Happy Friday you beautiful otters, Spiess in the Morning broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp in the heart of the North Star State.
I apologize for missing yesterday’s show, the song writing muse has overtaken my existence as I continue to put pen to paper, finger to keys and chunk away.
Here’s a few thoughts I wrote for yesterday because it was National Tattoo Day—a celebration of skin and soul, of stories written not in diaries but in dermis.
For some, a tattoo is decoration. For others, it’s declaration. And for many—maybe you, maybe me—it’s a monument. A timestamp of heartache, survival, love, rebellion, or something so personal there’s no word in the dictionary to match it.
I have none. Was close twice or three time, but the permanent action of a commitment got in the way. I still wrestle with that demon. Did I chicken out. Was it peer pressure? But where I usually land is fear of the future. Would my tattoo be acceptible in society in 20 years? Would people still think a donut wrapped around my bicep with pink frosting and sprinkles be cool in the year 2029?
That was my tattoo. A Simpson’s style donut around my bicep as a way to show my admiration for the show as well as show every person with razor wire around their biceps how Homer and I roll.
Confession time. I still think about getting that pink frosting tattoo every month too. It’s not a regret, because I only have one regret and that’s not it, it’s more of a disappointment in my vanity and confidence I guess. It’s not a hill I spend too much time on, but it’s a real thought and memory of growth that still pops by for sure.
Tattoos mark milestones. A date, a name, a phrase… sometimes in bold block letters, sometimes in barely-there script. They tell of first loves, last goodbyes, new beginnings. They whisper about brothers lost to war, mothers lost to time, or the child you never got to meet. And they shout about freedom. About owning your story, even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.
But ink isn’t always celebration. Sometimes it’s camouflage. A way to cover internal pain with external pain. A rite of passage where the needle becomes a pen, and your skin becomes the paper. And for a few silent hours, pain becomes purpose. Focus. Survival. Catharsis. We bury memories under skulls, roses, anchors, wings—until one day, years later, we look into the mirror and see beneath the blues, beneath the blacks and reds, and realize… we’re still healing.
And yet, that’s the beauty of it. Tattoos can become ticking time bombs of repressed emotion. They sit quiet for years. Then one day, something stirs—a memory, a smell, a name—and suddenly that little sparrow on your wrist or those coordinates on your ribcage begin to hum. They wake you up. They remind you where you were. Who you were. And how far you’ve come.
Ink liberates. It allows judgment to surface—and lets us confront it. Not just from others, but from ourselves. It challenges us to carry our decisions proudly, even the ones made in dark bars at 21 or during road trips with friends to mask heartbreaks. Tattoos don’t ask for permission. They demand ownership.
They’re also a spoken language of symbols. A sleeve of Norse runes. A Celtic knot on the back of a neck. A phoenix rising from ash. You don’t need words. You need presence. And people who can read between the lines of a symbol might just understand you better than anyone else ever could.
Today, let’s honor the inked. The ones who wear their hearts on their sleeves—literally. And those who found courage, peace, or just one hour of stillness in the buzzing chair. And if you’ve got a story written on your skin, give it a nod today. Let it breathe. Let it speak. Maybe even let it teach.
Because on this day after National Tattoo Day, we’re not just talking about body art. We’re talking about body truth.
This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding myself and anyone listening - Every tattoo is a scar that said, “I survived—and here’s the proof.” Wear it. Share it. And above all, live it.
Happy Friday all you beautiful otters, Spiess in the Morning broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp where the loons outnumber the voters.
You remember that swan I told you about? The one who’s been swimming alone every morning down on the Pelican River? Graceful, still… a silhouette of solitude. Every time I came over that bank, the ducks darted, the geese scattered, the cormorants slipped into their shadows—but not him.
He stayed. Like he had nowhere else to be… or maybe like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
I spent days thinking about that bird. About what it means to be alone. Was he abandoned? Did he walk away from something? Or was he just built different—stronger, maybe? A lone figure in a world that usually travels in twos.
Well… yesterday morning, I came over the bank like I always do,
coffee tumbler in hand, my trusting companion Gouda by my side and a heart half-full, expecting the same old story.
But the river had something different in store.
There he was… Only he wasn’t alone anymore.
Swimming beside him, radiant and still as dawn, was his mate—his beautiful, long-necked partner. And trailing behind them—eight little swanlings, barely a month old,
like tufts of white cotton riding the wake of two soulmates.
Turns out, what I mistook for solitude was actually vigilance. That swan wasn’t alone—he was on guard. He was keeping watch. The quiet strength of a partner who stays while the world turns. Who doesn’t flinch. Who stands sentry until the moment is safe… for love to emerge.
It got me thinking. How often do we see someone standing alone and assume emptiness, when really, they’re carrying the weight of everyone else’s safety? The burden of protection. Of patience. Of love held in silence.
The poet Anaïs Nin once wrote, “We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
And maybe that swan was a mirror for me. Maybe I saw loneliness… because I felt it. Maybe I projected an ache instead of recognizing purpose.
That swan—he showed me something. That strength isn’t loud. That love isn’t always beside you, sometimes it’s behind the curtain, waiting for the right time to be revealed.
He reminded me that protection is an act of love. That faithfulness has many forms—stillness being one of them. And that being a better person sometimes means
being the one who waits. Who watches. Who swims alone… until the family arrives.
So here’s to the watchers. To the quiet ones. To the protectors and the patient. To those who carry love not on their sleeve, but in their spine.
This is Spiess in the Morning, thanking a river swan for reminding me
that being alone doesn’t mean being without. Sometimes it means you’re holding space for something sacred.
And when it arrives— oh, what a beautiful thing it is.
Broadcasting and podcasting from the heart of Lakes Country USA, where the sun’s rising over fairground fences and yesterday’s funnel cake is still sticking to your soul like a half-remembered dream.
Who’s ready for a corndog wrapped in bacon served in butterscotch dipping sauce?
Let’s talk about the season of cotton candy skies and the sweet hum of neon nostalgia. That’s right—County Fair season is upon us. And it’s not just about blue ribbons and deep-fried regrets. It’s a full-blown opportunity for the soul to stretch its legs, let out a holler, and remember what it’s like to feel alive in the messiest, most beautiful way possible.
The county fair… it’s where you bump into people you haven’t seen in a decade and somehow, they haven’t aged a day—or maybe you just see them through the same eyes you always did, squinting into the dusty twilight with a smile and a “hey, remember when?”
It’s where new friends are made standing in line for corn dogs, and where that line becomes a conversation about weather, politics, old tractors, and where to find the best lemonade in three counties.
And let’s be honest: we all try something we shouldn’t. Deep-fried Oreos, bacon-wrapped pickles, maybe even a chocolate-covered jalapeño. It’s like your stomach enters into a verbal contract with your soul: “I’ll regret this in 20 minutes, but it’ll be worth the story.”
The rides? Oh, the rides. That clink-clink-clink of the old Tilt-a-Whirl dragging you up just to drop you back down into your primal instincts. It's not fear—it’s freedom. It’s the kind of scream that shakes off a week’s worth of emails, bills, and late-night anxiety. The zipper, the scrambler, even the rusty old Ferris wheel… they all give you a chance to look at life from a slightly higher elevation.
Then there are the carnival games. On the surface, they’re simple—pop a balloon, toss a ring, shoot a hoop—but really, they’re the great equalizers. And then there’s the real test: the verbal joust with a Carney. These folks are part poet, part predator, part stand-up comic.
Ever try to one-up a carnival barker? You’ll lose. Every time. They’ve got a PhD in sidewalk psychology and a black belt in charming insults. And you know what? You’ll love it. Because it’s all part of the dance. That’s loving, living, and going to the county fair.
It’s a world where age blurs. Where kids run wild with faces painted like tigers and elders sit on benches nodding to polka bands with a look that says, “This is how we used to do summer.” Where teens walk in awkward packs, halfway between childhood and whatever’s next. Where couples young and old sneak kisses on benches with powdered sugar on their chins.
County fairs are sacred in their own chaotic way. They’re not just events—they’re snapshots of who we are. A little bit loud. A little bit greasy. Full of heart. Full of longing. And always, always worth the price of admission.
So grab your belt buckle, lace up your walking shoes, and maybe carry a couple antacids in your shirt pocket—because this week, you’re going to the fair. And that, otters, is where summer becomes a story.
This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding myself and anyone listening to go ride the ride, eat the thing, play the game, talk to the stranger. That’s what a fair’s for. That’s what life is for.
Otter and Out.
🛣️ Cass County Delegates Forestry Road Maintenance to Peninsula Township
Just yesterday, Cass County commissioners moved maintenance responsibility of 11.3 miles of forestry roads (Ketchum, Sunset Beach, Sucker Bay, Two Points, and Otter Tail Peninsula Road NW) back to Otter Tail Peninsula Township crews. Ownership stays with the National Forest Service, but snow plows and gravel grit now belong to the township.
👮 Sheriff’s Office Shows Up at the West Fair—Meet K9 Jocko & K9 Koa
The Otter Tail County Sheriff’s Office announced its presence at the West Otter Tail County Fair today, Friday, July 18, starting at 11 a.m.. Visitors can say hello to K9 Jocko and K9 Koa in the Ag Country Arena—perfect for kids and curious adults alike.
📅 Blue Ribbon Auction Deadline at County Fair Looms
If you’re showcasing 4‑H projects, fair livestock, or crafts—don’t forget: the Blue Ribbon Auction sign-up deadline is today, July 18, by 5 p.m., in the AgCountry Arena. Big opportunities await for standout efforts.
🚛 Mobile Hazardous Waste Truck Rolls On—Bluffton Reminder
The county’s mobile hazardous waste collection continues today in Bluffton—bring paints, batteries, pesticides, and cleaners to ensure safe disposal and protect our environment.
🏞️ Inspiration Peak Named “Heart of Otter Tail”
A profile piece just published highlights Inspiration Peak as Otter Tail’s natural gem. Rising nearly 400 ft above the surroundings, the peak offers sweeping views of 50 lakes—praised by Sinclair Lewis himself. Whether you’re hunting fall color or seeking midday moss, Inspiration Peak stands tall.
🕰️ A Day in Otter Tail History
On April 22, 1992, Glendalough State Park—just north of Battle Lake—was officially dedicated. Once a private resort and game farm, it now offers 1,931 acres of woods, prairie restoration, camping, trails, and yurts for public enjoyment. A gift from the Nature Conservancy that’s become a year‑round treasure.
Farmers, families, curious kids, and hikers alike—today is all about connection. From law enforcement in the arena to wild places that shape us, Otter Tail County brings together community and landscape in fine harmony. Keep your fair bracelets handy, your hiking boots ready, and your hearts tuned to this place we call home.
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🎡 West Otter Tail County Fair (Fergus Falls) – July 17th-July 20th
Take the West Otter Tail County Fair, just around the corner in Fergus Falls. Four days of agricultural excellence, carnival lights, and the sound of teenagers discovering who they are over a funnel cake and a first kiss on the Ferris wheel. There’s something spiritual about the demo derby too—an existential clash of chrome and chaos. As Camus might say: in the heart of absurdity, we crush the rules of the road and cheer for survival.
👑 East Otter Tail County Fair (Perham) – July 24–27
Head east a few miles and time bends in Perham for the East Otter Tail County Fair. A twin sibling to its western cousin, but like any twin—it’s got its own voice. There’s livestock, sure, but there’s also laughter under the grain bins, and the kind of warmth you can’t program into an app. It’s honest. It’s home.
🤪 Vergas Looney Days – August 11–13
But maybe you’re feeling a little... looney? That’s okay. Embrace it. The folks in Vergas certainly do. Every August, the town throws Looney Days, a celebration that dances joyfully on the fine line between silly and sublime. We’re talking water-ski shows, dachshund races, and street dances where even your uncle who hasn’t moved since ‘84 remembers how to boogie. Vergas isn’t just leaning into the looney—it’s leading the parade.
🦦 OtterFest (Ottertail) – August 12
Then there’s OtterFest in the town of Ottertail. A little quieter. More music than mayhem. It’s the perfect spot to bring a lawn chair, a blanket, and a beer—and just listen. Maybe talk to a stranger. Maybe don’t. OtterFest gives you permission to just... be.
Kate’s Korner Antiques & Collectables is NOW OPEN in Elizabeth! Located across the street from the liquor store on Hwy 59, Kate’s Korner is a must stop and see. If you see the flags flapping in the wind, she’s open and ready to serve your nostalgic needs.
Paul’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $3/dozen - call or text 218-205-7779 (The Greater Elizabeth Area)
Abbie’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $9 for 30 eggs - washed or unwashed - call or text 320-349-0942 (The Greater Morris Area)
IBC Totes for sale - Endless uses for these totes from firewood storage to rainwater catcher to stacking two for an outdoor shower. Pick up encouraged, delivery available. Food grade are $100 each and non-food grade are $65 each. Call 218-639-1116
The Shoreline Bowling Alley in Battle Lake has open bowling All Summer Long. Call 218-864-5265 for more info or stop by 505 N Lake Ave, Battle Lake, MN.
The Bookmobile has books, movies & magazines to check out, but the Bookmobile and member libraries also offer a wide variety of electronic resources including Ebooks, downloadable audiobooks, streaming movies, TV and music, and a wide variety of educational databases and distance learning resources.
The Bookmobile stops across from the Parkers Prairie Post Office every other Wednesday throughout the year. You can find the Bookmobile there from 3 pm to 4 pm.
The Bookmobile stops in Elizabeth, only this stop isn’t at the community center or the public park, rather it’s a private house. Next stop is July 3 in Elizabeth and it’s a block north of the C-Store on the gravel road, or 206 N Pelican Street, for you GPS folk.
Check out more Bookmobile towns by clicking here
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Please tune in tomorrow for more local lakes area tunes, totally tubular tales, and some small-town smiles.
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