I used this column once a few years ago, but as fall closes in on us, and I can almost smell the comforting scent of woodsmoke in the air, I think it’s a good fit for this week’s column. 

Ages ago when I wore a much younger man's clothes, I heated my home with wood. Cutting firewood is hard on the back but was always enjoyable to me, and I’ve had some interesting experiences whilst collecting my winter’s fuel, to include smashing the rear windshield out of my dad’s pickup with an errantly tossed chunk of hard hedge wood.

When I was still in my late twenties, my dad and I got permission to cut dead trees from a patch of Ohio woods that sat well off the road at the end of a long, hilly, winding tractor path. 

We spent a day cutting and dragging several trees into the alfalfa field that bordered the woods. The following Saturday we again wound our way up the rutted tractor path, looking forward to a rewarding day of simply cutting-up and hauling the now easily-accessible wood. All that greeted us as we entered the field were dozens of neat little rows of sawdust, the only evidence left after someone had cut up and made-off with all our firewood.

A few years later, I found a good-sized uprooted tree in the small woodlot I owned. The hole left in the ground beneath the roots was the size of a Volkswagen and three feet deep. 

With the tree already flat on the ground, I cut all the limbs and dragged them out of my way, then with the main trunk ready to chunk up, I started cutting at the upper end and worked my way toward the giant root ball.

 I hadn’t made it very far when something happened to the saw, requiring a tool that was still at the house. I started to set the saw in the crater beneath the roots, but for some reason changed my mind and placed it on the ground a few feet away. When I returned with the tool, I thought I had stepped through a worm-hole into another dimension or something, 'cause the downed tree and the saw were both gone. I wandered around in circles and finally stumbled onto the saw on the ground, but where was the uprooted tree?

 It took me awhile to realize that removing all the limbs and cutting off the upper part of the tree had allowed the weight of the root ball to stand the remaining trunk of the tree back upright into the crater. Good thing I decided against putting my saw there; even better that I hadn’t sat down in there for a nap!

The granddaddy of all firewood mishaps took place on a dreary fall Saturday while cutting down a huge dead wild cherry tree that stood just across the driveway from our house. My firewood cutting skills were the stuff of legends….once I got a tree on the ground, but putting it there without catastrophe often eluded me. 

I clambered as high into the behemoth as I could get and encircled the trunk with a log chain, then attached an old hay rope salvaged from the barn and ran it yards out into the open field where dad sat waiting on the trusty Farmall H.

 Cutting was a slow process with a chainsaw barely half the length of the tree’s diameter, but a notch was soon cut toward the open field. As I cut on the other side, I motioned for dad to put tension on the rope and chain. 

The tree began to list slightly, so I cut a bit further then stepped back, figuring to watch our prize topple into the open field. However, the sound of cracking wood was drowned out by the sound of snapping rope fibers as the old hay rope gave up the ghost. 

Half a year’s firewood teetered and wobbled for a few seconds before crashing the opposite direction across the drive and onto the power lines, putting the whole neighborhood out of power, during an Ohio State football game no less, which was akin to losing power at the nursing home during Wheel of Fortune. The neighbors' anger was matched only by the power company guys who had to come out on a Saturday. 

It seems our firewood heated the entire neighborhood that day…

Steve can be contacted by email at stevenrgilliland@gmail.com.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2019/11/1574696211722.png" alt="Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>I used this column once a few years ago, but as fall closes in on us, and I can almost smell the comforting scent of woodsmoke in the air, I think it’s a good fit for this week’s column. Ages ago when I wore a much younger man's clothes, I heated my home with wood. Cutting firewood is hard on the back but was always enjoyable to me, and I’ve had some interesting experiences whilst collecting my winter’s fuel, to include smashing the rear windshield out of my dad’s pickup with an errantly tossed chunk of hard hedge wood.When I was still in my late twenties, my dad and I got permission to cut dead trees from a patch of Ohio woods that sat well off the road at the end of a long, hilly, winding tractor path. We spent a day cutting and dragging several trees into the alfalfa field that bordered the woods. The following Saturday we again wound our way up the rutted tractor path, looking forward to a rewarding day of simply cutting-up and hauling the now easily-accessible wood. All that greeted us as we entered the field were dozens of neat little rows of sawdust, the only evidence left after someone had cut up and made-off with all our firewood.A few years later, I found a good-sized uprooted tree in the small woodlot I owned. The hole left in the ground beneath the roots was the size of a Volkswagen and three feet deep. With the tree already flat on the ground, I cut all the limbs and dragged them out of my way, then with the main trunk ready to chunk up, I started cutting at the upper end and worked my way toward the giant root ball. I hadn’t made it very far when something happened to the saw, requiring a tool that was still at the house. I started to set the saw in the crater beneath the roots, but for some reason changed my mind and placed it on the ground a few feet away. When I returned with the tool, I thought I had stepped through a worm-hole into another dimension or something, 'cause the downed tree and the saw were both gone. I wandered around in circles and finally stumbled onto the saw on the ground, but where was the uprooted tree? It took me awhile to realize that removing all the limbs and cutting off the upper part of the tree had allowed the weight of the root ball to stand the remaining trunk of the tree back upright into the crater. Good thing I decided against putting my saw there; even better that I hadn’t sat down in there for a nap!The granddaddy of all firewood mishaps took place on a dreary fall Saturday while cutting down a huge dead wild cherry tree that stood just across the driveway from our house. My firewood cutting skills were the stuff of legends….once I got a tree on the ground, but putting it there without catastrophe often eluded me. I clambered as high into the behemoth as I could get and encircled the trunk with a log chain, then attached an old hay rope salvaged from the barn and ran it yards out into the open field where dad sat waiting on the trusty Farmall H. Cutting was a slow process with a chainsaw barely half the length of the tree’s diameter, but a notch was soon cut toward the open field. As I cut on the other side, I motioned for dad to put tension on the rope and chain. The tree began to list slightly, so I cut a bit further then stepped back, figuring to watch our prize topple into the open field. However, the sound of cracking wood was drowned out by the sound of snapping rope fibers as the old hay rope gave up the ghost. Half a year’s firewood teetered and wobbled for a few seconds before crashing the opposite direction across the drive and onto the power lines, putting the whole neighborhood out of power, during an Ohio State football game no less, which was akin to losing power at the nursing home during Wheel of Fortune. The neighbors' anger was matched only by the power company guys who had to come out on a Saturday. It seems our firewood heated the entire neighborhood that day…Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors.Steve can be contacted by email at stevenrgilliland@gmail.com.

Explore Kansas Outdoors: Firewood Follies

By RUSSELL ARBEN FOX Insight Kansas

On September 21, the day before the autumn equinox, about 20 people gathered in Memorial Park in Winfield, to mark the conclusion of a local celebration of “Sun Day.” It was a hot Sunday afternoon, and downtown Winfield was pretty quiet. But that didn’t defeat the spirit that was felt by the participants, and the pride they had in doing their part for the cause.

<a href="https://www.sunday.earth/">Sun Day</a> was the brainchild of Bill McKibben, an environmental journalist and activist who has educated millions over the decades with his writings on climate change, renewable energy, local food production, and the conservation of natural spaces. Given the many failures which environmentalism has faced when confronted by the consumptive habits of modern America, McKibben’s work has often been rather dour.

Yet of late McKibben has been enthusiastic, even downright giddy—because amazing innovations in <a href="https://www.earth.com/news/solar-panels-are-1000-times-more-powerful-with-new-tech-breakthrough/">photovoltaic cells</a>, <a href="https://www.eenews.net/articles/grid-batteries-defy-trump-crackdown-on-renewables/">solar grid batteries</a> and more over the past decade have changed the game: renewable means of generating electricity are now, <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/wind-and-solar-energy-are-cheaper-than-electricity-from-fossil-fuel-plants/">even without government subsidies</a>, cheaper than doing so by burning fossil fuels.

This, McKibben felt, is news to be celebrated. 

Hence, Sun Day—a national day of action, with close of <a href="https://www.sunday.earth/events">500 events</a> scheduled across the United States and around the world, involving art and music, workshops and worship, all focused on helping people to appreciate the momentousness of this technological and environmental moment, and hopefully. thereby encouraging them to take advantage of and build upon these new opportunities to get power directly from the sun.

Such encouragement is still very much needed. Just because the technology exists doesn’t mean that the transition to it will be simple. The upfront costs are significant, the needed infrastructure is difficult to install, and the financial realities of solar power (from negotiating with China, where most of the advances in the technology are taking place, to negotiating with local energy companies, who want to maintain the profitability of their grids) are complicated to say the least. 

On top of that, falsehoods about renewable energy—some of which can be <a href="https://energyandpolicy.org/charles-koch-distorts-the-facts-prevents-clean-energy-businesses-from-succeeding/">traced back to Kansas’s own Koch Industries</a>--flow far too easily from both the <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/trump-called-climate-change-a-con-job-at-the-united-nations-here-are-the-facts-and-context">White House</a> and <a href="https://www.kansascity.com/opinion/readers-opinion/guest-commentary/article259977165.html">Topeka</a>, leading too often to <a href="https://www.kcur.org/2023-11-08/communities-skeptical-of-solar-kansas">county-level resistance</a> to increasingly affordable solar panel installations.

Nonetheless, personal experiences—and business savings—with renewables are combining with political education to build momentum. 

Despite cuts in support for alternative energy sources in the Big Beautiful Bill, <a href="https://kansasreflector.com/2025/09/03/evergy-says-federal-changes-wont-affect-planned-solar-projects-in-kansas-and-missouri/">Evergy still plans to move ahead</a> with its plans for solar projects in Kansas and Missouri (though it’s hedging its bets with new natural gas projects as well), and <a href="https://www.yahoo.com/news/articles/massive-kansas-solar-farm-sparks-165122426.html?guccounter=1">NextEra Energy in Jackson County</a> isn’t far behind. The growing demand by Kansans for rooftop or deck solar panels are <a href="https://kansasreflector.com/2024/02/14/kansas-homeowners-urge-lawmakers-to-ban-punitive-rooftop-solar-restrictions/">leading to fights with homeowner associations</a>, all while more <a href="https://www.agriculture.com/solar-energy-is-powering-irrigation-11711496">farmers</a>, <a href="https://www.kumc.edu/about/news/news-archive/kumc-solar-panels.html">hospitals</a>, and <a href="https://www.columbiatribune.com/story/news/local/2025/07/14/solarize-columbia-campaign-can-make-solar-panels-cheaper/84532449007/">homeowners</a> are seeing the light (literally).

A personal confession of interest here: we installed solar panels on our Wichita home over three years ago, and aside from one breakdown with our connection to the grid early on—which was, I admit, an expensive pain—our electric bills have been a tiny fraction of what they once were ever since.

 Looking around Kansas’s largest city, I see solar start-ups and increased interest&nbsp;everywhere. A full transition to renewables is still years, if not decades, away. But on Sun Day, in downtown Winfield, this more environmentally sustainable and financially affordable future seemed closer to me, and my fellow renewable energy advocates, than it ever has been before.

Dr. Russell Arben Fox teaches politics at Friends University in Wichita.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/10/1759418175362.png" alt="Sun Day 2025 in Winfield Memorial Park. Photo by Ann Fell/Winfield" />
 <figcaption>Sun Day 2025 in Winfield Memorial Park. Photo by Ann Fell/Winfield</figcaption>
 </figure>By RUSSELL ARBEN FOX Insight KansasOn September 21, the day before the autumn equinox, about 20 people gathered in Memorial Park in Winfield, to mark the conclusion of a local celebration of “Sun Day.” It was a hot Sunday afternoon, and downtown Winfield was pretty quiet. But that didn’t defeat the spirit that was felt by the participants, and the pride they had in doing their part for the cause.What cause? Solar power, of course. <a href="https://www.sunday.earth/">Sun Day</a> was the brainchild of Bill McKibben, an environmental journalist and activist who has educated millions over the decades with his writings on climate change, renewable energy, local food production, and the conservation of natural spaces. Given the many failures which environmentalism has faced when confronted by the consumptive habits of modern America, McKibben’s work has often been rather dour. Yet of late McKibben has been enthusiastic, even downright giddy—because amazing innovations in <a href="https://www.earth.com/news/solar-panels-are-1000-times-more-powerful-with-new-tech-breakthrough/">photovoltaic cells</a>, <a href="https://www.eenews.net/articles/grid-batteries-defy-trump-crackdown-on-renewables/">solar grid batteries</a> and more over the past decade have changed the game: renewable means of generating electricity are now, <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/wind-and-solar-energy-are-cheaper-than-electricity-from-fossil-fuel-plants/">even without government subsidies</a>, cheaper than doing so by burning fossil fuels.This, McKibben felt, is news to be celebrated. Hence, Sun Day—a national day of action, with close of <a href="https://www.sunday.earth/events">500 events</a> scheduled across the United States and around the world, involving art and music, workshops and worship, all focused on helping people to appreciate the momentousness of this technological and environmental moment, and hopefully. thereby encouraging them to take advantage of and build upon these new opportunities to get power directly from the sun.Such encouragement is still very much needed. Just because the technology exists doesn’t mean that the transition to it will be simple. The upfront costs are significant, the needed infrastructure is difficult to install, and the financial realities of solar power (from negotiating with China, where most of the advances in the technology are taking place, to negotiating with local energy companies, who want to maintain the profitability of their grids) are complicated to say the least. On top of that, falsehoods about renewable energy—some of which can be <a href="https://energyandpolicy.org/charles-koch-distorts-the-facts-prevents-clean-energy-businesses-from-succeeding/">traced back to Kansas’s own Koch Industries</a>--flow far too easily from both the <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/trump-called-climate-change-a-con-job-at-the-united-nations-here-are-the-facts-and-context">White House</a> and <a href="https://www.kansascity.com/opinion/readers-opinion/guest-commentary/article259977165.html">Topeka</a>, leading too often to <a href="https://www.kcur.org/2023-11-08/communities-skeptical-of-solar-kansas">county-level resistance</a> to increasingly affordable solar panel installations.Nonetheless, personal experiences—and business savings—with renewables are combining with political education to build momentum. Despite cuts in support for alternative energy sources in the Big Beautiful Bill, <a href="https://kansasreflector.com/2025/09/03/evergy-says-federal-changes-wont-affect-planned-solar-projects-in-kansas-and-missouri/">Evergy still plans to move ahead</a> with its plans for solar projects in Kansas and Missouri (though it’s hedging its bets with new natural gas projects as well), and <a href="https://www.yahoo.com/news/articles/massive-kansas-solar-farm-sparks-165122426.html?guccounter=1">NextEra Energy in Jackson County</a> isn’t far behind. The growing demand by Kansans for rooftop or deck solar panels are <a href="https://kansasreflector.com/2024/02/14/kansas-homeowners-urge-lawmakers-to-ban-punitive-rooftop-solar-restrictions/">leading to fights with homeowner associations</a>, all while more <a href="https://www.agriculture.com/solar-energy-is-powering-irrigation-11711496">farmers</a>, <a href="https://www.kumc.edu/about/news/news-archive/kumc-solar-panels.html">hospitals</a>, and <a href="https://www.columbiatribune.com/story/news/local/2025/07/14/solarize-columbia-campaign-can-make-solar-panels-cheaper/84532449007/">homeowners</a> are seeing the light (literally).A personal confession of interest here: we installed solar panels on our Wichita home over three years ago, and aside from one breakdown with our connection to the grid early on—which was, I admit, an expensive pain—our electric bills have been a tiny fraction of what they once were ever since. Looking around Kansas’s largest city, I see solar start-ups and increased interest&nbsp;everywhere. A full transition to renewables is still years, if not decades, away. But on Sun Day, in downtown Winfield, this more environmentally sustainable and financially affordable future seemed closer to me, and my fellow renewable energy advocates, than it ever has been before.Dr. Russell Arben Fox teaches politics at Friends University in Wichita.

Insight Kansas: A sunny day, and a better day, in Kansas

Since spring, I’ve eyeballed milkweed plants growing in road ditches. Every time I spied one, I’d think of monarch butterflies searching for meals and nurseries to incubate eggs and nourish larvae. 

Eventually, I intended to harvest and plant seed pods to encourage more monarchs to flit amongst our flowers. Glory be, I remembered and now celebrate a bowl full of exploding milkweed fibers and seeds.

Nature and its symbiotic relationships fascinate me, none more than the one between monarch butterflies and the milkweed that graces prairies, roadsides, and open pastures across the mid-United States. Surprisingly, these 2- to 4-foot-tall perennials with globe-shaped leaves and pretty flowers manufacture toxins that drive most critters away. The monarch, however, evolved to utilize those chemicals as food and then internalize them to make themselves undesirable to prey.

For monarchs from the Rockies east, it starts with migration from mountains in Mexico as far as Canada each spring. Along that route, milkweed supports them with pinkish to lavender blooms and offers host plants where they lay pale, miniscule eggs on the underside of those round leaves.

Within days, those eggs hatch and scores of a favorite childhood literary character, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", emerge. These bottomless pits eat only milkweed leaves. 

Due to a DNA mutation, their systems detoxify poisonous chemicals unique to this plant. Over an approximate two-week span, they eat, mature, and molt repeatedly, their colors continually intensifying. All this while they reprocess chemicals that will protect their butterfly incarnation.

 I plan to watch from a front row seat once my seeds develop enough to support this monarch stage of life.

Once a caterpillar achieves full size, it attaches to an object and forms a chrysalis. Inside that protective shell, miracles evolve in 10 to 14 days. The one-time caterpillar cells reconstitute themselves into a stunning black, orange, and white adult monarch toxic to prey.

Once wings harden so butterflies can flutter, these summer visitors flit from blossom to blossom feeding on nectar while pollinating plants. Though butterflies nourish themselves with various blooms, milkweed remains essential to monarch survival as a nursery host plant for egg laying, caterpillar food, and creating toxic wings.

Milkweed with its known cardiac glycosides is monarch larvae’s only food. During their development, that potent chemical cocktail collects in striped, pillowy caterpillar bodies—later becoming part and parcel of designer orange, black, and white wings as well as butterfly heads, thoraxes, and abdomens. 

When creatures up the food chain consume a monarch, they suffer anything from diarrhea to cardiac arrest. In the animal kingdom, devouring orange-winged insects is a no-no. Some species like the Viceroy evolved to mimic this protective coloring.

What a spectacular symbiotic match between a unique plant with exploding seed pods to monarchs that migrate across this milkweed-rich region twice a year! To utilize that toxin-laden plant as a protective nursery host to creatures immune to those poisons is science fiction on steroids. 

Double the amazement with the fact those chemicals accumulate and repurpose themselves in brilliant orange wings so predators know to avoid these pollinators. 

Design by the Master’s hand dazzles me every time I discover it. Here’s hope for even more milkweed seeds following this year’s planting.

Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/9/1758897960534.jpeg" alt="Milkweed. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Milkweed. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By KAREN MADORINSince spring, I’ve eyeballed milkweed plants growing in road ditches. Every time I spied one, I’d think of monarch butterflies searching for meals and nurseries to incubate eggs and nourish larvae. Eventually, I intended to harvest and plant seed pods to encourage more monarchs to flit amongst our flowers. Glory be, I remembered and now celebrate a bowl full of exploding milkweed fibers and seeds.Nature and its symbiotic relationships fascinate me, none more than the one between monarch butterflies and the milkweed that graces prairies, roadsides, and open pastures across the mid-United States. Surprisingly, these 2- to 4-foot-tall perennials with globe-shaped leaves and pretty flowers manufacture toxins that drive most critters away. The monarch, however, evolved to utilize those chemicals as food and then internalize them to make themselves undesirable to prey.For monarchs from the Rockies east, it starts with migration from mountains in Mexico as far as Canada each spring. Along that route, milkweed supports them with pinkish to lavender blooms and offers host plants where they lay pale, miniscule eggs on the underside of those round leaves.Within days, those eggs hatch and scores of a favorite childhood literary character, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", emerge. These bottomless pits eat only milkweed leaves. Due to a DNA mutation, their systems detoxify poisonous chemicals unique to this plant. Over an approximate two-week span, they eat, mature, and molt repeatedly, their colors continually intensifying. All this while they reprocess chemicals that will protect their butterfly incarnation. I plan to watch from a front row seat once my seeds develop enough to support this monarch stage of life.Once a caterpillar achieves full size, it attaches to an object and forms a chrysalis. Inside that protective shell, miracles evolve in 10 to 14 days. The one-time caterpillar cells reconstitute themselves into a stunning black, orange, and white adult monarch toxic to prey.<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/9/1758898118238.jpeg" alt="Monarch butterfly. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Monarch butterfly. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>Once wings harden so butterflies can flutter, these summer visitors flit from blossom to blossom feeding on nectar while pollinating plants. Though butterflies nourish themselves with various blooms, milkweed remains essential to monarch survival as a nursery host plant for egg laying, caterpillar food, and creating toxic wings.Nature’s design astounds me. Milkweed with its known cardiac glycosides is monarch larvae’s only food. During their development, that potent chemical cocktail collects in striped, pillowy caterpillar bodies—later becoming part and parcel of designer orange, black, and white wings as well as butterfly heads, thoraxes, and abdomens. When creatures up the food chain consume a monarch, they suffer anything from diarrhea to cardiac arrest. In the animal kingdom, devouring orange-winged insects is a no-no. Some species like the Viceroy evolved to mimic this protective coloring.What a spectacular symbiotic match between a unique plant with exploding seed pods to monarchs that migrate across this milkweed-rich region twice a year! To utilize that toxin-laden plant as a protective nursery host to creatures immune to those poisons is science fiction on steroids. Double the amazement with the fact those chemicals accumulate and repurpose themselves in brilliant orange wings so predators know to avoid these pollinators. Design by the Master’s hand dazzles me every time I discover it. Here’s hope for even more milkweed seeds following this year’s planting.Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.

MADORIN: Seeding hope for monarchs

Nobody told me when I married a game warden that a pelican might take up temporary residence in my children’s wading pool. 

Nor did I realize my two tiny daughters and I would spend a couple of days throwing hooks and lines off a bridge over Big Creek catching enough fish to satisfy that visitor’s insatiable appetite. On the other hand, that eating machine never expected to vacation at our house, either.

This event occurred in the late '80s. City workers called to explain an injured pelican was devouring gold fish in the power plant pond as they spoke to me.

Eviction was necessary. Every kid in town, little and big, loved that rock pool where they tossed breadcrumbs and oatmeal to feed surfacing swirls of orange and white. Even nourishing something so exotic as a pelican was no reason to sacrifice the fishpond population.

While my husband already knew about pelican beaks, the girls and I learned swiftly to stay out of range of that weapon/lunch sack. Mr. P wasn’t happy about this forced removal and intimidated us with snapping jaws. It wasn’t worth risking hand or fingers to save frantic gold fish.

I distracted the big bird while my brave partner snuck behind to slide a huge rubber band around that slashing defense mechanism. Once we disabled it, we noticed a broken wing drove the creature to the city water hole to dine. Who knows how far the crippled bird walked to fill its belly. We swaddled it in an old blanket and hauled it home to figure out a plan.

Four decades ago, cell phones and instant communication were a thing of future, and the Wildlife and Parks rehabilitator wasn’t answering the phone. This forced us to brainstorm a strategy for the visitor our daughters named "LA Looks" for the spiky top notch on it crown.

The girls volunteered their little blue wading pool to house our guest and their services as fisherwomen. Each had a Mickey Mouse pole they cast off the nearby wooden bridge. It seemed workable, so their dad left us baiting hooks as he drove off on patrol.

After catching a few palm-size fish, our youngsters released them into Mr. Looks’ temporary abode. My husband had unbound its beak so it snarfed our meager contribution. In disbelief, we marveled at how swiftly he scooped our catch and how his pouch expanded once full of flopping protein. Once our contribution slid down his gullet, it shrank to its previous size.

The hungry critter searched for more food. Those little perch didn’t satisfy his hunger, so girls and I returned to the creek, where we filled a stringer. Once again, his response dazzled us.

It occurred to me there was no way the human part of this equation could match the pelican’s gustatory requirements so I visited the IGA fish department. All the way there, I wondered what it would cost to board this fellow until he went to the rehabilitator. I prayed my budget stretched as big as his pouch if he stayed more than a day.

Along with fish the girls and I caught, we supplemented LA’s diet with frozen whitefish. These codcicles confused him at first, but he eventually swallowed them along with live fish.

While I’d never want to feed a pelican week after week, hosting one temporarily was delightful. We happily learned LA Looks survived surgery and would entertain nearby zoo patrons with how many fish he could stash in his pouch.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/9/1758730218088.jpeg" alt="Pelican. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Pelican. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By KAREN MADORINNobody told me when I married a game warden that a pelican might take up temporary residence in my children’s wading pool. Nor did I realize my two tiny daughters and I would spend a couple of days throwing hooks and lines off a bridge over Big Creek catching enough fish to satisfy that visitor’s insatiable appetite. On the other hand, that eating machine never expected to vacation at our house, either.This event occurred in the late '80s. City workers called to explain an injured pelican was devouring gold fish in the power plant pond as they spoke to me.Eviction was necessary. Every kid in town, little and big, loved that rock pool where they tossed breadcrumbs and oatmeal to feed surfacing swirls of orange and white. Even nourishing something so exotic as a pelican was no reason to sacrifice the fishpond population.While my husband already knew about pelican beaks, the girls and I learned swiftly to stay out of range of that weapon/lunch sack. Mr. P wasn’t happy about this forced removal and intimidated us with snapping jaws. It wasn’t worth risking hand or fingers to save frantic gold fish.I distracted the big bird while my brave partner snuck behind to slide a huge rubber band around that slashing defense mechanism. Once we disabled it, we noticed a broken wing drove the creature to the city water hole to dine. Who knows how far the crippled bird walked to fill its belly. We swaddled it in an old blanket and hauled it home to figure out a plan.Four decades ago, cell phones and instant communication were a thing of future, and the Wildlife and Parks rehabilitator wasn’t answering the phone. This forced us to brainstorm a strategy for the visitor our daughters named "LA Looks" for the spiky top notch on it crown.The girls volunteered their little blue wading pool to house our guest and their services as fisherwomen. Each had a Mickey Mouse pole they cast off the nearby wooden bridge. It seemed workable, so their dad left us baiting hooks as he drove off on patrol.After catching a few palm-size fish, our youngsters released them into Mr. Looks’ temporary abode. My husband had unbound its beak so it snarfed our meager contribution. In disbelief, we marveled at how swiftly he scooped our catch and how his pouch expanded once full of flopping protein. Once our contribution slid down his gullet, it shrank to its previous size.The hungry critter searched for more food. Those little perch didn’t satisfy his hunger, so girls and I returned to the creek, where we filled a stringer. Once again, his response dazzled us.It occurred to me there was no way the human part of this equation could match the pelican’s gustatory requirements so I visited the IGA fish department. All the way there, I wondered what it would cost to board this fellow until he went to the rehabilitator. I prayed my budget stretched as big as his pouch if he stayed more than a day.Along with fish the girls and I caught, we supplemented LA’s diet with frozen whitefish. These codcicles confused him at first, but he eventually swallowed them along with live fish.While I’d never want to feed a pelican week after week, hosting one temporarily was delightful. We happily learned LA Looks survived surgery and would entertain nearby zoo patrons with how many fish he could stash in his pouch.Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.

MADORIN:  A pelican in the wading pool

By STEVE GILLILAND My annual day spent helping at the Kansas Fur Harvesters booth at the Kansas State Fair, showed me once again that there are great life lessons to be learned at the fair.

For example, knee-high socks of any color, but especially black, DO NOT go with shorts. If you’re not ready to purchase the last mop, set of cookware or garden-hose nozzle you’ll ever need, DO NOT go through the vender’s buildings, and if your hair doesn’t need fixing or your tennis shoes or glasses need cleaning, avoid the afore mentioned buildings also.

And where else but the state fair can you find racing pigs, campers costing more than my house, a guy selling Ecuadorian pan flutes, a chain saw sculpture, hot tubs, mattresses and water softeners all within a stone’s throw of each other. 

Beneath the grandstand, you’ll find sewing machines sold next to a Chinese massager parlor, and more yard art than you can imagine, including metal sunflowers, tornados fashioned from barbed-wire, dogs made from railroad spikes, frogs made from rebar and bugs built from assorted nuts and bolts with toilet tank floats for abdomens. 

Then on to the dark and forbidden midway, aptly named because its “midway” between you and your wallet, where shadowy hucksters await behind every tent flap. Here you can throw balls or bat balls, throw darts or throw rings, shoot rifles or shoot baskets, to win anything from framed pictures of Dale Earnhardt and Sponge Bob, to a three-foot stuffed Garfield or a huge inflatable dolphin. 

And of course, there is the absolute plethora of fair food, where you can find anything imaginable deep fried and/or put on a stick.

A great piece of advice from Jeff Foxworthy is “If you’re going somewhere alone, don’t wear a T-shirt that says “I’m Here with Stupid.” I love reading T-shirts people are wearing and boy-howdy, there’s no better place to do that than at a state fair. 

Here, in no particular order, are my favorite T shirt captions seen at this year’s state fair:

The Only Thing that Should Come Between a Hunter and His Meat is Bread 9 out of 10 Bears Surveyed Prefer Campers over S’mores I Believe Every Form of Wildlife has its Place; Right Next to the Mashed Potatoes and Gravy You’ve Read My T-Shirt; That’s Enough Social Interaction for Today I Love My Country, it’s My Government that Scares Me Your Political Correctness Offends Me (This appeared with a picture of a Harley chopper motorcycle ridden by a skeleton and is possibly my favorite.) Sons of Arthritis, Ibuprofen Chapter WORN BY ADULTS WHO PROBABLY ALWAYS SAY WHAT THE REST OF US ARE THINKING: “Your IQ test came back negative” “I have multiple personalities and none of them like you” JUST FLAT-OUT FUNNY ONES: “I don’t suffer from stress, I’m a carrier” “My take home pay doesn’t take me home” “I have the right to remain silent; I just don’t have the ability” “I’m not a complete idiot; Some parts are missing” (Written below the picture of a fish skeleton)- “Proud member of the Fillet-and-Release Club” (written below a picture of a running whitetail buck) – “Eat more fast food"

As you’re reading this another Kansas State fair has come and gone, and along with it the smells, both good and bad, the horrendous traffic and the sea of humanity that floods Hutchinson this time each year. 

Yup, there’s no better entertainment for this country boy than the state fair — fond memories, life lessons learned, fine dining and new fashion statements. 

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2019/11/1574696211722.png" alt="Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By STEVE GILLILAND My annual day spent helping at the Kansas Fur Harvesters booth at the Kansas State Fair, showed me once again that there are great life lessons to be learned at the fair. For example, knee-high socks of any color, but especially black, DO NOT go with shorts. If you’re not ready to purchase the last mop, set of cookware or garden-hose nozzle you’ll ever need, DO NOT go through the vender’s buildings, and if your hair doesn’t need fixing or your tennis shoes or glasses need cleaning, avoid the afore mentioned buildings also.And where else but the state fair can you find racing pigs, campers costing more than my house, a guy selling Ecuadorian pan flutes, a chain saw sculpture, hot tubs, mattresses and water softeners all within a stone’s throw of each other. Beneath the grandstand, you’ll find sewing machines sold next to a Chinese massager parlor, and more yard art than you can imagine, including metal sunflowers, tornados fashioned from barbed-wire, dogs made from railroad spikes, frogs made from rebar and bugs built from assorted nuts and bolts with toilet tank floats for abdomens. Then on to the dark and forbidden midway, aptly named because its “midway” between you and your wallet, where shadowy hucksters await behind every tent flap. Here you can throw balls or bat balls, throw darts or throw rings, shoot rifles or shoot baskets, to win anything from framed pictures of Dale Earnhardt and Sponge Bob, to a three-foot stuffed Garfield or a huge inflatable dolphin. And of course, there is the absolute plethora of fair food, where you can find anything imaginable deep fried and/or put on a stick.A great piece of advice from Jeff Foxworthy is “If you’re going somewhere alone, don’t wear a T-shirt that says “I’m Here with Stupid.” I love reading T-shirts people are wearing and boy-howdy, there’s no better place to do that than at a state fair. Here, in no particular order, are my favorite T shirt captions seen at this year’s state fair:The Only Thing that Should Come Between a Hunter and His Meat is Bread 9 out of 10 Bears Surveyed Prefer Campers over S’mores I Believe Every Form of Wildlife has its Place; Right Next to the Mashed Potatoes and Gravy You’ve Read My T-Shirt; That’s Enough Social Interaction for Today I Love My Country, it’s My Government that Scares Me Your Political Correctness Offends Me (This appeared with a picture of a Harley chopper motorcycle ridden by a skeleton and is possibly my favorite.) Sons of Arthritis, Ibuprofen Chapter WORN BY ADULTS WHO PROBABLY ALWAYS SAY WHAT THE REST OF US ARE THINKING: “Your IQ test came back negative” “I have multiple personalities and none of them like you” JUST FLAT-OUT FUNNY ONES: “I don’t suffer from stress, I’m a carrier” “My take home pay doesn’t take me home” “I have the right to remain silent; I just don’t have the ability” “I’m not a complete idiot; Some parts are missing” (Written below the picture of a fish skeleton)- “Proud member of the Fillet-and-Release Club” (written below a picture of a running whitetail buck) – “Eat more fast food"As you’re reading this another Kansas State fair has come and gone, and along with it the smells, both good and bad, the horrendous traffic and the sea of humanity that floods Hutchinson this time each year. Yup, there’s no better entertainment for this country boy than the state fair — fond memories, life lessons learned, fine dining and new fashion statements. Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors!Steve can be contacted by email at stevenrgilliland@gmail.com.

Explore Kansas Outdoors: A Fair Assumption

By MICHAEL A. SMITH Insight Kansas

When Kansas Congresswoman Sharice Davids took office in 2019, her Missouri counterpart Emanuel Cleaver II offered to show her around.&nbsp; 

Apparently wanting to check any potential condescension by the older Cleaver, Davids–a former MMA fighter–responded by offering to show Cleaver how to break someone’s legs. The two Kansas City-area representatives have been friends ever since. Today, it is not legs, but districts being broken.

Following the lead of Texas–and the White House–the Missouri General Assembly just passed a map eliminating the Kansas City-area Fifth District represented by Cleaver, dissolving Kansas City into three, predominantly rural districts, all majority Republican. Voters may still get to have their say on the map, and numerous lawsuits have already been filed.

Two Republican candidates for governor–Jeff Colyer and Ty Masterson–have already come forward in favor of mid-decade redistricting here. The target would be Davids, the only Democrat in the state’s congressional delegation. She represents all of Johnson County, the southern half of Wyandotte County, and all of Miami, Anderson, and Franklin Counties. 

The addition of those three rural counties and removal of northern Wyandotte in 2022 appears to have been an attempt to make Davids’ Third District more Republican, but it did not work.&nbsp;&nbsp;

Davids’ base is in Johnson County.&nbsp; Once a Republican stronghold, JoCo has shifted blue, much like other suburban counties across the nation. Today, not only is JoCo one of the state’s only Democratic-leaning counties, it also avoided the national “red shift” from 2020 to 2024. Kamala Harris’ winning margin there was even higher than Joe Biden’s was, four years earlier.

Any successful redistricting to produce a 4-0 Republican map must break up Johnson County, where it will meet fierce resistance. The Overland Park Chamber of Commerce has already come out against it. 

The map would have to be egregiously gerrymandered, not unlike the new Missouri map, which splits Kansas City along Troost Avenue, the city’s notorious, racial dividing line. In JoCo, the Democrats’ base lies mostly in the older, closer-in suburbs along the borders with Missouri and with Wyandotte County - the interior of the current district.

 A mid-decade gerrymander would have to reach deep into the heart of the county, moving those precincts to a district which wraps around other districts and extends for many miles into Republican-voting, rural parts of the state.

Kansas does not have the same provisions for citizen referenda as Missouri, so putting the law on the ballot for voters to reject is not an option here. However, court challenges would be filed immediately.

The Missouri Fifth is (or was) a minority influence district, where African-Americans do not constitute a majority, but they do have certain legal protections under the Voting Rights Act, upheld by key court rulings.&nbsp; Likewise, Kansas’ Third District is its most diverse. Breaking it up may face scrutiny. 

Critics in Missouri also argue that the state constitution does not even&nbsp;allow&nbsp;mid-decade redistricting, and the same argument could be made here – in court, of course.&nbsp; 

Finally, many rural constituents may not&nbsp;want&nbsp;to share districts with their urban counterparts, fearing a dilution of rural influence in Congress.

Given all the drama that continues to unfold along the state line, Kansans may end up deciding that after all is said and done, mid-decade redistricting just isn’t worth the trouble.&nbsp;

Michael Smith is a professor of political science at Emporia State University.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/7/1751494323778.jpeg" alt="Michael Smith. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Michael Smith. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By MICHAEL A. SMITH Insight Kansas When Kansas Congresswoman Sharice Davids took office in 2019, her Missouri counterpart Emanuel Cleaver II offered to show her around.&nbsp; Apparently wanting to check any potential condescension by the older Cleaver, Davids–a former MMA fighter–responded by offering to show Cleaver how to break someone’s legs. The two Kansas City-area representatives have been friends ever since. Today, it is not legs, but districts being broken.Following the lead of Texas–and the White House–the Missouri General Assembly just passed a map eliminating the Kansas City-area Fifth District represented by Cleaver, dissolving Kansas City into three, predominantly rural districts, all majority Republican. Voters may still get to have their say on the map, and numerous lawsuits have already been filed.Could it happen in Kansas?Two Republican candidates for governor–Jeff Colyer and Ty Masterson–have already come forward in favor of mid-decade redistricting here. The target would be Davids, the only Democrat in the state’s congressional delegation. She represents all of Johnson County, the southern half of Wyandotte County, and all of Miami, Anderson, and Franklin Counties. The addition of those three rural counties and removal of northern Wyandotte in 2022 appears to have been an attempt to make Davids’ Third District more Republican, but it did not work.&nbsp;&nbsp;Davids’ base is in Johnson County.&nbsp; Once a Republican stronghold, JoCo has shifted blue, much like other suburban counties across the nation. Today, not only is JoCo one of the state’s only Democratic-leaning counties, it also avoided the national “red shift” from 2020 to 2024. Kamala Harris’ winning margin there was even higher than Joe Biden’s was, four years earlier.Any successful redistricting to produce a 4-0 Republican map must break up Johnson County, where it will meet fierce resistance. The Overland Park Chamber of Commerce has already come out against it. The map would have to be egregiously gerrymandered, not unlike the new Missouri map, which splits Kansas City along Troost Avenue, the city’s notorious, racial dividing line. In JoCo, the Democrats’ base lies mostly in the older, closer-in suburbs along the borders with Missouri and with Wyandotte County - the interior of the current district. A mid-decade gerrymander would have to reach deep into the heart of the county, moving those precincts to a district which wraps around other districts and extends for many miles into Republican-voting, rural parts of the state.Kansas does not have the same provisions for citizen referenda as Missouri, so putting the law on the ballot for voters to reject is not an option here. However, court challenges would be filed immediately.The Missouri Fifth is (or was) a minority influence district, where African-Americans do not constitute a majority, but they do have certain legal protections under the Voting Rights Act, upheld by key court rulings.&nbsp; Likewise, Kansas’ Third District is its most diverse. Breaking it up may face scrutiny. Critics in Missouri also argue that the state constitution does not even&nbsp;allow&nbsp;mid-decade redistricting, and the same argument could be made here – in court, of course.&nbsp; Finally, many rural constituents may not&nbsp;want&nbsp;to share districts with their urban counterparts, fearing a dilution of rural influence in Congress.Given all the drama that continues to unfold along the state line, Kansans may end up deciding that after all is said and done, mid-decade redistricting just isn’t worth the trouble.&nbsp;Michael Smith is a professor of political science at Emporia State University.

Insight Kansas: What would mid-decade redistricting look like in Kansas?

By STEVE GILLILAND Explore Kansas Outdoors

When it comes to eating habits, raccoons are a lot like teenage boys; they’ll eat anything that smells good, and a lot of things that don’t.

 Common home-grown coon’ baits are marshmallows, jelly beans, peanut butter, barbeque sauce, maple syrup and cream corn. 

There are people raking in the dough selling custom baked pet treats, so a couple years ago, after the Kansas Fur Harvesters convention, I opened the Gilliland Coon’ Bait Test Kitchen, intent on dazzling the trapping world with my coon bait creations.

First order of business was to put on my lab coat and hair and beard net. My brother once ran the R&amp;D department at a brand name dog food plant and had to wear hair and beard nets to guard against getting hair in the dog food, so I thought it only right that I guard against hair in my raccoon bait!

 I needed some early success, so for my first creation I used a jar of product I bought at that year’s trapper’s convention. The jar contained all the flavors and smells the seller used in his raccoon bait; you merely added the jar contents to one pound of dog or cat food. I marched into my woodworking shop-turned-test-kitchen with a bag of Wal-Mart’s cheapest cat food under my arm. 

In a monstrous zip lock bag, I mixed the cat food and the powder in the jar, which smelled sweet and yummy like butterscotch. The whole shop (I mean test kitchen) smelled like butterscotch for three days. It’s good I’m not a sleep walker; I probably would have awakened late that night and found myself eating a bowl of it with milk.

For my second creation I wanted to try a recipe I found on the all-wise, all-knowing internet. 

The base for this recipe was commercial pond fish food. I poured the commercial fish food into a one-gallon ice cream bucket which I placed on the step going into the garage. When I returned a while later, there sat an empty ice cream bucket on the step. It suddenly dawned on me that the bucket was exactly like the one that held the dog food in the pantry for our two small dogs. My wife saw the bucket of fish food on the step, thought it was nice of me to refill it and promptly fed the dogs a bowl of commercial pond fish food! 

No harm done, the ingredients are probably not much different than those in dog food anyway, but then, not only do the dogs love to get a bath, I had to chase them around the sink as they keep swimming away from me!

With a zip lock bag of the fish food and various other ingredients, I entered the SATELLITE test kitchen, aka my wife’s real kitchen. 

This was still a test, so I used just a small amount of the fish pellets, then added mini-marshmallows, molasses and vanilla according to the recipe. I mixed it all together and sealed the bag. It promptly turned to a glob of goo that smelled like my grandmother's ginger cookies times ten, but looked like it had already been eaten once. In my defense, at least it was a palatable kitchen-y smell and didn’t reek of rotten eggs or dirty gym socks like many trapping baits.

I let the concoction marinate for a few days, then decided it was not exactly what a finicky, man-of-the-world raccoon might want to smear all over his face, so I found a bulk food store and came home with butterscotch oil, peppermint oil and anise oil, all of which, by the way are oft-used ingredients in commercially made raccoon bait.

Anise oil smells like black licorice and I decided to play with it first. I opened the jar of the afore-mentioned gingerbread smelling goo and tore off a softball sized chunk, put it into its own container and&nbsp;began adding the anise.

&nbsp;My drum beats to the tune that “more is always better,” so I dumped every last drop from the three tiny bottles into the goo and mixed it as best I could. It was soft and pliable all right but mixing it was like trying to stir something into a volley ball. When I finished, it smelled like an explosion at a black licorice factory, but looked like a bowl of cow brains.

Next was the butterscotch oil. I only had two little bottles of it, so again I ripped off a chunk of the gingerbread goo and added the oil. It actually smelled yummy like a combination of grandma’s cookies and Werther’s candies, but looked no different than the first.

Last but not least was the peppermint oil. Again, I pried off a chunk of the goo and added the peppermint. I intentionally took a big whiff of the oils before adding them to the mix, and the peppermint was the sharpest of the three. It was sweet like peppermint, but almost overpowering. When finally mixed, this last attempt smelled like wonderful sweet wedding mints, but still looked like cow brains.

I’m embarrassed to say that the test kitchen experiments that year were the highlight of the project. The only catch made with my experimental offerings were a few possums; understandable I guess, using bait that looks like cow brains. 

Anyway, it all made for a good story and taught me a lesson………No, it didn’t; I’m sure I’ll try it again some year!

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2019/11/1574696211722.png" alt="Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By STEVE GILLILAND Explore Kansas OutdoorsWhen it comes to eating habits, raccoons are a lot like teenage boys; they’ll eat anything that smells good, and a lot of things that don’t. Common home-grown coon’ baits are marshmallows, jelly beans, peanut butter, barbeque sauce, maple syrup and cream corn. There are people raking in the dough selling custom baked pet treats, so a couple years ago, after the Kansas Fur Harvesters convention, I opened the Gilliland Coon’ Bait Test Kitchen, intent on dazzling the trapping world with my coon bait creations.First order of business was to put on my lab coat and hair and beard net. My brother once ran the R&amp;D department at a brand name dog food plant and had to wear hair and beard nets to guard against getting hair in the dog food, so I thought it only right that I guard against hair in my raccoon bait! I needed some early success, so for my first creation I used a jar of product I bought at that year’s trapper’s convention. The jar contained all the flavors and smells the seller used in his raccoon bait; you merely added the jar contents to one pound of dog or cat food. I marched into my woodworking shop-turned-test-kitchen with a bag of Wal-Mart’s cheapest cat food under my arm. In a monstrous zip lock bag, I mixed the cat food and the powder in the jar, which smelled sweet and yummy like butterscotch. The whole shop (I mean test kitchen) smelled like butterscotch for three days. It’s good I’m not a sleep walker; I probably would have awakened late that night and found myself eating a bowl of it with milk.For my second creation I wanted to try a recipe I found on the all-wise, all-knowing internet. The base for this recipe was commercial pond fish food. I poured the commercial fish food into a one-gallon ice cream bucket which I placed on the step going into the garage. When I returned a while later, there sat an empty ice cream bucket on the step. It suddenly dawned on me that the bucket was exactly like the one that held the dog food in the pantry for our two small dogs. My wife saw the bucket of fish food on the step, thought it was nice of me to refill it and promptly fed the dogs a bowl of commercial pond fish food! No harm done, the ingredients are probably not much different than those in dog food anyway, but then, not only do the dogs love to get a bath, I had to chase them around the sink as they keep swimming away from me!With a zip lock bag of the fish food and various other ingredients, I entered the SATELLITE test kitchen, aka my wife’s real kitchen. This was still a test, so I used just a small amount of the fish pellets, then added mini-marshmallows, molasses and vanilla according to the recipe. I mixed it all together and sealed the bag. It promptly turned to a glob of goo that smelled like my grandmother's ginger cookies times ten, but looked like it had already been eaten once. In my defense, at least it was a palatable kitchen-y smell and didn’t reek of rotten eggs or dirty gym socks like many trapping baits.I let the concoction marinate for a few days, then decided it was not exactly what a finicky, man-of-the-world raccoon might want to smear all over his face, so I found a bulk food store and came home with butterscotch oil, peppermint oil and anise oil, all of which, by the way are oft-used ingredients in commercially made raccoon bait.Anise oil smells like black licorice and I decided to play with it first. I opened the jar of the afore-mentioned gingerbread smelling goo and tore off a softball sized chunk, put it into its own container and&nbsp;began adding the anise.&nbsp;My drum beats to the tune that “more is always better,” so I dumped every last drop from the three tiny bottles into the goo and mixed it as best I could. It was soft and pliable all right but mixing it was like trying to stir something into a volley ball. When I finished, it smelled like an explosion at a black licorice factory, but looked like a bowl of cow brains.Next was the butterscotch oil. I only had two little bottles of it, so again I ripped off a chunk of the gingerbread goo and added the oil. It actually smelled yummy like a combination of grandma’s cookies and Werther’s candies, but looked no different than the first.Last but not least was the peppermint oil. Again, I pried off a chunk of the goo and added the peppermint. I intentionally took a big whiff of the oils before adding them to the mix, and the peppermint was the sharpest of the three. It was sweet like peppermint, but almost overpowering. When finally mixed, this last attempt smelled like wonderful sweet wedding mints, but still looked like cow brains.I’m embarrassed to say that the test kitchen experiments that year were the highlight of the project. The only catch made with my experimental offerings were a few possums; understandable I guess, using bait that looks like cow brains. Anyway, it all made for a good story and taught me a lesson………No, it didn’t; I’m sure I’ll try it again some year! Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors!Steve can be contacted by email at stevenrgilliland@gmail.com.

Explore Kansas Outdoors: The Great Coon’ Bait Caper

By BILL FIANDER Insight Kansas

Poor Elbridge Gerry. He wasn’t even a fan of this. Toeing his party’s line, he approved a newly drawn Boston district that was <a href="https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2024/07/gerrymandering-the-origin-story/">lampooned</a> as a mythological menacing-winged dragon, or salamander.

While a salamander-shaped district helped his party hold onto the legislature, this Bill of Rights father lost his governor’s seat, and forever lent his name to unsavory contorted lines re-drawn for partisan political gain

Thus, gerry-mandered maps were born. Power, perils, and all.

Two hundred thirteen years later, partisan gerrymandering is having another moment. No less than nine Republican-led and Democrat-led states, <a href="https://www.kcur.org/politics-elections-and-government/2025-09-04/kansas-republicans-might-redistrict-to-help-defeat-the-states-only-democrat-in-congress">including Kansas</a>, are actively contemplating <a href="https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2025/08/28/redistricting-between-censuses-has-been-rare-in-the-modern-era/">rare</a> mid-census map changes to congressional districts ahead of next year’s elections; salamanders, pinwheels, Zorros, inkblots, and other odd shapes that only a Rorschach test giver could love will determine control of the U.S. House.

While partisan politics is gratuitously on display in today’s efforts, what is less apparent is what line on a map best serves a representative democracy.

Creation of districts for the House of Representatives was fueled by a fear of tyranny under the constitution; a compromise in our federalist framework that ensured local voices could check the power of a new centralized federal government and president.

But it wasn’t just about the fear of a king’s tyranny or an elite few. Just as important was to prevent a tyranny of the majority. Minority rights in religion, political parties, property, press, commerce, ancestry, etc. had to withstand a majority’s trampling if the newfound freedoms were to mean anything.

To that end, lines on House maps reflected non-partisan coherent geographies of common interest that could elevate the influence of minority groups politically. They represented fisherman, farmers, coalminers, mountain regions, religions, racial/ethnic neighborhoods, and any sub-set of population geography brought together.

Natural boundaries – city/county limits, rivers, major roads, rail, mountains, public universities, etc. – bonded those interests instead of political party. Within those geographies of common interests, political parties vied to become the voice of those interests through ideologies and lawmaking.

But we don’t live in that world anymore, do we?

Unless states say otherwise, splitting geographies of common interest for pure partisan gain is legal after <a href="https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/18pdf/18-422_9ol1.pdf">Rucho v. Common Cause </a>(2019). Most states, including Kansas, do not prohibit the practice.

AI mapmaking algorithms can spit out thousands of district options in the blink of an eye. Flipping 10%-20% (25% in Kansas) of a state’s congressional seats at the touch of a button is an intoxicating power unlike any other tool available that stacks the partisan deck.

In this world, parties have become the common interest; not people, natural resources, schools, local economies, drinking water, or air sheds. The political tail wagging the proverbial geographic dog. A shape that ironically comes to mind when looking at the gerrymandered Kansas congressional district 1 barking from Lawrence to Colorado.

Left to current devices, it doesn’t. Johnson County beware. In Kansas, state voters are not in charge. Legislators are. Courts to a degree. Even the last protected domain under the Voting Rights Act – racial gerrymandering – has a target on its back (<a href="https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/24pdf/24-109_l53m.pdf">Louisiana v. Callais</a>).

What do we really want out of re-districting? Competitive races? Partisan fairness? Respect for common geographies? All three? Technology can map whatever weighted parameters “we” want.

But until voters in Kansas and other states send a message, “we” are all racing to the bottom lampooning the very foundations of a representative democracy.

Bill Fiander is a university lecturer at Washburn University, Topeka, specializing in public administration, urban planning, and state/local government.&nbsp;&nbsp;

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/9/1757520322866.jpeg" alt="Bill Fiander. Photo by Megan Martin" />
 <figcaption>Bill Fiander. Photo by Megan Martin</figcaption>
 </figure>By BILL FIANDER Insight KansasPoor Elbridge Gerry. He wasn’t even a fan of this. Toeing his party’s line, he approved a newly drawn Boston district that was <a href="https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2024/07/gerrymandering-the-origin-story/">lampooned</a> as a mythological menacing-winged dragon, or salamander.While a salamander-shaped district helped his party hold onto the legislature, this Bill of Rights father lost his governor’s seat, and forever lent his name to unsavory contorted lines re-drawn for partisan political gainThus, gerry-mandered maps were born. Power, perils, and all.Two hundred thirteen years later, partisan gerrymandering is having another moment. No less than nine Republican-led and Democrat-led states, <a href="https://www.kcur.org/politics-elections-and-government/2025-09-04/kansas-republicans-might-redistrict-to-help-defeat-the-states-only-democrat-in-congress">including Kansas</a>, are actively contemplating <a href="https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2025/08/28/redistricting-between-censuses-has-been-rare-in-the-modern-era/">rare</a> mid-census map changes to congressional districts ahead of next year’s elections; salamanders, pinwheels, Zorros, inkblots, and other odd shapes that only a Rorschach test giver could love will determine control of the U.S. House.While partisan politics is gratuitously on display in today’s efforts, what is less apparent is what line on a map best serves a representative democracy.Creation of districts for the House of Representatives was fueled by a fear of tyranny under the constitution; a compromise in our federalist framework that ensured local voices could check the power of a new centralized federal government and president.But it wasn’t just about the fear of a king’s tyranny or an elite few. Just as important was to prevent a tyranny of the majority. Minority rights in religion, political parties, property, press, commerce, ancestry, etc. had to withstand a majority’s trampling if the newfound freedoms were to mean anything.To that end, lines on House maps reflected non-partisan coherent geographies of common interest that could elevate the influence of minority groups politically. They represented fisherman, farmers, coalminers, mountain regions, religions, racial/ethnic neighborhoods, and any sub-set of population geography brought together.Natural boundaries – city/county limits, rivers, major roads, rail, mountains, public universities, etc. – bonded those interests instead of political party. Within those geographies of common interests, political parties vied to become the voice of those interests through ideologies and lawmaking.But we don’t live in that world anymore, do we?Unless states say otherwise, splitting geographies of common interest for pure partisan gain is legal after <a href="https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/18pdf/18-422_9ol1.pdf">Rucho v. Common Cause </a>(2019). Most states, including Kansas, do not prohibit the practice.AI mapmaking algorithms can spit out thousands of district options in the blink of an eye. Flipping 10%-20% (25% in Kansas) of a state’s congressional seats at the touch of a button is an intoxicating power unlike any other tool available that stacks the partisan deck.In this world, parties have become the common interest; not people, natural resources, schools, local economies, drinking water, or air sheds. The political tail wagging the proverbial geographic dog. A shape that ironically comes to mind when looking at the gerrymandered Kansas congressional district 1 barking from Lawrence to Colorado.Where does this end?Left to current devices, it doesn’t. Johnson County beware. In Kansas, state voters are not in charge. Legislators are. Courts to a degree. Even the last protected domain under the Voting Rights Act – racial gerrymandering – has a target on its back (<a href="https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/24pdf/24-109_l53m.pdf">Louisiana v. Callais</a>).What do we really want out of re-districting? Competitive races? Partisan fairness? Respect for common geographies? All three? Technology can map whatever weighted parameters “we” want.But until voters in Kansas and other states send a message, “we” are all racing to the bottom lampooning the very foundations of a representative democracy.Bill Fiander is a university lecturer at Washburn University, Topeka, specializing in public administration, urban planning, and state/local government.&nbsp;&nbsp;

Insight Kansas: Lines on a map: A race to the gerrymandered bottom

By KAREN MADORIN Hays Post

You’d think a gal who’s celebrated 70 summers would know bumble and honey bees are very different creatures. 

Both are bees but live entirely different lifestyles. Compare them to city and rural residents or people from Alaska and Florida. Until recently, I never considered their differences other than to note one was fuzzier and bigger.

Because we planted more flowers this year, scores more bumble bees zip through our airways, flitting from one blossom to another. Numbers increased enough we may need bee traffic control to prevent wrecks. 

That observation awakened the one time four-year-old-me full of questions needing answers. What do they eat, where do they live, are they like honey bees only bigger, and so on. Once my curiosity fired up, I scoured one article after another to learn these unique creatures are very different from honey bees that share their territory.

Honey bees are smaller with lighter coloring. Often, over a thousand live year-round in above ground hives either man-made or bee-constructed and filled with complex hexagonal wax combs designed to store honey. This labor-intensive lifestyle ensures colonies survive winters to emerge each spring. 

Workers and drones specialize in collecting pollen and nectar, organizing tidy hives and combs, and nurturing expanding populations. It can take seven or more honey bees to harvest nectar from one flower. To succeed, colonies must function as a fine-tuned organization.

Bumble bees, larger, fuzzier, and more intensely colored than honey bees operate with an entirely different mindset. Their colonies are much smaller than honey bees’. As few as 20 to possibly 400 share a hive. Drones and workers live only one season and die before winter. Only the queen survives 'til the next year so bumble bee hives exist for only one season. 

The queen doesn’t over-winter at that site. She scouts a sheltered location where she hibernates and incubates fertilized eggs 'til emerging the following spring. She then establishes a new hive in either a log or tree cavity or in an abandoned animal hole in the ground, lays eggs, and collects enough pollen to get that first hatch started.

The initial emergents are all female and once mature, care for the following hatches which turn into drones and worker bees. Bumble bees make honey, but since they don’t live through the winter, they don’t store it. They produce enough to survive from week to week, tucking it in little wax pots stashed around comb-less, disorganized hives.

Only females sting, and unlike honey bees, they don’t lose their stinger after they use it so they can wreak havoc again. 

Males have no stinger so outdoor-lovers who can identify carriers of XY chromosomes can relax when sizable, fuzzy, yellow and black dudes do a fly-by. No squealing or evasive tactics necessary.

Where it takes multiple honey bees to harvest pollen and nectar from a flower, bumble bees are more efficient. One latches onto a blossom’s anther and flaps its wings. The resulting vibration loosens pollen so the bee can harvest it, or it pollinates nearby blossoms. One researcher mentioned greenhouses utilize bumble bees to increase tomato production.

Some humans earn specialized degrees to learn everything possible about bumble bees. I prefer to watch them vibrating my flowers. 

That said, I enjoyed the time I spent unearthing facts I should have known years ago.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2022/7/1658158626307.png" alt="Karen Madorin. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Karen Madorin. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By KAREN MADORIN Hays PostYou’d think a gal who’s celebrated 70 summers would know bumble and honey bees are very different creatures. Both are bees but live entirely different lifestyles. Compare them to city and rural residents or people from Alaska and Florida. Until recently, I never considered their differences other than to note one was fuzzier and bigger.Because we planted more flowers this year, scores more bumble bees zip through our airways, flitting from one blossom to another. Numbers increased enough we may need bee traffic control to prevent wrecks. That observation awakened the one time four-year-old-me full of questions needing answers. What do they eat, where do they live, are they like honey bees only bigger, and so on. Once my curiosity fired up, I scoured one article after another to learn these unique creatures are very different from honey bees that share their territory.<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/9/1757439651483.jpeg" alt="Photo by Karen Madorin" />
 <figcaption>Photo by Karen Madorin</figcaption>
 </figure>Honey bees are smaller with lighter coloring. Often, over a thousand live year-round in above ground hives either man-made or bee-constructed and filled with complex hexagonal wax combs designed to store honey. This labor-intensive lifestyle ensures colonies survive winters to emerge each spring. Workers and drones specialize in collecting pollen and nectar, organizing tidy hives and combs, and nurturing expanding populations. It can take seven or more honey bees to harvest nectar from one flower. To succeed, colonies must function as a fine-tuned organization.<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/9/1757439614520.jpeg" alt="Photo by Karen Madorin" />
 <figcaption>Photo by Karen Madorin</figcaption>
 </figure>Bumble bees, larger, fuzzier, and more intensely colored than honey bees operate with an entirely different mindset. Their colonies are much smaller than honey bees’. As few as 20 to possibly 400 share a hive. Drones and workers live only one season and die before winter. Only the queen survives 'til the next year so bumble bee hives exist for only one season. The queen doesn’t over-winter at that site. She scouts a sheltered location where she hibernates and incubates fertilized eggs 'til emerging the following spring. She then establishes a new hive in either a log or tree cavity or in an abandoned animal hole in the ground, lays eggs, and collects enough pollen to get that first hatch started.The initial emergents are all female and once mature, care for the following hatches which turn into drones and worker bees. Bumble bees make honey, but since they don’t live through the winter, they don’t store it. They produce enough to survive from week to week, tucking it in little wax pots stashed around comb-less, disorganized hives.Only females sting, and unlike honey bees, they don’t lose their stinger after they use it so they can wreak havoc again. Males have no stinger so outdoor-lovers who can identify carriers of XY chromosomes can relax when sizable, fuzzy, yellow and black dudes do a fly-by. No squealing or evasive tactics necessary.Where it takes multiple honey bees to harvest pollen and nectar from a flower, bumble bees are more efficient. One latches onto a blossom’s anther and flaps its wings. The resulting vibration loosens pollen so the bee can harvest it, or it pollinates nearby blossoms. One researcher mentioned greenhouses utilize bumble bees to increase tomato production.Some humans earn specialized degrees to learn everything possible about bumble bees. I prefer to watch them vibrating my flowers. That said, I enjoyed the time I spent unearthing facts I should have known years ago.Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.

MADORIN: Things I ought to know

By MARK R. JOSLYN Insight Kansas

West of Salina, on the way to Colorado, I saw them for the first time, towering over the plains, their immense blades turning in slow rhythmic circles. I was excited to see them, their sheer size awe inspiring.

My excitement, however, mixed with concern as the giant machines changed the quiet vastness of the open prairie into something commercial, even industrial.

Twenty years later, having passed by hundreds more – they’ve multiplied at a startling pace – my feelings about them haven’t settled.&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://cleanview.co/wind-farms/kansas">Fifty-one</a>&nbsp;utility scale windfarms are now scattered across 36 counties, most&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://experience.arcgis.com/experience/f37701d386824345951016dc61859057">west</a>&nbsp;of Wichita but more appearing in the northeast and southeast regions.&nbsp;

Wind developers require forty to seventy&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://todayshomeowner.com/eco-friendly/guides/how-much-space-does-a-wind-turbine-need/">acres</a>&nbsp;per turbine. &nbsp;Farms with a hundred or more turbines thus span thousands of acres.&nbsp;There are nearly&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.chooseenergy.com/data-center/wind-generation-by-state/">4,500 turbines</a>&nbsp;ranging from 213 ft. tall to the hub, 323 ft. with blades 323 ft., at the state’s first wind farm in Gray County, to newer models reaching 374 ft. to the hub, 514 ft. with blades, at Prairie Queen in Allen County.&nbsp;

For reference, the Kansas State Capitol Building is 304 ft., the Statue of Liberty 305 ft.&nbsp;

Wind power accounts for&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://windexchange.energy.gov/states/ks#capacity">47 percent</a>&nbsp;of the state’s electricity, a dramatic rise from less than 20 percent a decade ago.&nbsp;More wind power means less coal and natural gas.&nbsp;It also means&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://energiesmedia.com/why-kansas-wind-farms-are-changing-the-face-of-rural-farming-2025-guide/">compensation</a>&nbsp;for landowners and employment opportunities for area residents. Plus, wind farms support local communities through taxes, supplying counties with steady income to improve infrastructure and fund schools. And compared to traditional sources, wind energy delivers cheaper electricity.

Wind farms divide communities, separating those who profit from those that do not. They cause heated disputes over zoning laws, especially setback requirements, noise levels, and environmental compliance. Other concerns include light pollution, property values, shadow flicker, transmission lines, and rural aesthetics.&nbsp;

I get it, renewable energy takes on a different meaning with a turbine whirling nearby. To paraphrase a Douglas County&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cp1xzMt5vOM">resident</a>: “I’m for clean power projects, just put them somewhere else.”&nbsp;

NIMBYism (not in my backyard) is a real barrier to wind expansion, especially in the populated eastern counties. 

In response to a permit request, Franklin County enacted a temporary moratorium on wind development. Douglas County residents successfully&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://kaninfo.com/news/tougher-proposed-wind-farm-regs-but-douglas-county-opponents-say-deck-still-stacked-against-them/">lobbied</a>&nbsp;for more stringent regulations that stalled a windfarm proposal. Shawnee, Harvey, and Linn counties have recently banned wind projects. About a fifth of Kansas&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.kcur.org/news/2025-01-13/ku-research-suggests-wind-power-isnt-a-red-vs-blue-issue-in-kansas">counties</a>&nbsp;prohibit new wind installations, many in sensitive areas of the Flint Hills. Governors from both parties have issued executive orders to protect Flint Hills from wind developers.

The Trump administration’s recent efforts to&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.politico.com/news/2025/07/16/interior-requires-burgum-sign-off-for-solar-wind-projects-00458999">slow</a>&nbsp;wind power introduces further complications, likely politicizing what had been a&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://lawrencekstimes.com/2025/01/15/ku-research-wind-divide/">nonpartisan</a>&nbsp;issue in Kansas.

Currently, the fragmented system of local regulations enables developers to capitalize on the financial vulnerabilities of&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.khi.org/articles/how-rural-counties-can-shape-wind-energy-and-emerging-role-of-public-health/">counties</a>&nbsp;and landowners.

Perhaps statewide standards could lead to a more equitable distribution of wind power’s impacts. Yet limiting local control raises its own set of thorny issues. 

I am still awed by the turbines and still unsettled. I wonder how many is enough. How tall will they get? Where will they go? Chances are development stays west, and in places Kansans rarely visit but where in fact the burdens of wind energy are felt the most.

Dr. Mark R. Joslyn is a professor of political science at the University of Kansas.&nbsp;

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2024/3/1709742204657.jpeg" alt="Buckeye wind turbines. File photo" />
 <figcaption>Buckeye wind turbines. File photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By MARK R. JOSLYN Insight KansasWest of Salina, on the way to Colorado, I saw them for the first time, towering over the plains, their immense blades turning in slow rhythmic circles. I was excited to see them, their sheer size awe inspiring.My excitement, however, mixed with concern as the giant machines changed the quiet vastness of the open prairie into something commercial, even industrial.Twenty years later, having passed by hundreds more – they’ve multiplied at a startling pace – my feelings about them haven’t settled.&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://cleanview.co/wind-farms/kansas">Fifty-one</a>&nbsp;utility scale windfarms are now scattered across 36 counties, most&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://experience.arcgis.com/experience/f37701d386824345951016dc61859057">west</a>&nbsp;of Wichita but more appearing in the northeast and southeast regions.&nbsp;Wind developers require forty to seventy&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://todayshomeowner.com/eco-friendly/guides/how-much-space-does-a-wind-turbine-need/">acres</a>&nbsp;per turbine. &nbsp;Farms with a hundred or more turbines thus span thousands of acres.&nbsp;There are nearly&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.chooseenergy.com/data-center/wind-generation-by-state/">4,500 turbines</a>&nbsp;ranging from 213 ft. tall to the hub, 323 ft. with blades 323 ft., at the state’s first wind farm in Gray County, to newer models reaching 374 ft. to the hub, 514 ft. with blades, at Prairie Queen in Allen County.&nbsp;For reference, the Kansas State Capitol Building is 304 ft., the Statue of Liberty 305 ft.&nbsp; Wind power accounts for&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://windexchange.energy.gov/states/ks#capacity">47 percent</a>&nbsp;of the state’s electricity, a dramatic rise from less than 20 percent a decade ago.&nbsp;More wind power means less coal and natural gas.&nbsp;It also means&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://energiesmedia.com/why-kansas-wind-farms-are-changing-the-face-of-rural-farming-2025-guide/">compensation</a>&nbsp;for landowners and employment opportunities for area residents. Plus, wind farms support local communities through taxes, supplying counties with steady income to improve infrastructure and fund schools. And compared to traditional sources, wind energy delivers cheaper electricity. Even so, resistance is building.&nbsp;Wind farms divide communities, separating those who profit from those that do not. They cause heated disputes over zoning laws, especially setback requirements, noise levels, and environmental compliance. Other concerns include light pollution, property values, shadow flicker, transmission lines, and rural aesthetics.&nbsp;I get it, renewable energy takes on a different meaning with a turbine whirling nearby. To paraphrase a Douglas County&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cp1xzMt5vOM">resident</a>: “I’m for clean power projects, just put them somewhere else.”&nbsp;NIMBYism (not in my backyard) is a real barrier to wind expansion, especially in the populated eastern counties. In response to a permit request, Franklin County enacted a temporary moratorium on wind development. Douglas County residents successfully&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://kaninfo.com/news/tougher-proposed-wind-farm-regs-but-douglas-county-opponents-say-deck-still-stacked-against-them/">lobbied</a>&nbsp;for more stringent regulations that stalled a windfarm proposal. Shawnee, Harvey, and Linn counties have recently banned wind projects. About a fifth of Kansas&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.kcur.org/news/2025-01-13/ku-research-suggests-wind-power-isnt-a-red-vs-blue-issue-in-kansas">counties</a>&nbsp;prohibit new wind installations, many in sensitive areas of the Flint Hills. Governors from both parties have issued executive orders to protect Flint Hills from wind developers. The Trump administration’s recent efforts to&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.politico.com/news/2025/07/16/interior-requires-burgum-sign-off-for-solar-wind-projects-00458999">slow</a>&nbsp;wind power introduces further complications, likely politicizing what had been a&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://lawrencekstimes.com/2025/01/15/ku-research-wind-divide/">nonpartisan</a>&nbsp;issue in Kansas. Currently, the fragmented system of local regulations enables developers to capitalize on the financial vulnerabilities of&nbsp;<a target="_blank" href="https://www.khi.org/articles/how-rural-counties-can-shape-wind-energy-and-emerging-role-of-public-health/">counties</a>&nbsp;and landowners. Perhaps statewide standards could lead to a more equitable distribution of wind power’s impacts. Yet limiting local control raises its own set of thorny issues. I am still awed by the turbines and still unsettled. I wonder how many is enough. How tall will they get? Where will they go? Chances are development stays west, and in places Kansans rarely visit but where in fact the burdens of wind energy are felt the most.Dr. Mark R. Joslyn is a professor of political science at the University of Kansas.&nbsp;

Insight Kansas: Mixed emotions about wind turbines?  You’re not alone 

By KAREN MADORIN Hays Post

Kevin Costner’s character Ray in Field of Dreams listened to a mysterious voice repeating, “If you build it, they will come.” 

Against others’ advice, that farmer sacrificed a cornfield to construct a baseball diamond in the middle of Iowa farm country. If you watched this film, you know Shoeless Joe Jackson, members of the banned 1919 Black Sox team, and others show up to play some spirited baseball.

I love that concept. If you listen to good advice and prepare, adventure begins. In my case, the result wasn’t mystical, but it was rewarding. 

An insect-loving biologist advised me to garden not only to produce food but also to support butterflies. I’d written previously about adding rows of dill and fennel to my garden. Through her encouragement, I took another step—I interspersed flowers and herbs.

I planted fennel and dill amongst zinnias, larkspur, Indian blanket, bachelor buttons, and marigolds. Over the summer, a visitor would ask about that that ferny-looking stuff that smells like licorice.

Friends also remarked on dill thriving in that flowerbed.

“ Yes, that’s dill. No, not making pickles. I’m growing butterflies.”

Yes. Specifically, swallowtails. Their caterpillars devour dill, parsley, and fennel. Each spring either stunning yellow and black winged or black highlighted with blue and yellow winged creatures sipped nectar from lilacs, lilies, roses, and other summer blossoms. Then they mated and produced eggs. 

Because I followed my friend’s advice and planted to attract more brilliant-colored pollinators, I counted scores of funny looking caterpillars hatching from that summer’s efforts.

When gardeners provide host plants, adult female swallowtails lay yellow eggs on the leaves. After incubating, these tiny deposits hatch into segmented creatures dressed in vivid green adorned by yellow, black, and white stripes, dots, and dashes. 

This developmental stage camouflages pillowy caterpillars from voracious birds, but humans can easily spot these summer residents munching lacy leaves. If you don’t see them, you’ll know they’re busy digesting when you notice healthy poopers dotting soil and landscape rocks beneath garden greenery.

Before that year’s experiment, I was happy to see two or three ugly bugs in clown dress each summer. After adding additional fennel, parsley, and dill plants, I counted growing numbers of puffy, segmented caterpillars chomping foliage. One memorable morning, I counted more than two score of these future butterflies gobbling fennel fronds.

Blessings require patience, so I waited—and waited—and waited to watch these caterpillars transition into pupas. 

Despite researching the process, I wasn’t sure how this worked. I didn’t understand how these insects moved from feasting grounds to the site where they’d morph into a neutral-colored chrysalis. This was a live and learn lesson. Then I waited through fall and winter before seeing butterflies emerge and fill the sky as temperatures warmed and yards greened.

Not every egg that made it to caterpillar stage survived transitioning to a butterfly. Despite those losses, vivid yellow and black swallowtails pirouetted above my front flowerbed that following spring. All that fennel, parsley, and dill multiplied as well, so the current homeowners will enjoy butterflies forever more.

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2025/8/1756478831200.jpeg" alt="Caterpillars. Photo by Karen Madorin" />
 <figcaption>Caterpillars. Photo by Karen Madorin</figcaption>
 </figure>By KAREN MADORIN Hays PostKevin Costner’s character Ray in Field of Dreams listened to a mysterious voice repeating, “If you build it, they will come.” Against others’ advice, that farmer sacrificed a cornfield to construct a baseball diamond in the middle of Iowa farm country. If you watched this film, you know Shoeless Joe Jackson, members of the banned 1919 Black Sox team, and others show up to play some spirited baseball.I love that concept. If you listen to good advice and prepare, adventure begins. In my case, the result wasn’t mystical, but it was rewarding. An insect-loving biologist advised me to garden not only to produce food but also to support butterflies. I’d written previously about adding rows of dill and fennel to my garden. Through her encouragement, I took another step—I interspersed flowers and herbs.I planted fennel and dill amongst zinnias, larkspur, Indian blanket, bachelor buttons, and marigolds. Over the summer, a visitor would ask about that that ferny-looking stuff that smells like licorice.“That’s fennel.”Friends also remarked on dill thriving in that flowerbed.“ Yes, that’s dill. No, not making pickles. I’m growing butterflies.”“Butterflies?”Yes. Specifically, swallowtails. Their caterpillars devour dill, parsley, and fennel. Each spring either stunning yellow and black winged or black highlighted with blue and yellow winged creatures sipped nectar from lilacs, lilies, roses, and other summer blossoms. Then they mated and produced eggs. Because I followed my friend’s advice and planted to attract more brilliant-colored pollinators, I counted scores of funny looking caterpillars hatching from that summer’s efforts.When gardeners provide host plants, adult female swallowtails lay yellow eggs on the leaves. After incubating, these tiny deposits hatch into segmented creatures dressed in vivid green adorned by yellow, black, and white stripes, dots, and dashes. This developmental stage camouflages pillowy caterpillars from voracious birds, but humans can easily spot these summer residents munching lacy leaves. If you don’t see them, you’ll know they’re busy digesting when you notice healthy poopers dotting soil and landscape rocks beneath garden greenery.Before that year’s experiment, I was happy to see two or three ugly bugs in clown dress each summer. After adding additional fennel, parsley, and dill plants, I counted growing numbers of puffy, segmented caterpillars chomping foliage. One memorable morning, I counted more than two score of these future butterflies gobbling fennel fronds.Blessings require patience, so I waited—and waited—and waited to watch these caterpillars transition into pupas. Despite researching the process, I wasn’t sure how this worked. I didn’t understand how these insects moved from feasting grounds to the site where they’d morph into a neutral-colored chrysalis. This was a live and learn lesson. Then I waited through fall and winter before seeing butterflies emerge and fill the sky as temperatures warmed and yards greened.Not every egg that made it to caterpillar stage survived transitioning to a butterfly. Despite those losses, vivid yellow and black swallowtails pirouetted above my front flowerbed that following spring. All that fennel, parsley, and dill multiplied as well, so the current homeowners will enjoy butterflies forever more.Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.

MADORIN: If you plant it, they will come

Do you ever contemplate the things you’ve done that leave you wondering why you weren’t killed doing them? One such incident always comes to my mind this time of year.

Maybe I enjoy setting lines for catfish because it reminds me of trapping, which is my passion. Or, maybe I just like fresh catfish. 

Anyway, many years ago shortly after moving to Kansas, I went with my brother-in-law and some of his buddies to set bank lines for catfish on the Smoky Hill River near the little town of Bridgeport. 

It was to be an overnight trip, and we camped in an alfalfa field near the river. The “Smoky” was very high due to recent heavy rains to our north. The big channel and flathead catfish hide and wait for prey in deep holes around bends and beneath banks and high water brings them out to move around, so “bank liners” relish these occasional times of high water during the dog days of summer.

The plan was to set and bait lines late in the evening, then to check them around midnight and again at first light. One of the guys had borrowed a small aluminum boat and outboard motor, which barely held the five of us with lines, bait, etc. As high and swift as the river was running, the boat and motor were necessary as well as convenient.

As we set the lines, we looked for the aforementioned deep holes near the bank or under logs, with a tree limb or log on which to fasten a line. The lines were made of heavy cord like trotline, with large hooks tied onto one end. They were baited with live goldfish, lowered to the bottom, then tied onto a green springy branch or fastened with a rubber bungee cord to help keep a large fish from pulling the hook from its mouth. By nightfall, several lines were set, baited, and marked and the plan was on schedule.

Around midnight, after numerous campfire roasted hotdogs and very little sleep, we all piled into our tiny yacht and set off to check the lines, which were all downstream from camp. We motored beyond the farthest line, then turned and began to travel upstream against the current, but the boat soon stopped moving forward and started drifting backwards with the raging river. 

Someone grabbed the first passing limb and held on while the guy with the headlamp climbed to the back of the boat, jostling and rocking the tiny craft as he went. The motor was tilted from the water and inspected, but after finding nothing wrong, it was lowered into the water for another try and we were soon moving forward again. 

After a short distance, the problem reoccurred, this time with a much different outcome. As the motor was tilted from the water, an expletive or two informed us that the propeller, a major component in our forward movement, was missing from the motor. Our only option was to drift with the river until we reached a road where the boat could be beached and later retrieved by pickup. 

The night was still and very dark, and it was a quiet ride in more ways than one. Our man with the light was in front of the boat, and we could see raccoon eyes and other eerie sights as he panned back and forth along the bank. A heron scared the tar out of us all as it rose from the water just ahead. Finally the boat was beached beneath a bridge and retrieved by pickup after a long walk back to camp. The night had been an experience, but the real adventure, checking the lines on a boiling river with no motor, awaited us at first light.

As I remember, the August morning seemed to come earlier than most, and was clear, hot and steamy. The plan was to launch the boat upstream somewhere beyond the farthest&nbsp;line, then attempt to reach each one as we steamed past with the current.

&nbsp;With either the bravery of crusaders or the ignorance of youth, we were soon off and bouncing on the rolling river. The fellow with the sharpest eyes was up front, and as he saw each bank line approaching, the rest of us paddled like slaves to reach shore. Someone would grab hold of anything available and attempt to hold the boat, while the line was checked and retrieved, then the “anchorman” would release us to be swept on to the next one. 

<figure>
 <img src="https://media.eaglewebservices.com/public/2019/11/1574696211722.png" alt="Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo" />
 <figcaption>Steve Gilliland. Courtesy photo</figcaption>
 </figure>By STEVE GILLILAND Explore Kansas OutdoorsDo you ever contemplate the things you’ve done that leave you wondering why you weren’t killed doing them? One such incident always comes to my mind this time of year.Maybe I enjoy setting lines for catfish because it reminds me of trapping, which is my passion. Or, maybe I just like fresh catfish. Anyway, many years ago shortly after moving to Kansas, I went with my brother-in-law and some of his buddies to set bank lines for catfish on the Smoky Hill River near the little town of Bridgeport. It was to be an overnight trip, and we camped in an alfalfa field near the river. The “Smoky” was very high due to recent heavy rains to our north. The big channel and flathead catfish hide and wait for prey in deep holes around bends and beneath banks and high water brings them out to move around, so “bank liners” relish these occasional times of high water during the dog days of summer.The plan was to set and bait lines late in the evening, then to check them around midnight and again at first light. One of the guys had borrowed a small aluminum boat and outboard motor, which barely held the five of us with lines, bait, etc. As high and swift as the river was running, the boat and motor were necessary as well as convenient.As we set the lines, we looked for the aforementioned deep holes near the bank or under logs, with a tree limb or log on which to fasten a line. The lines were made of heavy cord like trotline, with large hooks tied onto one end. They were baited with live goldfish, lowered to the bottom, then tied onto a green springy branch or fastened with a rubber bungee cord to help keep a large fish from pulling the hook from its mouth. By nightfall, several lines were set, baited, and marked and the plan was on schedule.Around midnight, after numerous campfire roasted hotdogs and very little sleep, we all piled into our tiny yacht and set off to check the lines, which were all downstream from camp. We motored beyond the farthest line, then turned and began to travel upstream against the current, but the boat soon stopped moving forward and started drifting backwards with the raging river. Someone grabbed the first passing limb and held on while the guy with the headlamp climbed to the back of the boat, jostling and rocking the tiny craft as he went. The motor was tilted from the water and inspected, but after finding nothing wrong, it was lowered into the water for another try and we were soon moving forward again. After a short distance, the problem reoccurred, this time with a much different outcome. As the motor was tilted from the water, an expletive or two informed us that the propeller, a major component in our forward movement, was missing from the motor. Our only option was to drift with the river until we reached a road where the boat could be beached and later retrieved by pickup. The night was still and very dark, and it was a quiet ride in more ways than one. Our man with the light was in front of the boat, and we could see raccoon eyes and other eerie sights as he panned back and forth along the bank. A heron scared the tar out of us all as it rose from the water just ahead. Finally the boat was beached beneath a bridge and retrieved by pickup after a long walk back to camp. The night had been an experience, but the real adventure, checking the lines on a boiling river with no motor, awaited us at first light.As I remember, the August morning seemed to come earlier than most, and was clear, hot and steamy. The plan was to launch the boat upstream somewhere beyond the farthest&nbsp;line, then attempt to reach each one as we steamed past with the current.&nbsp;With either the bravery of crusaders or the ignorance of youth, we were soon off and bouncing on the rolling river. The fellow with the sharpest eyes was up front, and as he saw each bank line approaching, the rest of us paddled like slaves to reach shore. Someone would grab hold of anything available and attempt to hold the boat, while the line was checked and retrieved, then the “anchorman” would release us to be swept on to the next one. The closest call came in the form of a huge cottonwood tree, totally intact with green leaves and all, lying across the river ahead. Despite our valiant paddling, the current sent us squarely through the middle of the tree, and as forward movement ceased, the seething river snapped the boat sideways and began to roll it over. We must have looked like monkeys in a mango tree as we all scrambled to break branches and get our little war canoe righted again! Then once more, whether by bravery or by ignorance, we were soon free and moving. Huck Finn would have been proud! The rest of the trip must have been reasonably docile, because the next memories I have are all about helping clean several nice channel cats and a couple respectable flathead catfish.I’m pretty sure all of us can look back today and agree that this adventure was ill advised. Someone has said, “A good scare is worth more to a man than good advice.” Today, I would opt for the good advice, but back then those thoughts were probably trumped by each bite of fresh catfish.Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors.Steve can be contacted by email at stevenrgilliland@gmail.com.

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