This article originally appeared in the 1959-1960 edition of a now-defunct publication entitled The Sandhills Telescope

To the vacation-minded adult, contemplating relaxation from pressures of the daily grind, Pinehurst of course means salubrious climate and golf perfection.

To the ever-growing group of visiting children and grandchildren, however, the word Pinehurst waves a magic wand over childhood memories.

These are doubly sweet to me because not only my own fondest and most glorious winter vacations were spent here from the age of 5, but my own children now wake up mornings when there’s a hint of balm and beauty in the air to say dreamily, "Mom, it smells almost like Pinehurst today. When can we go?"

What is there in this pine-spiced vacation spot to lure the hearts of visiting children? Of course one must start with the train; the hectic boarding (hectic only to parents) in Newark in cold and sleet and drizzle and the waking up next morning to shining sun.

The sheer delight of watching the porter make up the berth, of actually sleeping and eating on the train; the straining to keep eyes open all the way to Washington to see the monuments as we roll by; the first glimpses of Carolina clay, log cabins, crossroads, towns; then Raleigh, Sanford, Southern Pines.

There are hugs and reunions on the platform, the tantalizingly slow ride to the house in the delicious warm air, the sight of magnolia and pine.

There is the rush to the golf course to inspect the greens, the roughs, the traps, to roll down the bunkers. But the zenith of it all is the trip to the stables.

To children everywhere I suspect there is nothing like the damp, warm feel of a horse’s neck after a morning’s ride, the soft mouth nuzzling for sugar, the thrill of cantering down those sandy trails or cross country over scrub pine and through the peach orchards, or even trotting sedately along the edge of the golf course with the sand showing white through the crunchy brown pine needle floor. And who can forget the rides to the gymkhanas, horse shows, picnics at Watson’s Lake, or in older years, drag hunts and fox hunts with the glamour of pink coats, hunt breakfasts, hounds and friendships made galloping breakneck through the loved woods.

When the rides are over for the day the enchantment lingers in slowing down with a coke at the club, the blessed freedom at 8, 9 or 10 years (wise parents know) of being out on the town with nothing to do but wander into the exchange for pralines, into the park for a turn on the swings, or to catch a ride with Happy on his famous bus, or putt or watch the matches, or rent a bike. Wonderful, unfettered choices!

It’s memories like these that bring us back each year full of expectations of fun and pleasure, beauty and freedom and make us say with the children on days when the sun shines warm and wood smoke tints the air… "It smells almost like Pinehurst today!…When can we go?"