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When I was young, one of my weekly chores was to dust our living room.

For many years, a clay bird whistle sat on the bottom shelf of the end table in my parent’s living room. It was about five inches tall and chipped from us kids dropping it accidentally on the hardwood floor.

I loved that clay bird whistle, and from time to time, I would try it out. My mother told me it was from her father’s pottery shop, open many years earlier.

There were a few other pieces in our attic, kept there, I am sure, for safe keeping until the day when they once again could be displayed without worry they’d be destroyed.

Because my grandfather Charlie Roe Auman died many years before I was born, I never knew him. I did know my grandmother Minnie Mae Freeman Auman, though she rarely spoke of the details surrounding the business before her death in 1988.

Through hard work and determination, this pottery business became my grandparents’ livelihood as they strived to support their growing family in the early part of the 20th century.

In 1922, my grandfather decided to begin a pottery business on land he already owned three miles north of Seagrove. Part of this land’s assets was a large bed of clay, now known as the Auman Clay Pond.

It has been said that this clay, dark blue with yellow and black streaks, was some of the best available because it was easy to work and, once fired, gave off a nice color.

My grandfather built the kilns, the shop and the other buildings needed for setting up a pottery business and hired Wrenn Cole to teach him what he’d need to know about the operation. Although my grandfather never actually turned pottery, he worked to build up the business.

Some of my grandfather’s brothers came to work for him, turning, glazing and firing the pots. The oldest children of my grandparents eventually followed suit, doing what was needed to keep up with the demand as the business grew.

My grandmother helped out with the pottery business by working in the shop, making sales and packing orders to be shipped to retailers such as Clay Crafters in New York. She also glazed and painted pottery, contributing artistically as well.

In 1927, U.S. 220 was built and fast became the main north-south road for travelers going to and from Florida. My grandfather built a large house closer to the new highway with a shop downstairs to take advantage of this lucrative location.

The house, which became known as “The Ship” because of its unusual size and shape, was a popular place for tourists to stop as they made their way through the state, often clogging the highway as shoppers tried to find a place to park.

My grandfather also built another log cabin close by to house Charlie Masten, a chemist from Indiana who was interested in experimenting with various glazing techniques. His work gave the pottery my grandfather’s business created a unique look with swirls and drips of complementary colors. Masten worked in secret and kept a lock on the door to his workplace, never allowing anyone, not even my grandfather, to learn his techniques of glazing pottery.

The Depression, among other factors, eventually took its toll on the pottery business, forcing my grandparents to close up shop.

Many years have passed since those days.

They left behind a continuing legacy representing how potters of that era transitioned from making strictly utilitarian wares to pieces colored in blues, greens, grays and browns that are now highly sought-after works of art.

My grandparents never would have been able to imagine the attention and respect that pottery from their shop now commands.
The little clay bird whistle is now tucked safely in my mother’s hutch.

Though the years of handling are evident, its blue hue will always remind me of my childhood home and the incredible history my grandparents contributed as they scratched out a living in North Carolina’s dirt and clay.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.