Expressing Freedom

             I'm so excited to have my friend and fellow writer, Craig Carter, here today. He writes, among other things, a weekly editorial for the Argus Observer.

EXPRESSING FREEDOM by Craig Carter

                Here’s something interesting.  According to the US Census and the Centers for Disease Control, the five fattest states in the country are also the five poorest--Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas, Kentucky and West Virginia.

                How can people be fat and poor? Well, it’s partially because overly processed, fatty food is plentiful and cheap. Which means poor people don’t starve to death in America. They die from obesity and nutrition related ailments. Plus, Southerners traditionally eat a lot of fatty, fried food.

                It’s also interesting that these five states are the center of the college football universe. Yes sir, each of these states can boast at least one huge college football stadium and multimillion dollar facilities and yet, the states the stadiums are in are poor and fat. Speaks volumes about priorities, doesn’t it?

                However, I’m a politics geek, so what I noticed is without exception, voters in our nation’s fattest and poorest states vote overwhelmingly for Republicans. (What do you call a Democrat in Mississippi? The quietest person in town.) This is especially interesting because Mitt Romney was pretty much talking about these states when he made his now infamous comment about the “47%.” And yet voters in those states wouldn’t vote for a Democrat if you held a gun to their heads.

                Now, my parents, who were FDR Democrats, always told me Republicans were the party of the rich and privileged. And if you listen to liberal pundits, you’ll hear the same argument. But Southerners voting predominately Republican kinda blows that theory out of the water doesn’t it? Well, as it is with most things political, it’s really not that simple.

                You see, the reason Southerners vote predominately for Republicans is because a Democratic president, Lyndon Johnson, foisted the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 on the South. Before that, the South was every bit as partisan for the Democrats as it is for Republicans now, because Southerners didn’t like a certain Republican, Abraham Lincoln, who also kinda forced federal policy on the region. (Which is to say both Johnson and Lincoln dragged the South kicking and screaming into the real world, and Southerners held (and hold,) a ponderous political grudge.)

                But here’s where the plot thickens. Had it not been for Republicans, LBJ wouldn’t have been able to pass the Civil Rights Act or the Voting Rights Act, because those 2 pieces of legislation caused southern Democrats to switch parties in droves, leaving LBJ to court and win the votes of Northern Republican senators and Congressmammals. (Many of whom later switched parties.)

                There are many lessons to be learned from such political history, but I’m neither smart nor astute enough to reach a single, unifying conclusion here. I just find the way free citizens choose to express their freedom incredibly interesting. You can draw whatever conclusions you wish.

End of Summer--or the last cutting of hay

  About this time of year, the last cutting of hay takes place here in the Western Treasure Valley. This is what it looks like on our farm. First the swather cuts it and arranges it into rows.

After being cut, it drys from one to several days in the field, depending on the moisture in the air. During the drying period hay is in the most danger of damage. Rain during this time can rot the alfalfa and make it unfit to be fed to the animals.

We have been in a drought much like the Mid-west, but we have reservoirs holding vast amounts of water saved from the winter snows. During the summer growth period we can irrigate the fields. When its dry, the baler moves in and makes short work of the large 3' x 4' x 8' bales.

 It takes a lot of practice and a talented loader driver to stack ten 1300 pound bales onto each flatbed truck. Fully loaded, the trucks carry over 13,000 pounds with each load.

 The thirteen tons of hay loaded on these two trucks is on it's way to the stack yard.

In the end, from this cutting, we have around 260,000 pounds of hay, finished and ready to be fed throughout the winter. Next spring, the cycle will start all over again. 
If you've never stood in a blooming alfalfa field, let me assure you those small purple flowers are among the most aromatic blooms in the world.

The LOOK Challenge from Jacquie Rogers

I've been tagged.

According to the rules, you're supposed to do a search in your work in progress for the word "look" and then paste the surrounding paragraph(s) and tag as many people as possible.   

 

Okay, here goes.Sean O'Connell's life has been great until this year. He has spent his time riding bulls and winning. After the rodeos, the party begins. Life was great until this summer. His winning streak slowed to a crawl. He finds himself without enough money to go to Arizona to the winter rodeos and has to get a real job. 

After being on the losing end of a run-in with his brother-in-law, he needs the soothing comfort of a beer and just happens to find the Sugarwater Bar.

                                                          

                                                                      ********

            “You don’t look so good, partner. Run into a fist?” The old man behind the bar cackled, as he served a beer to the only other patron, a woman who fit the bar stool like a saddle on a duck.

            “Just get me a boilermaker and cut the jokes,” Sean said as he dropped onto a stool and leaned his fore arms against the bar. He was in no mood to play games.

            The bartender drew a beer and poured the shot. Sean grabbed the whiskey and threw it back. He grimaced then lifted the mug and sucked down the beer.

            “Hit me again,” he growled, slamming the mug onto the bar and sliding it toward the bartender.

            “Looks like you’ve already been hit.”

             The sharp bark of laughter made Sean grind his teeth. His muddled brain had just enough clarity to know if he wanted another drink, he’d have to control his temper. “Boilermaker, please.”

            “I’ll have to see some cash first,” the older man said. “You’ve stiffed us before.”

            “Not me. I’ve never been here before. Besides, I always pay my way.” Sean concentrated, trying to get a clear picture of the old man before him. He couldn’t quite see the bartender, but he was sure he hadn’t been to this place before.

            “Sure you do, sonny, but we run a cash-up-front system.”

            God, he hated to beg, but at this point, he’d do about anything for another drink. “I’m flat broke, but I get paid Friday. I’ll bring in the money then if you’ll let me have one more tonight.”  He even sounded pitiful to his own ears.

            Without taking his eyes off Sean, the bartender called out. “Junior, we have us a moocher here, and it’s time for him to leave.”

            “I’ll pay twice what you charge, if you’ll run a tab until Friday,” Sean said. “Come on, help me out.” When had he been reduced to begging? There had been a time when he entered a joint like this as if he owned it.

            A young man the size of Bigfoot came into the bar from the back room. “Him, Papa?” he said, as he approached.

            The bartender looked at Sean and asked, “You want to leave on your own or have Junior help you?”

            Sean would’ve liked to save face and leave under his own power, but he couldn’t seem to get off the stool. With resignation, he laid his head on the bar and waited. At least he was drunk enough that he might not feel the blows until tomorrow.

I'm tagging:

Amity Grays @amitygrays

Dianne Solberg @wxmouse

Kristi Atkinson @kristyatkinson

Penny Watson @PennyRomance