Columns

Obamacare is now the law of the land if only by a narrow margin of the vote of the Almighty Nine. The Supreme Court did, however, establish Obamacare as a tax. Our always honest “president” had earlier assured us that it was not a tax. Good, bad or indifferent, the passage of Obamacare is a significant milestone in the continuing growth of big government. [Full Story »] 

In this day of internet, phone service cheaper than yesteryear’s, and constant instant communication, the United States Postal Service has slipped from its former position of importance; some people think it cannot survive another decade’s constantly burgeoning technology. I hate to think of its disappearing, for its role is intertwined with the history of this country, with my history and with yours. Consider the songs written about letters—“Return to Sender,” “Letter Edged in Black” and “Dear John”—those are the ones that pop instantly into my mind, but many more exist. I remember waiting for the postman to bring a package, a French pen pal’s letter, and the Sears-Roebuck catalogue, especially at Christmas. Mama ordered books for me in stacks, and they arrived in the mail. The postman was an important man in my life. When I moved to the country, the nomenclature changed. [Full Story »] 

Tuesday, two weeks removed from our Hackberry tree calamity, B. J. and I were attending our regular Weight Watchers meeting in the hopes of finding some new inspiration to drop pounds when my cell phone rang. On the other end of our wireless connection was our nextdoor neighbor, Ruth Barker. She excitedly announced: “A big limb of our Hackberry tree next to you broke off and fell on your Hackberry tree in your back yard and broke some limbs off it and it is on the top of your house!” [Full Story »] 

Tropical Storm Beryl came our way huffing and puffing and raining all over us on St. Simons Island. Whipping up the surf and dropping multi-inches of water on our island abode, Beryl left his calling card. Flood watches and warnings abounded. Although no order for evacuation was given, there were anxious moments. [Full Story »] 

I grew up on our family farm (still in my possession and debt free) in Toombs County. I learned to plow a mule at a very early age. My first experience with plowing was “jo harrowing” corn with a mule drawn plow known as a “jo harrow.” I could hardly reach the plow handles. I remember how daddy laughed at me when I had to trot along behind the fast-walking mule to keep up. [Full Story »]