Saturday, July 04, 2015

Well, here we are. Two hundred and thirty odd years later.

We’re crowded along the coasts; people scattered across the interior. United under a single flag; a single Constitution.

Unfortunately, this day is not about the military, or its people. This day is about country. A single united front to the world. Thousands of people died to separate the land. Hundreds of thousands. We’re united still, all because one man could appeal to others of similar strength and commitment.

Thank them. Examine their dream and thank them.


This is the new highway they built to bring in the wind farm machinery. That curve up there crosses a gully.

The old highway use to run within the branches of those trees up there and was about as wide as half as what we are now looking at.

Just on the other side of those trees is where the three kids were killed I wrote about a few weeks ago. The curve you can see is where Housekeeper was injured in a car accident when she as in high school. Her girl friend, who was driving, was killed.

That curve has claimed a lot of lives. We had a real estate broker here in the village. His daughter was in a crash there, also. She was crippled, her three girl friends, schoolmates, were killed early one morning on the way to school.

The girl hobbled about the village roads trying to stretch out the nerves and muscles of her legs to be functional. She never did, even after she had her child she’d push the stroller along in a hobble.

The family eventually moved to Wichita, allowing the father to greatly expand his business to better pay the hospital bills and support his family.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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