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Northwest Salmon

 

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Editorial

Be safe, have fun over the fourth

by John Suhr
suhrs@reporterandfarmer.com

This year the Fourth of July falls on a Tuesday. For some residents and visitors that means a four day weekend of fireworks and family fun. But keep in mind a number of things before the big weekend.

Despite the recent rains, our area and much of South Dakota is still dry. While I do not want be the one to rain on fireworks fun, keep that in mind. Have a bucket of water or even a fire extinguisher in case area grass does catch on fire. Be prepared to call the fire department should you not be able to get a small blaze extinguished, before it gets out of control.

Also have a another bucket with sand or a metal container to put your spent fireworks in. While they may be done, there still could be heat coming off of them. Plus make sure you pick up your area. Just like in boy scouts, leave your area cleaner than you found it.

It should not matter if it is your own property or a public road. In South Dakota the wind blows and could eventually blow your trash onto someone else’s property.

Despite the dry conditions, be aware of fireworks themselves. If one did not go off, do not try to continually light it until it does. A shortened fuse may not give you time to get clear before it does go off. Consider it a dud and leave it at that.

Fireworks can not only burn, but many of them can take a finger off, or cause other bodily damage including blindness. Keep that in mind when you are saying oooh and ahhh over a great display shot up in the air. One accident is all it takes and the memories of the explosions in the sky may just be that – a memory.

While I do not want to be a bummer on your fireworks festivities, it is important to be safe and enjoy them for years to come.

Another reminder, the City of Webster and possibly other cities in the area do not allow fireworks to be discharged within city limits. A bottle rocket or mortar on a roof top could mean disaster. Watch and listen for announcements by law enforcement should they ban them because of extreme dry conditions.

Have a safe and enjoyable July 4 weekend.


Columns


The keys were locked in and I was locked out

by Amanda Fanger
reporter@reporterandfarmer.com


Guys. You won’t believe what happened now.

Alright, so in keeping with the drama that’s been occurring in my life lately, I figured I’d better update you all as to the latest.

After church on Sunday, my boyfriend and I rode out to his farm together in the courtesy van I had while my Tabitha was in the repair shop after a branch had gone through its back window. I had asked my boyfriend to drive because I wanted to enjoy the scenery. When we arrived, he left the keys in the ignition and we both stepped out, closing the doors behind us.

We each had taken two steps and then we heard the automatic locks.

Sher-chunk!

He and I exchanged disbelieving glances over the hood of the van and stared back in the direction the sound had come from. I promise, neither his hands nor mine had been anywhere near the lock buttons on the door panel as we got out yet that sound was unmistakable.

I walked over and tugged on the handles to check. Sure enough. Every door was locked.

I laughed.

Locked inside the van was my purse, all my keys for everything from my house to the office; all my money and credit cards, even a couple of envelopes with bill payments that I hadn’t gotten dropped in the mail box yet.

Still I laughed. What was so funny to me about the situation was that it isn’t the first time I’d managed to lock myself out of a courtesy car.

Early last winter, I’d gone out one morning to start the courtesy car and let it warm up before driving to the office. When I was ready to leave, I discovered the doors were locked while the car idled. Thankfully, being right in town, the dealership was able to send someone over right away with the spare key.

Being in the country and on a Sunday presented a bit more of a challenge than that though.

While my boyfriend was there to take me home that night and then give me a ride the next day back out – with the spare key from the dealership – and I was able to get back inside, 24 hours later, I couldn’t help but muse on the fact that I’m really no stranger to being locked out of my vehicle in general.

When I lived in Onida, I made frequent trips to Pierre for shopping and found myself in a situation a time or three where I was locked out at a shopping center parking lot. Thankfully, my aunt worked at an auto dealership and was usually just a phone call away to get help.

Once I covered a slough fire on the north edge of Webster for the paper, and when I parked, put the keys in my jacket pocket and promptly removed the jacket, got out, hit the lock button and shut the door – leaving the jacket on the passenger seat. Realizing what a dumb move I had just made, I looked around to ensure I was not in immediate danger from the fire, I snapped a couple of pictures of the flames, then walked across the street to a local auto dealer and asked for help.

Since all this has transpired, I’ve found myself thinking of those cars with the wireless door entry keypad systems. I used to think those were silly but now I’m wondering if I ought not look into getting one of those for myself.

And perhaps insist that every rental vehicle I get also has one.


~af~




 

 

Social infrastructure lacks


by Emre K. Erku

sports@reporteranfarmer.com

Before I could sit down and order a cold one, a gentleman sitting beside his wife asks, “Who you rootin’ for?”

I looked back.

“Cleveland,” I responded. “Love LeBron.”

“LeBron?” he asked as if insulted. “You love that (N-word)? No wonder you’re not American.”

Wow, I thought. Just wow... How could something as innocuous as that question mushroom into a 1950s Alabama lunch counter?

More importantly, did this man not realize what sport he was watching? Either he’s in denial or he must have really been into the 1980s Boston Celtics and/or the 1990s Utah Jazz, minus Robert Parrish and the Mailman, of course.

But who am to say anything? I’m just as guilty of perpetuating exterior oppression as the next Archie Bunker wannabe. In fact, my attempts at true liberalism are sometimes shameful and flagrantly contradicting, to say the least.

Beyond my questionable idiosyncrasies, however, I cringe at the fact that this good ole boy questioned my Americanism.

How could anyone other than my mother, along with a league of psychological practitioners, test my undeniable love for ice-cold beer and whiskey, excessive profanity and periodic promiscuity – some of the greatest institutions which our American society was built upon and to this day beholds?

George Washington won the Virginia House of Burgesses by besotting his constituency with hard cider, Donald Trump has been quoted saying, “Bomb the s–t out of ‘em,” and you can’t bring up Kennedy and Clinton without Monroe and Lewinsky.

But in true light of this conversation, I think of all the hard work and energy this community has put forth towards its benefit over the last few years.

After spending the past couple of months frantically piecing together articles for our new “Progress” edition – a cute, glossy page magazine highlighting all the new infrastructure projects around Day County – it almost feels like I did it in vain.

Doesn’t matter how many parks are put in, doesn’t matter if the fire department is built anew, doesn’t matter if some multi-million dollar sports complex grows out of the soil like Jack and the Beanstalk – if social infrastructure lacks, well... who in their right mind would want their kids growing up in an environment like that?

If your skin color is different shades, doesn’t matter. If you swing a certain way, doesn’t matter. Even if you’re a vegetarian for goodness sakes, doesn’t matter.

Fact is, we all eat, sleep and love whenever possible, and if that’s somehow arbitrarily oppressed without a kick in the rear, a Taj Mahal city can seem more like a rat hole.

God bless America.

“Ray”

 

Fiksdal Funeral Home

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