We in the media (and usually when we are talked about there is a qualifying adjective expletive or two in front of media) get frequently blasted that we never carry any good news.
That isn’t true because we do publish the church happenings, the organization news, honor rolls, the achievement of school and students, when local folks receive honors.
I suggest that the reason we don’t get credit for publishing the good news is nobody cares about it.
Oh, we say we do, but in reality we like to know the grit, the dark side, the scandalous events of others. Get them privately off to the side, even my Baptist friends acknowledge they like reading about the travails of others…but, of course, only so they can be placed on a prayer list.
Would you really subscribe to a paper that just printed good news? What if week after week, we told you “All the school buses arrived safely today”, or “No one’s house burned down last week”, or “Police report no crime in Crothersville over the weekend”.
If we did that, before long you would find the Crothersville Times along side the names of the Crothersville Herald, Crothersville Index as former local publications.
Having run this newspaper for durn near 30 years, (it just seems like all my life) I can make some anecdotal observations. Even though we have 14 churches in the township, a front page story about sex, drugs or murder sells. And sells big time.
And contrary to some folks who read news they don’t like and claim they don’t believe it, we don’t make up stuff on the front page. We report when police arrest, fire departments extinguish, and state agencies admonish.
We do confess that at times, literary license is invoked in this column space. But not this time and never on the front page.
We print good news because it is a part of coummunity’s chronicle even though you may not remember it. We print bad news because it too is a part of the community fabric. And bad news does sell newspapers and that is why we are in business. And since bad news sells, you must be wanting to read it.
So please keep buying the newspaper and we’ll just keep this little secret between us.

I felt something shaking my foot through the covers of my bed. I really didn’t want to open my eyes because it seemed they had only drifted off to sleep just moments before.
Then there was that foot shaking again followed by a raspy half-whisper so not to awaken by brother sleeping in the next bed over “You going to go huntin’?” my dad asked.
Immediately my eyes popped open. That was why I couldn’t fall asleep. Knowing Dad & I were going squirrel hunting the next morning had wired my 10-year-old mind better than any caffeine could have. Sleep just wouldn’t come in anticipation of my first squirrel hunt.
I threw back the bed sheet on that early mid-August day nearly 50 years ago, grabbed my hunting clothes which I had laid out the night before.
As I got to the kitchen, Dad was going through an early squirrel hunting morning ritual. “You want some coffee?” he asked as he let the hot water run from the tap and dumped a spoonful of instant coffee into a cup.
Figuring that was what all hunters did as a part of their pre-hunt ritual, I yawned with a sleepy-eyed “Yeah.”
He put the guns in the old Dodge truck, and as we drove to Grandpa’s woods, I drank the bitter, tepid beverage hoping that maybe someday I’d get accustomed the taste.
We always hunted Grandpa’s woods near Dudleytown. It was nearly level, plenty of beech and hickory trees, and Grandpa kept it mowed to keep a good pasture for the cows he had grazing throughout the summer.
There was plenty of food for the squirrels, the walking and moving was easy and we didn’t have to worry too much about making excessive noise because the squirrels were accustomed to all the cows.
Dad used a 12 ga. pump shotgun. He handed me a .22/.410 over and under. “If you can get a good bead on one use the rifle. If you miss, bust him out with the shotgun,” he told me.
We had talked for days before and he told me the best way to hunt was to find a comfortable place to sit so I could see several likely trees and wait for the limbs to start moving or cuttings to start falling and follow them up to find the squirrel.
He went over gun safety and making sure not to shoot at anything on the ground or running up a tree and to be sure of my target before squeezing the trigger.
“Be careful and good luck” he said as he creeped through the woods to his favorite spot to hunt.
The late-summer early dawn air was thick with humidity and sweet with the smell of ripening corn just a field away. The dew was so heavy my pants had been soaked from the knees down before we got halfway from the truck to the woods.
I sat at the base of a tall hickory tree, cradled by the sprawling roots and waited for some more sunlight to arrive. I looked to the treetops and, being new at hunting, wasn’t real sure just what I was looking for.
But I would remember over and over what Gramp and my Dad had told me: “Listen for the sound of water dripping through the leaves. It’s either a squirrel cutting on a nut or a squirrel moving through the tree branches.”
It wouldn’t be long before I heard that sound and could add another possibility its cause: birds. Birds could get a squirrel hunter’s adrenaline flowing only to end up being a fickle lover when you found their true identity.
Sometimes when you try to concentrate on the silence of the woods, listening for a faint giveaway sound of game, you hear things that aren’t there.
Like that sound of water dripping through the trees that I was hearing…or thought I was hearing. No, I was hearing it.
I searched the nearby treetops moving only my eyes looking for its source. Finally I acquiesced and moved my head around trying to see where that sound was coming from.
Then some white and green tinged shreddings of hickory nut hull fell just within arm’s reach of me. I contorted my head and eventually my whole body—at least as much as an 10-year-old who has never hunted can—to search for that squirrel.
Finally, with my body stretched out at an impossible angle to hold for a steady shot, I saw a bit of bushy brown tail.
And my heart began pounding even harder. Knowing that if I moved for a better shot angle the squirrel would be gone. I decided to lie flat on my back on the ground. I could seek a bushy tail flick as more and more hickory hulls peppered all around me. But with the iron sights, I couldn’t see any part of the squirrel to take a shot.
“Be sure of your target” I remember Dad telling me.
Not wanting to be embarrassed by missing the first squirrel I ever spotted while officially hunting, I made what I thought was a pretty logical decision for my age and experience: use the shotgun.
So I clicked down to the .410 barrel, laid back flat on the ground, and after a bit of wavering, drew a solid bead on the general location of the vital parts of the squirrel.
BLAM!
It would not be for several years later in Mr. Bard’s physics class that I would be introduced to Newton’s laws of motion. specifically about any action requiring an equal and opposite reaction. The ground doesn’t move with the recoil of a small shotgun.
All I knew at the time was my arm, my shoulder, my collar bone hurt like the dickens. But up I jumped as soon as I heard a nearby thud on the ground.
Dad said as he walked up all he saw was a broad, beaming smile picking up his first squirrel.

In the past when I have written about weather conditions in this column, they change by the time my thoughts appear in the newspaper.
If I write about how cold its been or all the snow and ice we have, there is an unseasonable warm spell by mid-week.
So in that vein I am doing a public service to write about how hot & dry it has been.
While driving through Jackson County farm country, there seemed to be considerable white fluffy stuff on the ground in corn fields. It wasn’t snow but corn kernels which had popped off the cob in the fields.
I did fry an egg on my sidewalk last week though I broke the yolk in trying to flip it. Apparently I failed to use enough butter. I didn’t eat it because I prefer my eggs over easy. But Charley appreciated my mistake.
The trees on the property give Charley a warm, appreciative hug when he selects them for 3-legged periodic moisture distribution. He refers to it as checking his pee-mail.
Rather than spraying the crabgrass in the stone driveway, I have been pulling the clumps of vegetation. I believe I have heard some sighs of relief as the struggling weeds are euthanized and are placed out of their misery.
I went to pick some grapes for next year’s wine, but all I got was raisins.
It’s been so hot even the jalapeño peppers I ate with lunch offered some cooling relief.
I have been saving some money on my water heating costs. Water coming out of the cold tap is the right temperature for brewing coffee and taking a shower.
There was a traffic jam at the stoplight last week. A vehicle stopped for the red light but could proceed after its tires had melted to the pavement.
As I meander through neighborhoods I kept hearing a high pitched noise akin to a mosquito buzzing near my ear. Upon closer investigation, it was the electric meters of the area suppling power for air conditioners.
I tried to mix me a drink over the weekend but was unsuccessful when the ice refused to come out of the freezer to make the ultimate sacrifice for my gin and tonic. And for my Baptist friends, the ice wouldn’t come out for my ice tea, either.
I spent quite a bit of time outdoors Sunday afternoon. But I didn’t have to wipe any perspiration. It turned to steam as soon as it hit the air.
And speaking of Sunday’s, gratefully the area ministers have cut back on their usual hell fire & brimstone sermons as to not contribute to the misery.
But in that vein, I think the best, most effective sermon in weather like this is this brief message one minister equivocated: “Want to spend eternity with no air conditioning with temperatures like we’ve been having the past weeks? Then you better straighten up. Amen.”
OK, let’s see if this weather column works like the others have. At least, we can hope.

Way too many church folks focus on the “Thou Shalt Not” parts of the Bible. So much so that their sense of humor is nearly non-existent when it comes to religion.
Fortunately, some of my Internet colleagues are not of that ilk and have sent me humorous gaffs from the religious realm.
For the “Thou Shalt Not” crowd, stop reading here. You won’t understand anything further. For the rest of us who can use a chuckle, kindly keep reading.
•Over the massive front doors of a church, these words were engraved in stone: “The Gate of Heaven.” Below that was a small cardboard sign which read: “Please use other entrance.”
•A Presbyterian pastor says that the best prayer he ever heard was: “Lord, please make me the kind of person my dog thinks I am.”
•A woman went to the post office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards. “What denomination?” asked the clerk. “Oh, good heavens! Have we come to this?” said the woman. “Well, give me 50 Protestant and 50 Catholic ones.”
•On a very cold, snowy Sunday in February, only the pastor and one farmer arrived at the country church. The pastor said, “Well, I guess we won’t have a service today.” The farmer replied: “Heck, if even only one cow shows up at feeding time, I feed it.” So the minister launched into a 55 minute sermon. “Well, what did you think?” he asked the lone parishioner at the conclusion. “Well, Pastor, if only one cow showed up I wouldn’t have given her all the feed.”
•During a children’s sermon, a pastor asked the children what “Amen” means. A little boy raised his hand and said: “It means tha-tha-tha-that’s all folks!”
•A student was asked to list the Ten Commandments in any order. His answer? “3, 6, 1, 8, 4, 5, 9, 2, 10, 7.”
•Bill Keane, creator of the Family Circus cartoon strip, tells of a time when he was penciling one of his cartoons and his son, Jeffy, said, “Daddy, how do you know what to draw?” I said, “God tells me.” Jeffy said, “Then why do you keep erasing parts of it?”
•After the church service, a little boy told the pastor: “When I grow up, I’m going to give you some money.” “Well, thank you,” the pastor replied, “but why?” “Because my daddy says you’re one of the poorest preachers we’ve ever had.”
•My wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to our six-year-old daughter and said, “Would you like to say the blessing?” “I wouldn’t know what to say,” she replied. “Just say what you hear mommy say,” my wife said. Our daughter bowed her head and said: “Dear Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?”

I have noted a great deal of butterfly mortality of late. From tiny yellow Cloud butterflies to the larger Yellow Swallowtails and Monarchs, they have met their demise.
And it is not some disease or over spraying of insecticides or herbicides. These flying flowers just fail to get out of the way of motorized traffic.
Whether on an interstate or county road, butterflies seem to be taking on semi-trucks and economy cars. And losing.
Maybe it is the time of year, maybe it is the high temperatures, maybe I just haven’t been paying close attention in previous years, but more butterflies are colliding with my vehicle.
The little yellow Cloud butterflies are prolific in soybean fields, and like a child who dashes across the street without looking, the butterflies no longer flutter by. Some hit the windshield or grill, some succumb to the wind turbulence as my vehicle passes.
The larger butterflies are sometimes met with a glancing blow knocking it skyward and I find myself looking in the rearview mirror hoping I don’t see the pitiful pollinating insect fall lifeless from the sky. Then mutter a swear word when I do.
Maybe it is the mating season for butterflies and they have other things on their mind rather than looking both ways before crossing the road.
Maybe it is the heat and humidity which, like many humans, has addled their thinking and common sense causing them to fly nonchalant into the path of a fast moving metallic land missile.
Or maybe they are just tired of fluttering about for a few sweet sips of nectar before moving on, tired of looking late season ratty and faded and maybe they have opted to end it all in a butterfly ballet which they bring the final curtain down with their suicide with me behind the wheel of my mini SUV.
I do feel remorseful, and have started tooting my horn at the insects much like I do when dogs, squirrels or deer venture onto the road near my path. Though other pedestrians or residents think it strange and wonder what I am doing. But they are friendly and wave back at my “toot-toot” greeting they think was intended for them.
Sort of like having to endure some rain to see a colorful rainbow; we must endure caterpillars devouring a bunch of the vegetation in the garden before pupating into their new colors. But I suppose that is a small price to pay for the delicate flittering spectrum of colors that grace the flowering plants. I just wish they be more careful crossing the road so I could enjoy their beauty for a little while longer.
Now those woolly worms crossing the road also turn into a flying insect. But I don’t feel so bad when I run over those fuzzy caterpillars. Even if they are trying to warn me of the coming cold winter weather.

Some of my friends are just too witty for my own good. Take for example some of these gems of (ahem) wisdom they shared.
•A day without sunshine is like night.
•On the other hand, you have different fingers.
•42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
•99% of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
•Remember, half the people you know are below average.
•He who laughs last, thinks slowest.
•Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
•The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.
•Support bacteria. They’re the only culture some people have.
•A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
•Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
•If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
•How many of you believe in psycho-kinesis? Raise my hand.
•OK then, so what’s the speed of dark?
•When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.
•Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
•How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?
•What happens if you get scared half to death, twice?
•Why do psychics have to ask you your name?
•Inside every older person is a younger person wondering, ‘What the heck happened?’
•Light travels faster than sound. That’s why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
•Life isn’t like a box of chocolates, it’s more like a jar of jalapenos. What you do today, might burn your butt tomorrow.

Newspapers are rather unique since when we make misteaks…er, mistakes, they remain on the printed page to be recalled and entered into evidence of our blunder for sometimes years to come.
But often in life the most fun we have is when we poke fun at ourselves.
Thanks to a a good friend(?), here are some goofs, boo-boos, and errors found in some newspaper ads.
• Illiterate? Write today for free help.
• Auto Repair Service. Free pick-up and delivery. Try us once, you’ll never go anywhere else again.
• Our experienced Mom will care for your child. Fenced yard, meals and smacks included.
• Dog for sale: eats anything and is fond of children.
• Stock up and save. Limit: one.
• Semi-annual After-Christmas sale.
• 3-year old teacher needed for pre-school. Experience preferred.
• Mixing bowl set designed to please a cook with round bottom for efficient beating.
• Dinner special – Turkey $2.35; Chicken or Beef $2.25; Children $2.00.
• Now is your chance to have your ears pierced and get an extra pair to take home.
• We do not tear your clothing with machinery. We do it carefully by hand.
• For sale: Three canaries of undermined sex.
• Great dames for sale.
• Have several very old dresses from grandmother in beautiful condition.
• Tired of cleaning yourself? Let me do it.
• Vacation special: have your home exterminated.
• Get rid of aunts. Zap does the job in 24 hours.
• Toaster: A gift that every member of the family appreciates. Automatically burns toast.
• For rent: 6-room hated apartment.
• Work Wanted: Man, honest. Will take anything.
• Used cars: Why go elsewhere to be cheated? Come here first.
• Christmas tag sale. Handmade gifts for the hard to find person.
• Wanted: Hair cutter. Excellent growth potential.
• Wanted: Man to take care of cow that does not smoke or drink.
• Our bikinis are exciting. They are simply the tops.
• Wanted: Widower with school age children requires person assume general housekeeping duties. Must be capable of contributing to growth of family.
• And now, the Superstore—unequaled in size, unmatched in variety, unrivaled inconvenience.
• We will oil your sewing machine and adjust tension in your home for just $1.

Curt, the male human I live with, overdid himself this weekend with work. At least that’s what he is telling people. Actually, I was a witness as he engaged in too much recreation and consuming those hops flavored soda pops and homemade wine.
While he’s recuperating, I’m taking over writing the weekly column. He’s always spouting off on his views, now it’s my turn. Let me tell you about life from a dog’s perspective.
So make sure you read this to your family canine. See if they don’t agree with Charley’s Dictionary.
LEASH: A strap which attaches to your collar, enabling you to lead your person where you want him/her to go.
DOG BED: any soft, clean surface, such as the white bedspread in the guest room or the newly upholstered couch in the living room.
DROOL: Is what you do when your persons have food and you don’t. To do this properly you must sit as close as you can and look sad and let the drool fall to the floor, or better yet, on their laps.
SNIFF: A social custom to use when you greet other dogs. Place your nose as close as you can to the other dog’s rear end and inhale deeply, repeat several times, or until your person makes you stop.
GARBAGE CAN: A container which your neighbors put out once a week to test your ingenuity. You must stand on your hind legs and try to push the lid off with your nose. If you do it right you are rewarded with margarine wrappers to shred, beef bones to consume and moldy crusts of bread.
BICYCLES: Two-wheeled exercise machines, invented for dogs to control body fat. To get maximum aerobic benefit, you must hide behind a bush and dash out, bark loudly and run alongside for a few yards; the person then swerves and falls into the bushes, and you prance away.
DEAFNESS: This is a malady which affects dogs when their person want them in and they want to stay out. Symptoms include staring blankly at the person, then running in the opposite direction, or lying down.
THUNDER: This is a signal that the world is coming to an end. Humans remain amazingly calm during thunderstorms, so it is necessary to warn them of the danger by trembling uncontrollably, panting, rolling your eyes wildly, and following at their heels.
WASTEBASKET: This is a dog toy filled with paper, envelopes, and old candy wrapper. When you get bored, turn over the basket and strew the papers all over the house until your person comes home
SOFAS: Are to dogs like napkins are to people. After eating it is polite to run up and down the front of the sofa and wipe your whiskers clean.
BATH: This is a process by which the humans drench the floor, walls and themselves. You can help by shaking vigorously and frequently.
LEAN: Every good dogs’s response to the command “sit !”, especially if your person is dressed for an evening out. Incredibly effective before black-tie events.
BUMP: The best way to get your human’s attention when they are drinking a fresh cup of coffee or tea.
GOOSE BUMP: A maneuver to use as a last resort when the Regular Bump doesn’t get the attention you require…especially effective when combined with The Sniff. See above.
LOVE: Is a feeling of intense affection, given freely and without restriction. The best way you can show your love is to wag your tail. If you’re lucky, a human will love you in return.

Two matters cropped up last week on the same day to put my knickers in a knot.
Back when I was in the 4th grade I recall a lesson on the importance of phone manners and communication. Granted that lesson was almost 50 years ago but the lessons were important. And they are obviously not being taught now, maybe because we text, tweet, twitter, e-mail but rarely talk.
It is frustrating to listen to a voicemail message where a name and phone number are mumbled and muffled. I can usually make out either a first or last name but many times the phone number gets recorded like someone speaking from the bottom of a well with a sock in their mouth and trying to mimic an auctioneer chanting bids.
There was one instance when a person called on two different occasions and mumbled the last four digits of their phone number. I have no way of knowing who to call. On the third try, she was obviously pretty miffed that I was failing to get back in touch and she spoke in an exasperated but very clear tone. I immediately returned her call and explained the reason for the delay. And she denied mumbling.
Later that evening, as I purchased some adult beverages to console myself for not listening clearly, I was asked for my I.D. Now back in May when the alcohol retailers began practicing for the new law, I thought it was kind of cute to be carded. Now it is just a pain.
For the record, anyone purchasing any alcohol must show a photo I.D. proving their age. Apparently this got passed in with a large all inclusive bill that nearly everyone wanted to vote for parts of so there was little knowledge or debate. And I learned it was the alcohol retailers themselves that pushed for this bill.
So now a gray haired wrinkled adult has to show a clerk (who is usually young enough to be their son or daughter) that they are old enough to buy alcohol.
“If I don’t ask, I’ll lose my job,” a clerk told me as she looked at my driver’s license.
“That’s fine,” said I, putting away my license after showing her my I.D.. “Now, how old am I?”
“I don’t know but you look old enough” was her reply.
And she couldn’t tell that without viewing my driver’s license?
I suspicion that I am not the only post-50 person who is getting cranky with the delay and intrusion and suspect that the next legislature will hear enough grief over geezer I.D. to get something with more common sense written into the law.
At least my mother hopes so.

Now that summer has officially arrived—as indicated by the calendar not the early June 90° temperatures—family reunions will traditionally gather, eat, chat, eat, kids will play, eat, remember patriarchs and matriarchs who have departed and maybe laugh and cry, and eat.
For three weekends in a row it looks like I get to have family reunion overload.
This past Sunday we gathered for my mother’s side of the family. Around 90 of the clan gathered under a tent to enjoy some of the best food around. (You are free to think your family reunions food is best, but I know better.)
There was laughter and quizzical looks as family members without name tags were tried to be identified. Some were youngsters who had grown up suddenly some were “Shirt Tail Cousins” as a good friend of mine calls them. There were recollections and remembrances of our times of our youth spent with grandparents. We talked about some of the mischief we got away with and the times we got caught.
The older folks sat around and talked and laughed. The young kids ran and explored the woods and the barn and laughed…pretty much what we 50-somethings did when we were pre-teens.
This weekend, my Dad’s side of the family will meet up at the wilderness retreat—assuming additional storms don’t blow or wash it all away.
And it’ll be more time to sit and laugh and remember those who used to fill the now empty places at the family reunion table. The young kids (and not so young kids) will explore the wooded trails and take Gator rides around the property. And eat.
And the following weekend, I have been invited to a branch of my mother’s clan of which I was not aware. But I guess I impressed them enough to be asked to attend their reunion on July 11. But I think what really got me an invitation was our mutual interest in making homemade wine.
So as I wrap up the wilderness retreat reunion I will bottle some of last year’s apple and blackberry wines to take for all to sample.
Seeing familiar faces, meeting new ones and learning of how our families’ lives over the years have intermingled…sometimes unknowingly…makes for some heart binding times.