Thursday, March 5, 2026
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Still Kickin’

By
Lee Pitts
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lee pitts
Academics, politicians and expert easterners have been trying to bury the West for 200 hundred years but to paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of the West being dead are greatly exaggerated. They say the sun is setting on the West because there is no more land to explore, no more gold or silver to discover, no more societies to conquer. You can still find the real West if you want to but not in left coast cities like Los Angeles, Portland, Seattle or in sanctuary cities like San Francisco. No, you’ll find the West instead in places like Pie Town, Post, Cedar City, Show Low, Emmett, Guymon, Burns, Lakeview, Sheridan, Elko when the cowboy poets show up and even in California in places like Red Bluff when the bull sale takes over the town in January. No, the spirit and traditions of the West never died, our critics are just looking in all the wrong places.
It’s not true that there are no more frontiers to conquer or gold rushes to attract brave adventurers ever westward. It’s just that now the courageous and hard working come to drill through shale for black gold or conquer bit and bytes in Silicone Valley.
No, the West isn’t dead yet but it’s not for lack of trying. The bureaucrats, environmentalists and politicians have done their level best to kill it off and turn it into Nature’s Disneyland for easterners to conquer the frontier via Delta, Hertz and Hilton. Naturally, they come under the spell of America’s West and after their ten day vacation to the Grand Canyon, Universal Studios and the Redwoods they now know what’s best for the land and the heathens who live here.
They halted the clear-cutting of forests that acted as firebreaks; got rid of thousands of miles of forest roads that provided access for fire fighting equipment; wouldn’t allow the removal of dead and dying trees that provided the kindling that lit the huge fires that engulfed us. And they kicked the cows and sheep off public lands that kept grass and weeds from becoming fodder for fires.
But these so-called “experts” weren’t here to breathe the smoke nor did they have to rebuild their homes. Tell me, doesn’t all that smoke qualify as greenhouse gas or is that just farting cows? And what about all those crispy critters, many of them endangered species, that their idiotic policies have murdered? What do the greenies and animal rightists have to say about them?
They used the spotted owl to put foresters out of work and kill off small towns but they don’t seem to care that those same spotted owls are now being killed by a close relative. Now they’re turning wolves loose to get rid of the rancher because they don’t like cows. They idiotically believe that cows never spend a day outside a feedlot, not knowing that range cows never spend a day in one. And why is it that steer manure is so good for their water-wasting lawns but is bad for our public lands? They ridicule farmers for “wasting” water not knowing it’s the stuff that grows the vegetables and fruits the vegans contend are so good for us to eat.
These over-educated idiots are so smart they’re stupid. First they told us not to put our groceries in paper bags, not realizing that they came from a renewal resource that created jobs and paid taxes. So we switched to plastic bags until they figured out they were made from petroleum derivatives. Next they said we should bring our own reusable bags until they found out that these germ-laden bags could be spreading the China flu. So now we’re back to paper.
Those wanting to kill off the West say we must get rid of fossil fuels not realizing that those giant windmills are slicing and dicing up birds and that solar arrays create vast wastelands and we don’t know what to do with the spent solar panels yet, just like we haven’t come up with a way to get rid of the spent nuclear rods, other than bury them in Nevada. Why not New York instead?
Yeah, they thought they knew it all and now we’re paying the price for their idiocy. I just wish they’d worry about all the momentous problems in their own backyards and leave us the heck alone.

Go Watch a Kite Fly

By
Steve Gilliland
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I stepped out the front door one spring morning a few years back just in time to see a large falcon-shaped bird glide low overhead. It landed in a tree a block away, so I hustled to get my binoculars and our Kansas bird book. The bird sat contentedly, almost posing for me as if making certain I correctly identified it. It was a Mississippi Kite, and although my bird book doesn’t show or give details to differentiate between males and females, we figured it to be a female in town to nest. I often begin my day with a walk around our neighborhood and I’m usually greeted by as many as 6 Mississippi Kites in the neighbor’s tall dead tree. They seem to like the high open vantage point from which to survey the neighborhood.
Mississippi Kites are light gray and slightly smaller than a red tail hawk, and are built trim and sleek, much like a falcon. They derive their name from their unique soaring style called “kiting.” Picture how a child’s kite rides the wind, gliding and sliding sideways back and forth. That’s how Mississippi Kites soar, as if on a string, sliding and almost rocking back and forth from side to side as they float effortlessly on the Kansas summer thermals. They are summer residents here, arriving in mid-April and leaving again in mid-November.
They are slowly expanding their territory northward and are quite comfortable nesting in our Kansas cities and towns. Nesting females are known to become very aggressive when their chicks are about to leave the nest, often dive-bombing humans and pets that get too close to the nest to suit them. We try each year to find a Mississippi Kite nest to watch, but have been unsuccessful thus far. Mississippi Kites are very social birds and are often seen in large groups. One day this week in downtown McPherson as I waited in the car for my wife to return from an errand, I began seeing Kites soaring above me. One or two at a time they appeared until I lost count at fifteen.
Kites occasionally feed on small reptiles and snakes but are mostly insect eaters and are skilled at snagging locusts and other flying bugs in mid-air. One Sunday a couple years back, while eating ice cream in a local Dairy Queen, I watched a Mississippi Kite having dinner on a power pole just outside. It would suddenly fly toward a small group of trees nearby and return with a snack. After eating its snack, it would fly again toward the same trees, always returning with a morsel of some sort. I remember we were hearing and seeing the first locusts of the summer, and I’m betting it was finding them too.
My wife Joyce grew up on a farm south of Meade, KS, and after we got married I began hearing stories about a man named James Parker who had come to their farm for years to watch and study Mississippi Kites. A friend still living in Meade did some research and found more details to the story.
According to newspaper clippings it was mid-June 1982 when Dr James Parker from the University of Maine first visited the Friesen farm near Meade. He was indeed there to observe Mississippi Kites, but he brought with him some visitors. Stan and Gladys were Swallow Tailed Kite chicks rescued from a nest in the Florida swamps. Swallow Tailed Kites, although larger with a huge ornate tail, are close cousins to Mississippi Kites and until the early 1900’s were common in the eastern Kansas skies. They hadn’t been seen in the state for decades and Dr Parker was there to explore the possibility of reintroducing Swallow Tailed Kites into Kansas by transplanting chicks into existing Mississippi Kite nests. Stan and Gladys were put into active nests and Parker stayed around to observe. After two or three weeks Stan grew weak, lost weight and died, but Gladys was accepted by her foster-parents and seemed to thrive. Although the time line is unclear, Parker spent parts of 14 summers in Meade during the 1980’s and 1990’s studying the local Mississippi Kite population.
No one seems certain whether any more Swallow Tailed Kites were transplanted into Kansas. They’re not listed in my Kansas bird book so I suspect there are none in the state today. No one knows what happened to Gladys either, but I can say with certainty that Mississippi Kites are here to stay in south central Kansas and are steadily expanding their summer range to the north and east. So watch the sky and you’ll soon know if Mississippi Kites have come to your neighborhood, as you’ll see them floating and gliding effortlessly on the Kansas winds. Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors.
Steve can be contacted by email at [email protected].

 

THE DUKE

By
Sandy Pugh
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There was never a more noble soul born to this earth than Duke.
He was a gentle and loving giant.

Shortly after we built our house a split level was built behind us and slightly to the north but our property lines touched at the corner of our yard. When they built the house they poured a slab of concrete just to the north of the garage door into the back yard. It was about 10 feet wide and 15 feet deep out into the yard.
I wondered what that slab was going to be and then a huge dog house appeared on the slab. I was a little apprehensive as to what was going to live in that large house, because I think my husband and I could both have crawled in that house together.
Then a large Doberman was placed in the pen that had been erected around the slab of concrete. The first time I met the neighbor the Doberman had gotten loose from the pen and was in our yard taking care of his business. The owner apologized and said that he didn’t usually do that, that he always used his pen.
After that he never used our yard and I think he was just claiming our yard as part of his. He knew right away that we would have a special relationship. Most of the time they would just leave the gate open in the pen unless they were going to be gone or at night.
Duke used that pen like a security blanket, even with the gate open he would normally stay in it. He would stay out if the two girls (two and six years old) were in the yard. He thought it was his duty to baby-sit them while the parents worked in the house and yard. He would stay right with them and keep them in the back yard away from the street by blocking them when they tried to leave the back yard.
Before long Duke came to visit me whenever he got the chance and I could not have been happier. One day he was in the pen and the gate was closed. His owner was in the back yard and I asked him to turn him loose so he could come over.
As soon as the gate was opened he bolted out of the pen and ran toward our yard. I had no fear as I watched this big black mass of a dog loping towards me with ears flying and jaws flapping.
As he crossed the property line I crouched down, sitting on my heels and put my hands out in greeting. I was sure as he closed the last 10 feet that he would start to slow down and come to a halt in front of me in a sit position.
As the 100 lbs. of enthusiastic dog came closer and closer all I could see was black fur, a mouth of large white teeth and the pink tongue flopping in the breeze.
Duke never slowed down, he kept running and plowed into my chest. When his chest hit my chest my feet popped out from under me and I fell on my back and the black freight train ran right over the top of me. Amazingly he never put a paw on me; he jumped over me with one leap.
Once he was past me he put on the brakes and came loping back and with a look of embarrassment sat down by side. From then on when he was loose I would stand and plant my feet apart to give me the best balance and then call him. He never got stopped in front of you, but if you were standing he did not run into you, but would make a circle around you and then sit in front of you and wait for you to pet him.
Sometimes when I saw the cage open and I was in the house working, I would just open our patio door and wait for him to notice it. I would go about my chores and when I came back to the kitchen he would be sitting in front of the fridge patiently waiting. When I opened the fridge he would not stick his nose in but would wait. Once he received the hot dog he was happy and would return to his pen to eat it.
I started buying the large cow leg bones for him. Some of them were almost 2 ½ feet long, and must have weighed 15 lbs. One would last him a week. When they were new they were almost more than this gentle giant could carry. I tried to get it balanced in his mouth when I handed it to him but it would wobble back and forth, pulling his head side to side, as he carried his prize back to his pen.
Duke’s owner and my husband would go fishing sometimes. They would put Duke in the back of the little Chevy Luv pick up and he was so large that he almost filled the bed of the truck. Then they would drive to town and stop at the grocery store on 30th to get some bait. His owner would go into the store and my husband would wait in the truck with him.
Duke scared the shoppers to death as he leaned over the edge to see them, because they had no idea that he only wanted to be petted. They would put at least two cars between them and this gentle giant and never take their eyes off him as they scooted by. His owner could have left money lying on the seat of the truck and no one would have touched it.
When Duke got old he developed arthritis in his hips and the cold began to bother him a lot. I measured him and had a friend knit him a heavy sweater with a turtle neck. It had sleeves in the front but just lay across his hips and hung down on his back legs a little ways. He loved this sweater and didn’t want to take it off.
There was never a more noble soul than Duke. He was a gentle and loving giant. The name Duke fit him. To contact Sandy: [email protected]

Why I’m so smart

By
Milo Yield
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Thayne Cozart
Milo Yield
This week I learned why I’m so smart. It’s because I have a bigger brain. How do I know I have a bigger brain? Because British researchers have proven it.
Now, what did the Limey researchers find out that caused my bigger and smarter brain? Because I take regular naps!
Yup, regular naps — that’s the unlocked secret for keeping old geezers like me alert and always in a learning mode.
You think I’m kidding? Well, here’s the actual words from an article published in The Guardian: “Taking a short nap during the day helps to protect the brain’s health as it ages, researchers have suggested after finding that the practice appears to be associated with larger brain volume. Other work has revealed that a brief doze can improve an elder person’s ability to learn … Now researchers say they have found evidence to suggest napping may help to protect against brain shrinkage. That is of interest, the team says, as brain shrinkage, a process that occurs with age, is accelerated in people with cognitive problems and neurodegenerative diseases … napping regularly provides some protection against neurodegeneration through compensating for poor sleep … having a short daytime nap … helps preserve brain volume and that’s a positive thing … research suggests a nap duration of up 30 minutes may be beneficial.”
The Brit research shows just how smart I am because I’m smart enuf to take a nap of at least 30 minutes almost every day.
***
As if poultry producers don’t already face enuf problems, here’s more bad news. For the first time, our good ol’ USDA has approved the sale of fake-chicken made from animal cells. Those astute folks gave the green light to two California firms, naturally, (pun intended) to sell meat that doesn’t come from slaughtered animals — what’s now being referred to as “cell-cultivated” or “cultured” meat as it emerges from the laboratory and arrives on dinner plates.
The news comes with the expected claptrap about saving the planet’s environment and preventing the slaughter of meat chickens, whose only purpose on Earth is to feed hungry folks and make Colonel Sanders rich and to enrich the stockholders of Chic Filet and Popeyes.
And, to all the good folks who lust for finger-lickin’ fried chicken, just in case this fake chicken ever arrives on a plate served to you, remember cultivated meat is grown in steel tanks, using unpronounceable ingredients that could make your stomach churn.
***
I’m on a gripe roll now, so why stop? Quite possibly, your rust-free car or truck knows a lot about you. Over the past decade, vehicles have become increasingly connected and their ability to record data about us has shot up. Cars can track where you’re traveling to and from, record every press on the accelerator as well as your seatbelt settings, and gather biometric information about you. Some of this data is sold by the murky data-broker industry.
Most most modern vehicles as “smartphones on wheels,” as they’re able to collect heaps of data and wirelessly send that information to manufacturers.
Broadly, all manufacturers are likely to collect personal information that can be classed as an identifier. These include your name, address, driving license number, phone number, email, and other information and your “driving behavior.” Some models can even scan your face for face recognition when you enter one of its vehicles.
You can draw your own conclusions about who benefits the most from gathering info on drivers. But, if any of my vehicles capture a face scan of me, my face probably will be frowning or scowling.
Makes me wonder if self-propelled farm equipment is similarly equipped to capture private data?
***
And, news about the American under-graduate education system is disheartening. American 13-year-old students’ test scores in math and reading got significantly worse last year. The decline in math scores last year was the biggest in the past 50 years, according to the newly released “The Nation’s Report Card.”
From the article I read, about 8,700 students took the assessments at about 460 schools across the country. The lowest-performing students scored at levels last recorded in the 1970s, when the assessment began. Scores declined among all racial and ethnic groups, and among both male and female students, and across urban, suburban and rural areas.
Plus, fewer students said they frequently read for fun, which is associated with higher achievement. Test results from earlier this year showed that U.S. history scores among middle schoolers are also falling.
I wonder what the future looks like for students who can’t do math, can’t read or don’t like to read, and don’t understand history?
However, despite the national report card, I’d be willing to wager that students from small rural schools scored better than students from large urban centers. But, I admit, that’s just a biased guess.
***
Well, folks. I hope you haven’t forgotten where you stashed your stocking caps, mittens, and red, trap-door longjohns. Why? Because the summer solstice has passed and we’re headed toward dreaded winter again.
***
A farmer was called for jury duty during the wheat harvest. He pled with the court to excuse him from jury duty. When the  judge asked him why he should be excused, the farmer said, “Your Honor, I owe an old man $100 and he’s leaving in a few hours to live in Europe. I want to repay him before he leaves. It might be my last chance to repay him.”
“Excused,” the judge said coldly. “I don’t want anyone of this jury who can off-the-cuff lie like that!”
***
Words of wisdom for the week: “There are no new sins; the old ones just get more publicity.” Have a good ‘un.

Time To Make Hay

By
Frank Buchman
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Nearly every farmer and rancher in the Midwest had the same philosophy during the second week of June.
Hay harvesting equipment of all sizes and shapes was in the fields. Enthusiasm dampened when weather forecasters predicted rain and morning showers forced machinery back into storage units.
Indecisiveness replaced excitement as farmers didn’t know whether to mow the forage for hay or wait for a dry day.
Certain first cutting alfalfa fields have already been wrapped up in bales. But most tame grass fields are just showing enough yield to justify harvest.
While farmers are anxious to get hay harvested for winter feed supply, they sure don’t want it to get wet.
Quality of feed rapidly deteriorates, and most livestock don’t like or readily consume the lower quality feedstuff.
While harvesting forage to make hay for livestock operations is necessary, it’s not one that farmers and ranchers anticipate doing.
Still harvesting forage to be made into winter feed is considerably easier than it used to be. As recent as six decades ago, making hay was a six-step process.
The grass had to be mowed typically with a cycle bar mower, and then raked into windrows for baling. When grass was thin, sometimes two or three small windows were raked together to improve bale dimensions.
Most farmers pulled a hay wagon behind the baler, so the bales could be stacked for hauling to the barn. Nobody liked to stack bales on the hay rack. But it was a lot easier than dropping bales off into the field behind the baler.
That was a common scenario for beginning farmers who couldn’t afford to own a hay wagon. The bales were picked up off the ground and stacked in the back of a pickup truck,
It was hard work to stack the bales. High school students sometimes made good summer spending money handling hay bales. It is virtually impossible to find anybody who will do that job nowadays because it is hard work.
Most hay harvesting today is done with a swather which mows the grass into windrows ready for baling into big round bales. A few livestock operators still bale some small square bales for feeding livestock in winter pens.
Reminded of Proverbs 10:5: “Make hay while the sun shines, that’s smart; go fishing during harvest, that’s stupid.”
+++ALLELUIA+++
XVII–26–6-25-2023

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