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Generally Speaking – Columns

Generally Speaking is the Voyageur's forum for columns, cartoons, and letters to the editor. Skeeter Tales by Joel Seibel is our very own locally produced cartoon. Columns include "Wright News" by Jennie K. Hanson, "Villa Vista News" by Renee Klejeski and "Slices of Life" by Jill Pertler. Views expressed in columns, cartoons, and letters represent the views of the authors.

 

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Other Columns

Split verses unanimous

The heart of a farmer

Saying what we mean

"Ish"- is that really us?

Things have been "testy" lately

Guilty; even after proven innocent

Perceptions into realities

"Are we being good ancestors?"

Nothing good comes from dusting

Electromagnetic-pulse (EMP) attack

» Jennie Hanson's Wright/Cromwell News – online

The life of a lone sock

Everyone knows about lost socks. You can hardly do a load of laundry without coming out at least one sock short. At my house, one sock short is an optimistic prediction.

We buy socks in pairs. We wear them in pairs. We take them off and throw them into the laundry basket in pairs. They travel from washer to dryer – presumably – in pairs.

Things don’t always work this way. Somewhere during the journey from dirty to clean, socks disappear. I’ve got my own theories. I imagine errant, adventuresome socks hitchhiking their way to Disneyland; depressed, I-don’t-want-to-be-here socks who, after much soul searching, decide to end it all; sock fights about blatant infidelity leading to sock divorce and (finally) wide-mouthed dryers coming to life at midnight in order to enjoy a late night sock snack.

I could share these ideas with you, but then you’d understand how my mind really works. You’d probably glance at me cross-eyed and feel the need to avoid me in deserted parking lots. Best to keep my theories to myself.

Socks are meant to be near feet. Trouble is, feet practically always come in pairs. You don’t often hear about someone losing a ...

For the rest of this story and more, pick up this week's Voyageur Press.

news photo
Other Columns

The heart of a farmer

Saying what we mean

"Ish"- is that really us?

Things have been "testy" lately

Guilty; even after proven innocent

Perceptions into realities

"Are we being good ancestors?"

Nothing good comes from dusting

Electromagnetic-pulse (EMP) attack

Excuse us; we're having a moment

» Jennie Hanson's Wright/Cromwell News – online

Split verses unanimous

There have been many unanimous decisions by the Supreme Court. There have also been many split decisions by the Supreme Court. In light of that fact one needs to look at the implications, or maybe I should say the “after-effects,” of a split decision verses a unanimous decision.

To make a long story very short, unanimous decisions stop decent in its tracks. Everyone realizes that to argue against a unanimous Supreme Court decision is fruitless. The “law of the land” has been settled once and for all. Whatever our personal opinion may be, unanimous opinions tend to be accepted and thus enforced.

On the other hand a “split decision” leaves everyone, including the Justices, feeling that some people just do not understand the ramifications of the issues being decided. Most minority opinions written by a Supreme Court justice, point out the lack of the other justices understanding the issues. An example is the comment Justice Antonin Scalia made about the majority ruling in the Obamacare decisions where he said these decisions, “will be cited by litigants ...

For the rest of this story and more, pick up this week's Voyageur Press.

news photo
Other Columns

Saying what we mean

"Ish"- is that really us?

Things have been "testy" lately

Guilty; even after proven innocent

Perceptions into realities

"Are we being good ancestors?"

Nothing good comes from dusting

Electromagnetic-pulse (EMP) attack

Excuse us; we're having a moment

Flipping the Switch

» Jennie Hanson's Wright/Cromwell News – online

The heart of a farmer

In my heart, I am a farmer – at least during the summer months when I’m outside tending my garden.

I love growing things. I enjoy the feel of moist black dirt between my fingers. I get a sense of satisfaction when my seedlings sprout. I even take pleasure in the achy, sweaty feeling I get after a day spent outside moving dirt and pulling weeds – doing good work. Real, honest work in the garden with Mother Nature as my boss and my husband as my supervisor. (Not really, but I let him think so.)

But even though I truly dig gardening, I am not a farmer. Nor is my husband a farmer. I’m a writer who is sometimes a farmer at heart. Transoccupational would be the trendy term for it.

My husband and I are a pretty good team in the garden. I pull weeds. He hauls dirt. We express satisfaction with the height of the tomato plants and anticipate the first pea pods and squash blossoms. We marvel at the ever-vigorous growth of the indestructible, immortal mint.

Over the years we’ve learned growing things involves a never-ending ...

For the rest of this story and more, pick up this week's Voyageur Press.

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Gilby's Nursery and Orchard

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