Opinion

As soon as my brothers climbed onto the school bus that Friday morning in May, I put on my pink sneakers and tied the laces. The bows looked like floppy rabbit ears, just the way they should. It was time for Mom and me to take our weekly walk to Kroger. “Here we go. C’mon!”…

I was pressing to get on these two gobblers. I knew since it was the middle of the season and the first thing in the morning, that after they flew off the roost the gobbling would end. So I chose to gamble a little and get in their bedroom. Since it was already breaking day,…

One of my comedy excuses I’m known for when I come up empty-handed from a hunting or a fishing trip, is that my friend, partner, guide, etc. “dry-ridged” me. I forgot where I first heard that term, but I use it quite often to blame other people for my lack of success. It refers to…

By Bill Hoagland There has been much news lately about squatters moving into temporarily vacant residences in California and New York and then refusing to leave when the rightful owners show up; the squatters claim that they have legal rights to remain on the premises indefinitely and because there is usually a lawsuit somewhere along…

Mother’s Day. The most tender day of the year. Calendars are littered with special occasions—birthdays and holidays—and life ticks through each of those days in a measured, stiff cadence. But when Mother’s Day comes, the flow of time softens. We are given a chance to stretch our arms around yesterday and hold Mother’s heart next…

I’ve always heard that writing is more about perspiration than inspiration. It’s true. Even though it is very fulfilling to write about the outdoors, it is also difficult at times to continue to find worthy subjects and stories. Sometimes my mind soars with information faster than my fingers can type. Other times those same fingers…

By Bill Hoagland You probably know who Harvey Weinstein is–the Hollywood movie mogul who was the producer of Pulp Fiction and various other films. He is also well-known for another reason: dozens of women—perhaps as many as 100– claim that he sexually assaulted them over a 20 year period of time. As a result of…

By Bill Hoagland Every morning during the school year, I drive by a bunch of school kids who are waiting for a school bus. Thirty years ago, those kids would have been interacting with each other, laughing and enjoying each others company as they waited for the bus. Today, as I drive past, they are…

It used to be referred to by a full noun. Telephone. Sometimes ‘phone’. Never ‘cell’. We had telephones in our houses, connected to our walls or sitting on tables. Usually, there was only one; some fancier families had an extension. At first, most of them were black. Bulky and utilitarian. They were mounted in the…