Jerry Ness, Nome

Last month, I spent a weekend in Clay County, perched on a ladder stand, looking for an unfortunate Minnesota deer. A hyperactive squirrel entertained me as my mind rolled with disconnected thoughts. E.g, we know 80 percent of illegal drugs enter the US in vehicles through ports of entry. So should we position Sherman tanks and occasionally blast a Winnebago driven by a couple of senior citizens? Due process is clearly overrated.

I thought about my life as a farm boy. When we sold cattle, we got what the market dictated. Now the convicted felon in the Oval Office says producers should lower the price of beef on the hoof. Apparently, being able to recall five words in the doctor’s office doesn’t translate into economic acumen.

I wondered how my favorite baseball team would get out of the hole they’d created. Clearly, the first step is to stop digging. Our Constitution charges the Senate with providing “advice and consent” on various Presidential decisions. How can Senators Hoeven and Cramer sleep at night after approving the Cabinet appointments of the bizarre RFK Jr. and wrestling maven Linda McMahon? Is there any bottom to the barrel for their votes?

My deer rifle holds only four shells. I’ve never needed all four. If only the children at Sandy Hook or Columbine had been attacked by an evil person with a rifle like mine, perhaps the outcome might have been different. But I guess the GOP Congressmen think a 50-shot clip is important.

What do I know? I’m just a simple farm boy. Heading home after sunset, I was thankful for my 63rd year of being able to sit in a tree. Now if I could just purge myself of some of those darn random thoughts.