The first time that I ever got pulled over by law enforcement was on Tuesday, July 2, 2013. Sure, it may be a little strange that I remember the exact date, but the truth is that the inaugural time that I got caught speeding—it was the first time I got caught in the act, not the first time I had committed that type of traffic infraction—was, ironically, because I was actually in a hurry.

Saturday afternoon, I was strolling the midway on Grand Avenue in Ravenna, taking pictures of the Annevar carnival, when the opportunity for the perfect carnival photo caught my eye. A little girl was riding a ride that was launching her into the June sky, with the Ferris wheel spinning behind her.

State lawmakers went home recently, ending a ninety-day session marked by reductions in spending and borrowing from cash reserves to close a projected budget gap that once topped $400 million. Hard to believe that just a couple of years ago, the state was sitting on a huge surplus of cash.

Whenever there is severe weather in my area, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t find myself making a casually calculated risk. Sure, there are multiple levels of warning systems in place to notify residents, including those living far from town, about the potential of severe weather.

As we’re reminded over and over, Nebraska doesn’t have mountains like Colorado and Wyoming, and doesn’t have the beaches of California or Florida. That’s one of the reasons, we’re told, the Cornhusker State is among the least visited of all the states.

Every week, in my post office box at work, I receive a little update about the state of Nebraska’s ag economy. Like so many other Nebraskan’s, every week, the Midwest Messenger arrives to my office.

Let’s get this straight— seventy- one percent of Nebraskans voted in November to legalize the use of marijuana as medicine. But when the State Legislature got around to adopting regulations to dole it out, lawmakers decided “whoa,” let’s not get too hasty about this.

“Old soldiers don’t die, they just fade away.” General Douglas MacArthur, a World War II hero, used that phrase in his farewell address to the United States Congress more than seventy years ago. But the comment doesn’t come within a country mile of describing one old Nebraska soldier.

If you would allow me to humble brag for a moment, I feel like it is important to point out that, even decades after having been promoted out of the fourth grade, I still know the Nebraska state song.

One day earlier this spring, following a particularly grueling week in the newspaper world, I was venting to a friend on the phone about the stresses at the office when they made a suggestion. They suggested that, in order to break the monotony that comes with publishing a weekly newspaper in rural Nebraska, I find an outlet outside of work—a hobby, so to speak—that would take my attention away from my endless checklists and help me focus on something else for an hour or two a week.