In a couple of days this part of Kansas will be inundated with deer hunters from all over the country. Southeast Kansas has become nationally known for its trophy deer population and hunters from far and wide will gather to test their skill, and luck, in taking home that perfect buck. Not so good for the deer, but a real economic boon for my neighboring farmers and ranchers.
For years Chautauqua County has ranked near the bottom of the list when ranking the prosperity of the 105 counties in Kansas. We have very little in the way of industry or other major employment possibilities. Most of the 3000+ population survive by being entrepreneurs, and working a variety of jobs while striving to maintain a quality life in a beautiful area of rural Kansas.
The abundant deer population used to be nothing more than a nuisance to the farmers, then voila, supply met demand and a new industry was born. For many years this resource was overlooked as a viable business opportunity, as landowners simply granted permission for folks to hunt on their land....no charge. Now it's a thriving segment of our rural economy and brings in a significant number of dollars.
Already this week I've visited with hunters from Arkansas, Delaware, South Carolina and Florida. All of them require lodging, food, equipment, and places to hunt. These are outside dollars being spent with our local merchants, landowners, and outfitters. Some people have coined the word "agri-tourism" to describe these new income producing opportunities, but it's basically entrepreneurs doing what entrepreneurs do, providing customers with what they want.
So what about the deer? How do they feel about this whole "agri-tourism" idea? I'm guessing they never had the opportunity to voice their opinion, and I suspect most would not have concurred. I've seen a few majestic bucks this year, and I can only offer this advice......Run Bambi run...
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Is this really Christmas??
Well, it's the day after Thanksgiving and it's the day the retail marketers, big box stores, and shopping experts have all decided is the day that all of America should be excited to join in the madness known as Black Friday. Talk about a bunch of malarkey.....Who decided that this makes any sense at all, much less the way we should begin to celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ?
I can certainly understand it from the retailers' point of view. They are in business to make money, and this shopping mania that has been artificially created helps to accomplish that goal. For me, however, I absolutely refuse to participate. Yes, the bargains are available, but so what? You know, the best gift you can possibly give a person is not that item you rushed out to purchase at 4:30am on Friday morning, it's your love, your time, and your thoughtfulness throughout the year that really matters.
Don't get me wrong, I think we all should celebrate the Christmas Season and exchange gifts with our loved ones. It's a tradition that can, and does, bring much joy to our lives. There's nothing like seeing a child's eyes light up with excitement as they open that special gift. But, I've also seen the true tears of appreciation of someone opening that unexpected hand-knitted scarf that a friend made just for them. Somehow we need to remove some of the crass commercialism that has invaded the very heart of the Holiday, and replace it with more of the Holy Spirit.
Living in a very rural part of the country, I can easily avoid the hordes of shoppers who flock like lemmings to the stores in the city. It's much easier for me to shop in some of the local shops for unique gift ideas, and that's exactly what I intend to do.
My old arthritic hands could not begin to hand-knit a scarf, but perhaps I can take the kids out for a very special walk on Christmas night where we can look up at the clear skies, point to the brightest star we see, and tell the true story of Christmas.....something that seems to have fallen from grace in today's society.
Sometimes it seems like this old cowboy is out of step with the rest of the world, but you know what? I kinda like it that way.....but, what the heck do I know anyway.
I can certainly understand it from the retailers' point of view. They are in business to make money, and this shopping mania that has been artificially created helps to accomplish that goal. For me, however, I absolutely refuse to participate. Yes, the bargains are available, but so what? You know, the best gift you can possibly give a person is not that item you rushed out to purchase at 4:30am on Friday morning, it's your love, your time, and your thoughtfulness throughout the year that really matters.
Don't get me wrong, I think we all should celebrate the Christmas Season and exchange gifts with our loved ones. It's a tradition that can, and does, bring much joy to our lives. There's nothing like seeing a child's eyes light up with excitement as they open that special gift. But, I've also seen the true tears of appreciation of someone opening that unexpected hand-knitted scarf that a friend made just for them. Somehow we need to remove some of the crass commercialism that has invaded the very heart of the Holiday, and replace it with more of the Holy Spirit.
Living in a very rural part of the country, I can easily avoid the hordes of shoppers who flock like lemmings to the stores in the city. It's much easier for me to shop in some of the local shops for unique gift ideas, and that's exactly what I intend to do.
My old arthritic hands could not begin to hand-knit a scarf, but perhaps I can take the kids out for a very special walk on Christmas night where we can look up at the clear skies, point to the brightest star we see, and tell the true story of Christmas.....something that seems to have fallen from grace in today's society.
Sometimes it seems like this old cowboy is out of step with the rest of the world, but you know what? I kinda like it that way.....but, what the heck do I know anyway.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
It's all about trust...
I've been a jock just about as long as I can remember....at least I was until I got too old to perform anything even remotely close to athletic activity. Since then, I've become more adept at appreciating the feats of the superb athletes on the tube.
There was a time, however, when I was in the fourth grade and a teacher called me aside during recess and said "Jack, you know you're really fast." and suggested that I run in the all city track meet. I did, and won a bright blue ribbon. How cool is this I thought to myself, and a new passion was born. From that time forward I was proud to be known as a "jock".
What started as simply running fast turned into playing football, basketball, track and baseball.....looking back I have to think, how crazy was that? Crazy yes, but great fun.
Last week, I was visiting with an old friend with whom I had shared high school exploits on the football field, and who I have known since the fourth grade. In fact, my dad was our football coach when we first started to play. Larry and I ended up playing on the same football teams from the fourth grade until our freshman year of college.
We were, and still are very close....I was a running back and he was the fullback who cleared the way for my runs. That forges a very special relationship, one of absolute trust and appreciation on my part, and for the fullback, the pride of knowing that without his key block, the touchdown never happens. We had played together so long that he knew exactly when I was going to cut, and I knew exactly when he was going to throw the block. I used to lay my hand on his back, knowing that he would sense it and take care of that inside linebacker who wanted nothing more than to take my head off. He rarely missed the block.
For all of you out there who can't understand why "old jocks" seem to never tire of reliving old games, and never tire of seeing their old teammates, try to think of it in terms of a relationship that has endured the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Once you've given someone your absolute trust, and they have accepted the responsibility, the bond is hard to break.
Being a "jock" teaches a lot about responsibility, trust, teamwork, winning, losing, sportsmanship....and life. Some people look down on the "jocks" of the world, but some of the finest people I know wear that label, and one of them is my old fullback. Many thanks Larry.
There was a time, however, when I was in the fourth grade and a teacher called me aside during recess and said "Jack, you know you're really fast." and suggested that I run in the all city track meet. I did, and won a bright blue ribbon. How cool is this I thought to myself, and a new passion was born. From that time forward I was proud to be known as a "jock".
What started as simply running fast turned into playing football, basketball, track and baseball.....looking back I have to think, how crazy was that? Crazy yes, but great fun.
Last week, I was visiting with an old friend with whom I had shared high school exploits on the football field, and who I have known since the fourth grade. In fact, my dad was our football coach when we first started to play. Larry and I ended up playing on the same football teams from the fourth grade until our freshman year of college.
We were, and still are very close....I was a running back and he was the fullback who cleared the way for my runs. That forges a very special relationship, one of absolute trust and appreciation on my part, and for the fullback, the pride of knowing that without his key block, the touchdown never happens. We had played together so long that he knew exactly when I was going to cut, and I knew exactly when he was going to throw the block. I used to lay my hand on his back, knowing that he would sense it and take care of that inside linebacker who wanted nothing more than to take my head off. He rarely missed the block.
For all of you out there who can't understand why "old jocks" seem to never tire of reliving old games, and never tire of seeing their old teammates, try to think of it in terms of a relationship that has endured the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Once you've given someone your absolute trust, and they have accepted the responsibility, the bond is hard to break.
Being a "jock" teaches a lot about responsibility, trust, teamwork, winning, losing, sportsmanship....and life. Some people look down on the "jocks" of the world, but some of the finest people I know wear that label, and one of them is my old fullback. Many thanks Larry.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
It's more than winning games...
In 1969 I was a freshman in college and playing football for a not so very good team at our local college. Sometimes a coach can put all the pieces together and a team will meld into one that will over-achieve, winning games they shouldn't win and baffling all of the so-called experts. And, while we had our share of small successes, we were most certainly not an over-achieving team!
Our coach was dealing with some "off the field" legal issues that came to light much later, and all of us were aware that for some reason he had lost interest in a team that was struggling. Regardless of our dismal season my teammates were a great bunch of guys, and there was no quitting in any of them. If anything, the adversity helped to unite us both on and off the field.
After a particularly disappointing loss about midway through the season, we had to endure the dreaded film review where every play was dissected and discussed. Run it forward at regular speed, rewind it to look at it again in slo-mo, then pick it apart piece by piece, player by player.....a really thick skin helped to endure the painful process, but typically there was no place to hide.
On this late October evening three of us were gathered outside the building, sitting on a wall and licking our wounds after a scathing review of our inept play, when we heard a scream from across the street. A real scream, from someone in trouble.
Now remember, we were in a small Kansas town at a time when this would have been a very rare occurrence. In fact, I'm not sure I had ever heard a real scream, and it took all of us a couple of seconds to react. We saw someone running away and someone lying on the sidewalk.
Suddenly all of the aches and pains disappeared, the sting of our coaches' sharp words were forgotten, and we became that well-oiled machine that we rarely experienced on the football field. We were off the retaining wall in a flash, making decisions and shouting directions as we ran, "Tommy, you check on her! Bill and I will go get him...."
All we had seen was a young man in a red jacket running down the alley, but there was never any doubt that we would catch him.....We didn't. He was gone. Disappeared somewhere into the dark recesses of the edge of downtown. Lucky for him, for I feel that a lot of pent up frustrations would have found there way to the surface that night.
We finally gave up the chase and trotted back to where our teammate Tommy was still trying to comfort the elderly lady, who was now sitting on the sidewalk, unhurt but minus her purse and her dignity. Other than a few scrapes she was fine, and very thankful for our efforts.
For the first time in a long time we felt good about ourselves.
The local newspaper did a nice article about the football players who came to the rescue of the victim and tried to chase down the culprit.
For a little while, we were more than just teammates on a losing football team, we were a few guys trying to do the right thing. I've forgotten most of the details about that football season, but I still have a warm feeling when I think about helping someone who was in trouble.....I think it showed the true character of the players on that team, but what do I know.
Our coach was dealing with some "off the field" legal issues that came to light much later, and all of us were aware that for some reason he had lost interest in a team that was struggling. Regardless of our dismal season my teammates were a great bunch of guys, and there was no quitting in any of them. If anything, the adversity helped to unite us both on and off the field.
After a particularly disappointing loss about midway through the season, we had to endure the dreaded film review where every play was dissected and discussed. Run it forward at regular speed, rewind it to look at it again in slo-mo, then pick it apart piece by piece, player by player.....a really thick skin helped to endure the painful process, but typically there was no place to hide.
On this late October evening three of us were gathered outside the building, sitting on a wall and licking our wounds after a scathing review of our inept play, when we heard a scream from across the street. A real scream, from someone in trouble.
Now remember, we were in a small Kansas town at a time when this would have been a very rare occurrence. In fact, I'm not sure I had ever heard a real scream, and it took all of us a couple of seconds to react. We saw someone running away and someone lying on the sidewalk.
Suddenly all of the aches and pains disappeared, the sting of our coaches' sharp words were forgotten, and we became that well-oiled machine that we rarely experienced on the football field. We were off the retaining wall in a flash, making decisions and shouting directions as we ran, "Tommy, you check on her! Bill and I will go get him...."
All we had seen was a young man in a red jacket running down the alley, but there was never any doubt that we would catch him.....We didn't. He was gone. Disappeared somewhere into the dark recesses of the edge of downtown. Lucky for him, for I feel that a lot of pent up frustrations would have found there way to the surface that night.
We finally gave up the chase and trotted back to where our teammate Tommy was still trying to comfort the elderly lady, who was now sitting on the sidewalk, unhurt but minus her purse and her dignity. Other than a few scrapes she was fine, and very thankful for our efforts.
For the first time in a long time we felt good about ourselves.
The local newspaper did a nice article about the football players who came to the rescue of the victim and tried to chase down the culprit.
For a little while, we were more than just teammates on a losing football team, we were a few guys trying to do the right thing. I've forgotten most of the details about that football season, but I still have a warm feeling when I think about helping someone who was in trouble.....I think it showed the true character of the players on that team, but what do I know.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Mardi Gras, the rest of the story!
Okay, so maybe I wasn't entirely forthright when writing one of my previous blogs. It has been brought to my attention that I left out some of the more "relevant details" of the infamous Mardi Gras road trip. People who know the entire story, but who shall remain nameless, have threatened to suspend my literary license unless I come clean and inform my readers of "the rest of the story".
Let's pick it up where five very tired and somewhat cranky young men from Kansas are approaching the outskirts of the Big Easy. It's late afternoon, we're all sober, unbathed, unshaven, unfed, and really tired of each others company after fifteen hours in the car. We have very little money except for our ringleader who wisely thought to "borrow" his daddy's credit card.
Someone finally said "Let's find a motel and grab a shower before we hit Bourbon Street". "That sounds like an excellent idea, 'cause the smell in this car is making my hair curl....Hey, there's a Howard Johnson right over there on the left" came directions shouted from the back seat. I'm driving and cut across two lanes of traffic to make the turn.....Oh crap, four lanes of traffic with all the cars going the same way.....except me! Horns blasting, tires screeching, and we make an "emergency exit" into a service station on the right.
We regained our composure and made it to the Howard Johnson where we showered, donned our same old dirty clothes, and headed out to see the sights. By now it's dark outside, and as we've already exhibited, our navigational skills are suspect. But, we made our way down to Bourbon Street....hmmm lots of hot spots to explore. Hey, these folks are serious about being twenty-one to gain entry....what's that all about! Remember, none of us are even remotely close to being the legal age, so all we were able to do was peek through the doors, and that soon lost its appeal.
Despite all of our bravado, we were unnerved by some of the more "unkempt" gents who seemed to appear whenever we turned a corner. Time to give it up and go home.
We had driven about two blocks when a car pulled in front of us and blocked our way, then another blocked us from the back. Once again, "Oh crap". Suddenly, there were blue lights flashing from both cars and we were being ordered out of the car...not gently, I might add. Those same "unkempt" fellows were all over us, "Up against the car! Spread em!" This was a first for me, and it was really scary. Then, they started searching the car....no search warrant needed....probable cause? Not a peep of objection from us.
Suddenly, one of them jumps out of the car and says "Okay, where's the gun?" as he waves a small leather pouch filled with .22 shells. I think this is where we started to cry. "Sir, we don't have a gun, I just keep those shells in the console for when we go target shooting back home." "I don't believe you son, where's the gun?" he growled back. Finally, after much groveling and pleading, the undercover cops began to soften up. After all, who could make this stuff up, and before long we were all joking and laughing about our predicament.
Now, it really is time to get back to the motel for a little sleep before heading home. "We're lost aren't we? Do you know where you're going?" Two hours later, and a few close encounters in the more unsavory parts of New Orleans, we found our way to the good old Howard Johnson motel.
So now you know the rest of the story, or at least most of it. There are still a few odds and ends that will always remain locked away, Especially some of the harrowing experiences on the drive home....too fast, too tired, and too young to know better. By the Grace of God we survived to see another day. I'm still glad we did it, but road trips are for the young at heart....aren't they? Oh well, what the heck do I know anyway.
Let's pick it up where five very tired and somewhat cranky young men from Kansas are approaching the outskirts of the Big Easy. It's late afternoon, we're all sober, unbathed, unshaven, unfed, and really tired of each others company after fifteen hours in the car. We have very little money except for our ringleader who wisely thought to "borrow" his daddy's credit card.
Someone finally said "Let's find a motel and grab a shower before we hit Bourbon Street". "That sounds like an excellent idea, 'cause the smell in this car is making my hair curl....Hey, there's a Howard Johnson right over there on the left" came directions shouted from the back seat. I'm driving and cut across two lanes of traffic to make the turn.....Oh crap, four lanes of traffic with all the cars going the same way.....except me! Horns blasting, tires screeching, and we make an "emergency exit" into a service station on the right.
We regained our composure and made it to the Howard Johnson where we showered, donned our same old dirty clothes, and headed out to see the sights. By now it's dark outside, and as we've already exhibited, our navigational skills are suspect. But, we made our way down to Bourbon Street....hmmm lots of hot spots to explore. Hey, these folks are serious about being twenty-one to gain entry....what's that all about! Remember, none of us are even remotely close to being the legal age, so all we were able to do was peek through the doors, and that soon lost its appeal.
Despite all of our bravado, we were unnerved by some of the more "unkempt" gents who seemed to appear whenever we turned a corner. Time to give it up and go home.
We had driven about two blocks when a car pulled in front of us and blocked our way, then another blocked us from the back. Once again, "Oh crap". Suddenly, there were blue lights flashing from both cars and we were being ordered out of the car...not gently, I might add. Those same "unkempt" fellows were all over us, "Up against the car! Spread em!" This was a first for me, and it was really scary. Then, they started searching the car....no search warrant needed....probable cause? Not a peep of objection from us.
Suddenly, one of them jumps out of the car and says "Okay, where's the gun?" as he waves a small leather pouch filled with .22 shells. I think this is where we started to cry. "Sir, we don't have a gun, I just keep those shells in the console for when we go target shooting back home." "I don't believe you son, where's the gun?" he growled back. Finally, after much groveling and pleading, the undercover cops began to soften up. After all, who could make this stuff up, and before long we were all joking and laughing about our predicament.
Now, it really is time to get back to the motel for a little sleep before heading home. "We're lost aren't we? Do you know where you're going?" Two hours later, and a few close encounters in the more unsavory parts of New Orleans, we found our way to the good old Howard Johnson motel.
So now you know the rest of the story, or at least most of it. There are still a few odds and ends that will always remain locked away, Especially some of the harrowing experiences on the drive home....too fast, too tired, and too young to know better. By the Grace of God we survived to see another day. I'm still glad we did it, but road trips are for the young at heart....aren't they? Oh well, what the heck do I know anyway.
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