Fatherly flashbacks June 02 2025

By Elizabeth Ritchie Sherrill

Childhood memories about my dad Heath

I’m sitting in the drop off line for school trying to think about what to write about my dad in honor of Father’s Day. (Spoiler alert, it isn’t cheese straw-related!) I start thinking about time spent with my dad when I was little. I think of summer camp and woodsy walks where I grew up. I think about beach days and road trips and getting off the school bus. Going through my memory Rolodex, I realize most of my core memories have a common thread — animals. Then I look down at the t-shirt I threw on this morning … my dad’s 40+ year old Wildlife Rescue & Rehabilitation shirt from our Chapel Hill days. I smile.

Where I grew up in Chapel Hill, there was tons of wildlife (thus, the t-shirt). I think many of his volunteer days were before I was born, but I enjoyed the stories of animals he helped and can vividly picture my dad carrying a large lidded trashcan with any assortment of critters in it. He worked at a recreation club full-time and was always the go-to guy for any problem, but especially problems of the animal variety. There was an infamous, enormous snapping turtle whose favorite migratory path involved the tennis courts each year, and my dad would have to usher him into a trashcan and move him to a better spot. That was a fun one to watch. One of our pet cats actually had a trashcan capture origin story too. But frogs in the pool drain, snakes on the trail, tennis court dinosaurs … they called Heath, and usually I was right behind him, not wanting to miss the view of wildlife.

The first pet I knew was Jezebel, but to me she was Buzzy. A sweet-natured nanny dog in the form of a large black lab who was best at melting into the floor. She was also really good at waiting for me to get off the school bus, but not so good at chasing squirrels. My dad had a special whistle for her, and if I close my eyes I can hear it now. It is right up there with mourning doves and ocean waves as a sound that resonates with my childhood. He told me he used to send her out on summer camp days with a dollar so she could get her own ice cream sandwich at the snack stand. Ever since Jezebel, we have never been without a family dog. Or two or three.

One thing my dad was granted dad-level greatness for was allowing me to keep pets. Turtles, frogs, snakes … I had them all. Even a mysterious frog bought tiny from the beach gift shop only to live forever and turn into a huge swampy tank-dweller, but that’s another story. When I was 10, we moved to Concord, NC, where my parents still reside and where Ritchie Hill Bakery was born. The woods were different. Still woods, but less creature-y than I was used to. Maybe this is why my parents agreed to get me a hamster, which did what hamsters do and promptly died without reason. However, the pet store had an ominous 7-day return policy, so we went back for a new hamster and left the store with the fluffiest, dopiest puppy named Zoe. For her whole life, she was known as our hamster, and she was yet another wonderful family dog.

Another favorite was Maggie. We got her on Valentine’s Day. When we first began dreaming up Heath’s Cheese Straws, we almost named them Maggie’s Cheese Straws. I took my child-sized red, gingham apron and tied it around the second sweet black lab I got to grow up with and snapped her picture. She was our unofficial logo for a while. My dad always did say our cheese straws were “lab tested,” because Maggie got to sample every at-home batch.

I imagine my dad is spending his Father’s Day curled up on the couch with his current spoiled doggies, thinking about his past doggies, and maybe thinking about us kids a little too. I also imagine that is his ideal day. I think I’ll snuggle my dogs on Father’s Day too, hug my kids, and think of memories long since made. I hope reading this makes you want to reminisce too.

Best to you & yours,

Elizabeth Ritchie Sherrill