I’ll state the obvious right up front; other than having taken place outdoors, this column is not the typical outdoor adventure column I usually write, but rather about a recent patriotic small-town event, and a few other things on my heart.
Here in our small town of Inman, KS, our city council and the powers-that-be decided to hold all our 4th of July activities last Saturday, July 8th, which also coincided with the grand opening of our newest small business, a coffee house called Lighthouse Coffee. Joyce and I are both veterans, she was in the Air Force for 8 years and I the Army National Guard for 20 years, so we were privileged to ride on the veteran’s float in the parade. Six of us, including our county sheriff sat on a flatbed trailer decorated with red, white and blue banners with Old Glory on the front, and pulled down main street by an 18-wheeler. Following us was a golf cart carrying a senior king and queen from the retirement home, and floats from the museum, the bank and various businesses, plus 4H club members on foot and several riders on horseback. We were skeptical about the turnout because of the odd date, but our skepticism soon turned to pride.
The parade swung down a side street past the local nursing/retirement home, where several dozen residents and staff greeted us from the sidewalk. Once back on center street, dozens more greeted us from all along the street, and when we turned onto main street downtown, what I estimated to be a couple hundred people scattered along two blocks cheered at the arrival of our nations flag. The entire parade stopped in front of the bank where a local young man played the national anthem on his trumpet. Everyone stood with hands over their hearts, hats came off and the only sound to be heard was the anthem. The driver of our truck, a marine, even bailed out of the truck to stand at attention. I couldn’t have been prouder of the small-town patriotism and enthusiasm on display. The day ended with a fireworks display as good as I’ve ever seen, attended by more cars than I cared to count.
I’ll be the first to admit that our country is slowly but methodically being soured and hobbled by Godless and unscriptural behavior, thinking and lifestyles, and that we are being told to accept those things in the name of “equality and inclusiveness.” But what bothers me as much, is the status of the people who are trashing our country. We don’t hear homeless veterans who live in cardboard boxes in the park, people who, from where I stand, have cause to complain, cursing the United States. We hear it from millionaire and billionaire movie stars and professional sports figures who are living the American dream.
The most recent incident that prompted this column, was from a young, black, homosexual women who plays basketball professionally for the Women’s National Basketball Association, the WNBA. She stated, “This country is trash in so many ways.” When called-on-the-carpet about her comment, she stated “You don’t understand how hard it is living as a gay, black women in this country.”
I researched WMBA salaries, and she makes a mid-six figure income, very likely had a four-year college degree pretty much paid-in-full by scholarships, will most certainly be given high-dollar endorsements by sporting goods companies and the like, and is free to live her God and scripturally opposed lifestyle without fear of prison or even death as in some countries. Evidently, she failed to learn the lesson so many of us seemed to comprehend at a young age; don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” I want her to continue to have the freedom to live her lifestyle as she pleases, but not to expect and demand it to become the norm for my country.
In summary, I would say to everyone who believes this country to be trash, help us bring God back into His rightful place in our society, try voting for people who will not continue leading the USA down this path, and please make use of our most important freedom of all, the freedom to leave at any time. Maybe when you all are gone, there will be room for the millions of hard-working, non-complaining migrants who are willing to literally risk the lives of themselves and their families to come here illegally. And let me know when the moving van is in your driveway so I can come help you pack!
Steve can be contacted by email at [email protected].

On hot summer days when someone asks me what outdoor adventure I found to write about this week, I just glare at them. Joyce and I are both cool-weather fans, and when it’s much over 80 we become vegetables, so this heat drives me inside where I sit at my computer and ponder cooler days and stories from years gone by. One such story I often think about happened on a hot summer morning where I grew up and deserves telling again. It involves a high school class mate of mine, his older brother and a muskrat. So sit back and enjoy Larry and the Muskrat.
John and I graduated together and were just a few years out of high school. He and older brother Larry both had bass boats and were avid largemouth bass fishermen who liked to spend Sunday mornings on a nice local reservoir named Clear Fork. Larry said he enjoyed the quiet time and all the wildlife he saw as much as the fishing. This particular morning he was fishing with a spinner-bait, a large odd-shaped contraption full of hooks and shiny blades that makes the whole rig spin and chatter as it’s retrieved through the water. He was close to shore and had stopped casting to watch a muskrat putter about along the bank. A few feet of line hung from his rod with the spinner bait dangling from the end. After several minutes of being amused by the muskrat, he decided it was time to fish again so he slapped the water with the spinner bait just to scare the muskrat. However, the line carried the lure farther than expected, mistakenly hooking the surprised muskrat, and the fight was on!
John was fishing a ways off but the commotion caught his attention and Larry’s rod bent doubly into the water was the first thing he saw. Between chuckles, Larry quickly explained the situation and asked for his help. John got his boat as close as possible and after what must have been quite a tussle, he managed to dip the struggling muskrat from the water, but razor sharp teeth made quick work of the net and it was in the water again, this time with Larry’s line running through a dip net sporting a huge hole in its bottom. After another lengthy scuffle they once again managed to somehow hoist the combative muskrat into the boat, and then the real rodeo began. Now John and Larry were both avid outdoorsmen and conservationists, and all they wanted to do was unhook poor muskrat Sam without harming him. Like I said before, a spinner-bait is full of sharp treble hooks, and now they had one very ticked-off, soaking wet muskrat in the boat with several sets of those hooks fastened securely to him and he evidently was not obeying their verbal commands very well. Remember, Larry’s line was still running through a ruined dip net that I’m sure was very much in the way. Somehow he got the muskrat pulled back through the net and John was able to pounce on it, pinning the hapless critter to the floor with the rim of the net across its neck. John held it down with his foot while Larry went to work with his pliers attempting to extract the hooks. A fish with a couple hooks in its mouth is one thing, but a feisty, soaking wet rodent the size of a loaf of bread with who-knows-how-many hooks fastened securely to its fur-covered body is quite another matter.
Larry worked feverishly, noticing that the muskrat’s eyeballs were bulging slightly from the weight of John’s foot on the steel ring across its neck. Each embedded hook had to be wobbled and wiggled until the sharp barb on its tip pulled free from the muskrat’s tough hide. Finally success as the last of the hooks came free! But then there remained the problem of how to get one still ticked-off but now absolutely free muskrat out of the boat. With that quandary swirling in their minds, both guys simultaneously stepped backwards to suddenly release the muskrat, (in their minds somehow hoping it would just launch itself over the side) but looked at each other in disbelief as the poor luckless creature lay lifeless on the floor, evidently strangled in the process, despite their best intentions – problem solved!
Although not funny that muskrat Sammy had to give his life for this adventure, this is yet another story I’ll take with me to my grave when I sometimes can’t remember what I had for breakfast. Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors!
Steve can be contacted by email at [email protected].