Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
I was at a barbecue. There were lots of people around, eating, and at some point one of my cousin’s kids rode their Schwinns into the yard. One boy leapt off his bike and sidled up to me. “It’s so quiet out here,” the boy remarked in stupefied wonder.
My wife and I are eating at a Chinese restaurant. We’ve been driving for hours through South Carolina. We pulled over to refuel and address pressing bladder issues. And we found this place.
Lake Martin shimmers beneath a heavy midday sun. I am sitting on a dock. There are distant sounds of splashing. Kids laughing. All the children are swimming. All their respective adults are sitting ashore, dry. As adults often are. There is nothing like July on the lake.
People from small towns almost never tell you the name of their town first. They always start with the nearest big city and work their way inward.
In 2004, my wife and I celebrated our honeymoon in Mexico. Back then, the peso exchanged at approximately 10 pesos to 1 U.S. dollar.
For people who have lived most of their lives in urban areas, South Dakota, northern Wyoming, and eastern Montana (the parts with which I’m familiar) would seem like completely foreign countries
God didn’t exactly design humans to be crammed in cubicles, scrolling through spreadsheets, and suffering through Monday morning traffic jams.
