Marvin Poythress, 78, passed away Saturday May 11, 2008 after several years of declining health. A Chapel Hill native, Marvin was the son of the late Ila and Furman Poythress. He was preceded in death by his loving wife of 50 years, Ann Phelps Poythress, and by his brothers Robert Poythress and Durrell Poythress.

Marvin graduated from the old Chapel Hill High School, located at that time on Franklin St. Though big in stature, he had a soft heart and was affectionately called “Teddy Bear” by his friends. As a lifelong active member of Damascus Church he served as treasurer and enjoyed singing in the choir. Marvin retired from UNC Hospitals after 33 years of service in 1983. After retirement, he continued working with UNC Athletics, where he began as a young man selling buckets of iced drinks up and down the bleachers. He then progressed from usher to supervising operations on Kenan Stadium’s southside. He enjoyed his many years working with basketball operations as well, especially enjoying the championship victories. After 50 years of working at Kenan Stadium, Marvin retired in 1999. The UNC Athletic Department established The Poythress Service Award presented to the volunteer staff member who most exemplifies Marvin’s work ethic, dedication and attitude. He loved his God, his family, his country and his Tar Heels.
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By Valarie Schwartz

There are two ponds in my neighborhood. The one nearest my house has a fallen tree lying across a portion of it upon which on sunny days a host of turtles can be found collecting vitamin D. They line the log from both ends, dozens of them, each looking toward the middle of the 20-foot expanse as though lined up for a tug of war. One day I decided to walk over and take a photo of the sunbathers. But as I approached, a squirrel darted out in front of me as I heard a barely discernible noise and, looking at the log, found it empty — in a splash.

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Mary Bea Sullivan. Photo by Valarie Schwartz.

Our first loss of a close loved one provides a reference that changes our perception of death forever.

Life provides a unique journey for each of us as we inhabit our bodies, and Mary Bea Sullivan will be the first to say that hers has been no more special than another’s, only that the path she took following the death of her best friend, Rhonda, led her to write a book about it.

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Virginia and Milton Julian have laughed their way through the differences. Photo by Valarie Schwartz.

Some of life’s occurrences have a one-word explanation: Fate.

That’s how Milton and Virginia Julian have looked at life since meeting one spring day in 1945 after Milton knocked on the door of his brother Ira’s home and a delightful blonde responded.

“Who are you?” Virginia asked in her native Greensboro accent.

“Well, who are you?” Milton tossed back with a quickening heart. “Is Ira home?”

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By Valarie Schwartz

A clan of turkey vultures came callin’ Sunday afternoon. Enjoying the cold, gusty, brilliant weather, the white undersides of their wings shone like aluminum with the waning sun glimmering upon them as dozens gathered overhead.

Watched while in flight, the birds, which can have 6-foot wingspreads, glide gracefully and effortlessly among the thermals, whether searching for food or simply enjoying the ride and community.

The air show produced a far different reaction than the repulsion upon seeing a turkey vulture along a roadside rising in wobbly takeoff from a carcass feast, its red bald-like head appearing comical as well as grotesque.
The allure of nature, making even the lowly turkey vulture a gift to behold, delivered the metaphor required for focusing on this time of year. With only a change of perspective, the holiday season, like the turkey vulture, makes hearts rejoice — and cringe.

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Three of Paul Green’s children, Byrd Green Cornwell, Betsy Green Moyer, Paul Green Jr., and his grandson, Paul Green III get their picture taken at the unveiling of the Paul Green historic marker just south of town on U.S. 15-501. 

By Valarie Schwartz

PAUL GREEN
1894-1981

Playwright, teacher, &
humanitarian. Awarded
Pulitzer Prize, 1927. His
16 outdoor dramas in-
clude The Lost Colony
(1937). Lived 1 mile E.

Not too many years ago, the sign erected last week with the above words would have stood in the front yard of an old farmhouse.

Today, it lends stability at the corner of US 15-501 and Old Lystra Road, next to the UNC Park & Ride that opened there earlier this year, in a stretch of road where change has been continual over the past decade.

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By Valarie Schwartz 

The drought has started making me droop.

By the time you read this, maybe we will have had rain. Rain might save some withering plants, push the dirt around on our cars and settle the dust on the roads, but it comes too late for many things, and will be no more than the proverbial drop in the bucket for our reservoirs.

There’s more to the drought than our gardens, trees and water supply. The critters need water as well, and if the ones you’ve observed have been as creative as the ones in my neighborhood, then you too may be wondering how to cope.

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Deborah Pearson-Moyers holds Pinto Bean (L) with Nancy Proia, and Flynn (R) with Mary Todd Peters, while guiding the women through warm-up stretches as part of her Women’s Intuitive Riding Group. Photo Courtesy of Valarie Schwartz

By Valarie Schwartz

…while attending a ceremony at Emerson Waldorf School, Deborah Pearson-Moyers sat down and brightly asked, “Who are you?”

My response gained an invitation to see what she does at her Blue Skies of Mapleview horse farm off Dodson’s Crossroads. Driving home after observing a lesson Tuesday, a question for the ages tumbled around in my head: What is it about women and horses?

Perhaps the answer lies in the name of the sessions Pearson-Moyers leads — Women’s Intuitive Riding. Women and horses following their intuition fare pretty well; working together, they can move mountains — and negative energy.

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