your parents you were going to buy a motorcycle.”

Brothers Stephan (left) and Morgan Goin on Logan Martin Lake

His first catch was a 15-pound catfish, a dwarf compared to the monsters he and other noodlers catch now. Goin says he caught a 50-pounder while noodling in Logan Martin Lake and knows of a 70-pounder caught by some others, also in Logan Martin. With monsters like these and other creatures lurking in the water, not to mention the drowning dangers inherent in the sport, noodling can be a wee bit hazardous.

“It can be kind of dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. I’ve heard of people drowning because they’ve followed a catfish into a hole that’s too small to get it out of and can’t get back to the surface,” Goin says. “Really what you have to watch out for are snakes, beavers and snapping turtles.”

Noodlers also need to look for angry homeowners who may not want them digging around their boat ramps or those who think they’re up to no good. Goin says it’s also not uncommon to encounter a marine policeman or a game and fish warden while chasing catfish on the banks of Logan Martin. “I’ve never gotten in trouble. I always have my fishing license on me and that’s always seemed to answer any questions when we get stopped,” Goin says.

“I remember one old guy just started cussing up a storm at us one day and called the Riverside Police on us,” Goin says. “They handled it, and after it was all over he said ‘God bless y’all.’ How do you like that? He cussed me up and down and then asked God to bless me.”

For many, noodling is still a mystery and, of course, controversial. Young men get the police called on them for far less than going underwater and emerging with a 35-pound catfish in their arms. And, at the moment, noodling isn’t legal everywhere in the United States. Texas only legalized noodling in May of this year. So, the big question is what does the law in Alabama say?

“It’s completely legal but you must have a game permit, and you’re limited to one fish over 34 inches long per person,” says Jerry Fincher, a conservation enforcement officer with the Alabama Department of Conservation Division of Wildlife and Freshwater Fisheries and, himself a fellow noodler. Fincher says noodlers who get crossways with the law haven’t sought the blessings of the homeowner before jumping in the water.

“You have to get permission from the homeowner before you can noodle around their docks or boat ramps. We ask for permission and if he says ‘no,’ then we’ll go on to someplace else,” Fincher says.

Fincher says many homeowners believe that noodlers cause problems to the foundations supporting boat ramps and docks and, therefore, don’t want them around. However, he says noodlers actually eliminate the problem actually caused by the fish which burrow holes on the bank to lay their eggs. Still, he says, if and when permission is granted, remember to be respectful and help give this budding sport a good name.

“Don’t use any profanity, clean up after yourself and just be a responsible citizen,” he says. “It’s a growing sport and a lot of fun. It’s a lot more popular now than it used to be.”

Goin would like to make the sport even more popular in the future. He has introduced the sport to professional B.A.S.S. anglers, football players and local adventure seekers and envisions a day where noodling tournaments and organized events are regular occurrences.

“I’ll take anyone out who wants to learn about it,” Goin says. “I don’t charge anyone. It’s just for the fun of it.”

For more on Logan Martin Lake, check out loganmartinlakelife.com

North by Northeast

Abundant windows give views galore of the beautiful natural scenery.

By David Story

Photos by Jerry Martin

Northeast of Birmingham, on the precipice of Chandler Mountain near Steele, sits an American classic: a rustic family home perched on the edge of a cliff like something out of a Hitchcock film.

The driveway to Chandler Falls Farm crosses a branch eerily named for a man better known for mayhem than family. There is a sign reading “Manson Branch” that according to homeowner John Ard, a surgical nurse at UAB, was a $3 thrift store find.

After crossing Manson Branch onto Chandler Falls Farm, visitors feel immediate relief at the sight of a bronze Foo dog on the porch of Ard’s family home and the hand-hewn logs flanking the front entrance and continuing into the interior living space.

Ard, who’s also known for officiating at tennis tournaments, says the logs were dismantled from a cabin in Andalusia, the front door’s an interior cathedral door from England, and the exterior lanterns are reproductions.

Ard directs visitors’ attention to the porch’s resident gargoyle, which was salvaged from a long-gone Brooklyn brownstone. Railings were custom-designed. No detail’s too small to overlook. At the house’s foundation are ornate vents found at an area estate sale.

Ard is almost apologetic in saying, “I wanted to do an all-brick exterior but went with cedar-shake vinyl siding.” But, he’s obviously proud of the porch’s support beams, the largest of which weighs 100 pounds, is a non-laminated beam cut in Louisiana and brought to Chandler Mountain.

The living room floors are from the same cabin from which the wallboards were reclaimed. Two leather armchairs and a matching dark-green love seat and sofa give off a masculine vibe. The rustic base of a glass-topped coffee table is an antique Alaskan sled, and flanking the flat-screen TV are two sets of stacked cabinets. Large-scale accessories include a taxidermist’s stuffed raptor and fox.

Ard explains the alcove between the cabinets: “I had to cut some corners as the budget excluded some things, such as a stacked-rock fireplace, although we poured the foundation so a fireplace can be easily added later.”

The large framed photograph over the sofa is Mad Ludwig’s Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, and French sculptor Pierre-Jules Mene, born in Paris in 1810, was the originator of the sofa table’s reproduction bronze of a hunt scene.

Directionally contrasting rafters make for the transition from the living area to the kitchen, which is overseen by a large-scale angel carving. The custom-made kitchen countertops are Mozambique or “White Diamonds,” and the wooden hood above the stove is supported by ornate corbels.

John Ard takes in his scenic view.

A likewise angelic image of Julia Roberts, signed by the actress, is placed strategically on the kitchen counter. The cabinetry includes a built-in hutch with leaded glass doors, and the sunroom — with adequate space for dining — flows off of the kitchen.

It goes without saying the magnificent view of Chandler Mountain is the focal point of the sunroom. Expansive three-sectioned insets of windows, each about 50 feet wide, create a spectacular 150-foot-wide view that is panoramic in scope.

“What I think about when it comes to the view,” says Ard, “is the fog between the ridges, reminiscent of the Smokey Mountains, as it comes up and floats past the house. I love the view on winter mornings and when it’s sunny the rest of year. The property was previously used like a state park and has that same quality. Actually, a boy scout troop was once found camping out here, thinking they were at a nearby state park.”

The light of which Ard speaks is exquisitely filtered through stained-glass windows, circa 1871, from one of New York’s long-gone Catholic churches, both of which were made in memory of William S. and Elizabeth E. Corbett. The windows, jarringly juxtaposed with an authentic Ruby Tuesday’s door (a flea market find), depict St. Anthony turning toward the sea and speaking to the fish, who for their part, raise up their bodies and perch, as it seems, on top of the water. According to the homily upon which the stained images were based, St. Anthony then blessed the fish, which returned to the sea. In keeping with the sunroom’s theological theme, there are a smattering of crucifixes about.

A kitschy coat rack, circa 1970s, sports a vintage West Point cadet’s jacket. A bobcat, perfectly preserved by an adept taxidermist, pops in one corner.

The sunroom’s vintage 1895 solid walnut library table was refitted with a glass top and serves as a dining table. Across from the table hangs a black and white photo, titled “Flatiron No. 3”, which brilliantly depicts the legendary triangular Flatiron building in New York City, or the Fuller Building, as it was originally called, which is located at 175 Fifth Avenue.

The ornate staircase was salvaged by Burgin Construction from Selma’s pre-Civil War Albert Hotel (a replica of the Doge’s Palace in Venice), which was torn down in 1969. The staircase was later acquired and sold to Ard by Fritz Whaley of The Garages in Birmingham.

As visitors exit the sunroom, their attention is drawn to a print by Mexican American rock guitarist Carlos Augusto Selva Santana encased in an alcove of three windowed glass walls. The Santana graphic leads the way to a spiral staircase, meandering upwards to the guest rooms above. The view through the glass windows from the spiral stairs is dizzying. “When you walk down, you feel as if you might go over the edge, a la Hitchcock’s Vertigo, ” says Ard.

The second floor hallway leading to the guest rooms features a striking nude, painted by Agnes B. Taugner in 1952. “Agnes Taugner, who taught at Auburn,” says Ard, “is a sweet lady and was a neighbor in Auburn, where I grew up after we moved there in the 1960s for my mom to go to grad school. Agnes was part of a group of family friends who regularly gathered around our kitchen table to discuss art and drama.”

The smaller upstairs guest room features twin beds and is called “the grandchildren’s room” for its coziness and intimacy. There’s an antique Eastlake chair, circa 1910, and an unruly bobcat throw complete with feline fur. This overall monochromatic beige room’s accented with floral prints on the walls and floral spreads on the half beds. An antique white-washed French commode hides in the corner.

The guest bath is illuminated by a Pella transom-style window with a clerestory effect. Ard’s most treasured possession in this bath is a signed photo of Sting. A re-slivered antique mirror rests on top of an antique vanity refitted as a countertop for the sink. Gold-plated swan-shaped faucets and blue and white decorative, hand-painted tiles add bursts of sheen and color.

The most prominent of the second-floor guest rooms features another Taugner painting. In this larger room, an armoire from the 1930s proportionately offsets the mirrored double doors. Over the bed hangs the other Taugner from 1996, with its hues of red and blue, depicting the Mexican El Dia de los Muertos or the Day of the Dead, a festival honoring the remembrance of deceased loved ones.

The most private of the guest rooms is Ard’s older daughter’s room. “This white guest room has a canopy bed from Henredon,” he says. “Her desk is Toscana from the Philippines and is hand-carved mahogany. There are family photos throughout the bedroom, and the side panel door was salvaged from a college campus. It was actually shown on the cover of a student brochure at Columbus’ Mississippi University for Women, in Columbus, Miss., where my daughter Angie went one summer when she was a junior in high school to participate in a special program for secondary students.”

At the very top of the house is a loft, which doubles as billiard room and sleeping quarters for Ard’s youngest child, and is chock full of pop culture memorabilia. Music-related artifacts include signed poster-sized images of Motley Crue and Aerosmith.

In homage to Manson Branch, which borders the property, a likeness of Charles Manson can be found taking a time-out in the billiard room’s closet. Scattered about is more signed memorabilia from Rod Stewart, Dolly Patron, the Pointer Sisters, Whitney Houston and Bob Dylan, the bulk of which is numbered and comprised of Charlie Hall personal Arista record label collection.

As to the origins of the memorabilia, Ard says, “The provenance is through The Magic Platter, and the pieces were collected from the artists by one of the business’s partners. The collection’s a conversation piece and contributes to the ambience. People said I wouldn’t be able to use a collection of pop memorabilia, but it works, just as the state-of-the-art kitchen works juxtaposed with the vintage, log cabin-inspired living area.”

On a more traditional note, next to the pool table, which is the loft’s centerpiece, aptly hangs a hobnailed and faux leather-matted reproduction of Ron Henry O’Neil’s The Billiards.

Back downstairs, Ard’s penchant for unusual art pieces is reflected in the Donald Grant hand-signed and numbered limited-edition prints, Big Cats and Tigers, which hang against a sage-green wall over a grouping of two 1920s walnut and cane chairs.

A focal point is a piece by artist Iris Margagaliotti hanging over the fireplace, the surround of which is from the 1920s and original to an old Mountain Brook home. Next to the hearth resides a regal lioness. The wall treatments, which frame yet another stupendous view, and matching bed linens are in a pattern of bright plum and muted-green floral with a touch of beige. The carpet’s a white Berber.

The pediment over the bed came from an old wardrobe and, in a utilitarian sense, gracefully supports the bed hangings, and aesthetically, it perfectly crowns the mound of tapestry pillows on the bed.

Adjacent is the master bath, which immediately draws the eye to a stained-glass window over the tub. The most unexpected find is a signed photo of the 1960s pops group The Monkees. The bath’s theme is a cherub motif, as shown by the vanity’s pot metal or “monkey metal” candelabra, angelic sconces, and cherubic statuettes flanking the tub from windowsill to floor. Also of note is a crystal and stained bronzed chandelier hung from an authentic horsehair and plaster medallion, a detail which Ard is quick to point out.

“When you design a building, structure and function are the easy part, but the artistry lies in the details,” concludes Ard, citing an old German proverb often attributed to Mies van der Rohe. As it turned out, the cliffside house in Hitchcock’s North by Northwest was a Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired Hollywood set, designed by Henry Grace and Frank McKelvey, but by contrast Ard’s mountaintop retreat, designed by himself, is the real deal and a true American classic, down to the last detail.

North by Northeast Photo Gallery (slide the ball left or right to scroll through the photos; click on the photo to enlarge)
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