Summer Solstice, Eagles, Walter Sobchak and the Summer of 81'

Spiess in the Morning for Friday June 20, 2025.

Rise and Shine Otters, Spiess in the Morning broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp in the heart of the North Star State… It’s June 20th, and we are gliding toward the solstice like a river to the sea. The sun’s hanging high, just biding its time, stretching the days out like taffy and giving us that long, honeyed light that makes the world look a little more like a dream than a fact.

You know, today’s one of those patchwork quilt kind of days where the calendar’s got a little something for everybody. It’s American Eagle Day, for starters — a salute to that noble bird with a piercing eye and a wingspan wide enough to cast a shadow across the history of a nation. The bald eagle wasn’t always a symbol of power and pride. There were days we nearly lost 'em to pesticides and habitat loss. But they came back, feathers fluffed, heads held high. Kind of a lesson in persistence, don’t you think? Even national symbols need a little protection now and then.

And for those of you with a sweet tooth—or a fondness for the finer things—today is National Kouign Amann Day. The Breton butter cake that’s so rich, flaky, and caramelized it ought to come with a warning label. This dessert spawned from an age where flour was scarce, but butter was abundant. I imagine if a croissant and a crème brûlée fell in love and ran off to France, they’d birth a kouign amann. Hard to pronounce, easy to love.

But if that’s too fancy for your morning mood, grab a good ol’ fashioned vanilla milkshake. Yep, it’s also National Vanilla Milkshake Day. Pure, classic, unpretentious. Sometimes you just need something simple. The kind of thing that tastes like 1957 and reminds you of drive-ins and summer freckles.

Plus the added reminder that you can not have rocky road or cookies and cream without vanilla as the constant.

Now onto the birthday roundup, that corner of the sky where stars were born:

Lionel Richie, the man who taught the world to dance on the ceiling and say “hello” in a way that made you feel seen. Whether you're brick housin' it with the Commodores or slow dancing under a disco ball to “Endless Love,” Lionel's got your back. Soulful, suave, timeless. “Still”.

Nicole Kidman, the red-haired chameleon of the silver screen. From Australian roots to Oscar gold, she’s got that rare ability to vanish into a role like fog into a canyon.

John Goodman, everyman, titan of warmth and gravitas. Whether he’s smashing pins as Walter Sobchak or being your favorite blue-collar dad on Roseanne, the man can turn a grunt into poetry. Plus his cyclops role in O Brother Where Art Thou is epic.

Robert Downey Jr., born-again Hollywood royalty, who rose from the ashes of his own phoenix fire to put on the iron suit and become the charismatic core of the Marvel universe. Not bad for a kid who once wandered too far into the night.

And today in history, let’s take a quick stroll backward...

It was on June 20, 1782, that the bald eagle was officially adopted as the emblem of the United States. The Continental Congress said, “That’s our bird,” and just like that, a symbol took flight.

And in 1975, Jaws swam its way into theaters, and suddenly nobody wanted to go swimming without humming a certain ominous two-note tune. Spielberg gave us the gift of cinematic suspense—and a little hydrophobia too. Even though Minnesota is full of fresh water lakes, the fear of sharks has been echoing along our beaches and shores for fifty years now.

So whether you’re raising a milkshake to the past or slicing into a buttery French pastry with your morning coffee, remember: life is a mosaic. Little joys, shared birthdays, national creatures, and personal nostalgia—stitched together into one big June 20th quilt.

This is Spiess in the Morning and today I am reminding myself and anyone listening to - keep your eyes open, your heart steady, wave to an eagle and take a big ol’ shark bite outta life.

This is Spiess in the Morning, floating across the frequency like an eagle on a thermal draft, wings stretched out to catch the breath of the Earth. It's June 20th, and while most folks are eyeing their calendars for the summer solstice or making vanilla milkshakes to celebrate obscure food holidays, I’d like to tip my hat—or maybe feathered headdress—to the one who’s soared above it all. I’m talking about the American Bald Eagle.

Now, there’s something poetic, don’t you think, about a nation—raw, unruly, defiant in its youth—choosing a bird of prey as its symbol. Back in 1782, the Founding Fathers were looking for a national emblem that captured their newborn republic's spirit.

And there it was: Haliaeetus leucocephalus—the bald eagle. Fierce. Free. Untamed. It was chosen for the Great Seal of the United States, wings outstretched, clutching arrows in one talon and an olive branch in the other. A symbol of peace and war, coiled in the same claw. Classic duality, American-style.

But not everyone was on board. Old Ben Franklin—he of kites and key fame—thought the eagle was a bit of a scoundrel. Said it was a bird of bad moral character, a thief that lets smaller birds do the hunting, only to swoop in and steal the spoils. He lobbied for the turkey, of all things. A bird more grounded, industrious, and honest. Now, imagine the Great Seal with a turkey flapping about. Doesn’t quite inspire the same sense of majesty, does it?

But here's where it gets even more interesting, folks. Long before there were redcoats or rebels, long before stars and stripes, the eagle was already a sacred being across this vast continent. Native cultures—Lakota, Hopi, Haida, Cherokee—they all held the eagle in reverence.

To the Lakota, the eagle was Wanbli, the messenger between humans and the Creator. It flew closest to the Great Spirit, carrying prayers on the wind. Warriors would seek eagle feathers as marks of valor and spiritual alignment. These weren’t fashion accessories—they were earned. Sacred. Carriers of stories and strength.

The Hopi see the eagle as a guardian, a protector of the east, keeper of the skies. In their dances and songs, the eagle is not just a bird, but a bridge between the physical and the spiritual world. Its cry—sharp and clear—is said to cleanse and awaken.

For the Tlingit and Haida peoples of the Pacific Northwest, the eagle is one half of a duality—the other being the raven. Eagle is nobility, strength, power. In marriage, in stories, in balance.

So while our government wrapped the eagle in a scroll of Latin phrases and stitched it onto flags, the first people of this land saw the eagle with eyes wide open—not as a mascot, but as a mirror. A reflection of the divine order. A feathered reminder that power without humility is like flight without wind: short-lived and dangerous.

And maybe that's the rub, my friends. The Founding Fathers saw in the eagle what they hoped this country would become. The tribes saw in it what we must never forget.

So the next time you see that bird cutting across the sky like a dream on the loose, pause for a second. Feel the ancient wind stirring in your soul. Because that eagle up there? It's not just a symbol—it’s a story. And like all good stories, it carries a little truth, a little warning, and a whole lot of wonder.

It’s Spiess in the Morning, checking in from the edge of the known universe — or at least the edge of town. And today, my friends... it’s the summer solstice.

You know, I didn’t always pay attention to this kind of thing. There was a time when June 21st was just another day on the calendar, something I skimmed past in a planner I didn’t use. But up here... under this great Minnesota sky, you start to notice the subtleties. The way the light bends. The way time feels — stretchy, sacred.

Today is the day the sun just won’t quit. It hangs there like it’s fallen in love with us — with our trees, our mountains, our muddy boots and forgotten gardens. And in a way, it has. The solstice is the sun's long, lingering kiss before it slowly backs away.

When I left the nest at the age of 18, I remember sitting outside on the dock at East Silent Lake on a long summer evening, watching the sky stay lit well past 10. And I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not just freedom — but presence. Like I was a gear finally clicking into place with the rest of the universe. I didn't need a sermon or a shrink to tell me what that was. That was the Earth telling me, "Hey... you're still part of this."

Our Native elders — the real timekeepers — they’ve always known the solstice isn’t just about the sun being high. It’s about you being in alignment. The Lakota talk about the "sacred hoop" — how all things are connected. They don’t see this as the top of the year. They see it as the middle. A time to pause. Reflect. A still point in the turning world.

And yeah, the solstice has some solid science behind it. Earth tilts, it spins, it dances around the sun like some cosmic tai chi master. And because of that tilt — that imperfect little lean — we get these long days and short nights. Balance through imbalance. That feels human to me.

Even the Bible shines its light into this moment. “To everything, there is a season.” Ecclesiastes. King James. That line always comes back to me on days like today — when time feels less like a ticking clock and more like a breathing thing.

And the thing is... we’re not meant to hold onto this light forever. Tomorrow... just a little less. The world turns, and the light recedes. That’s the deal. But today? Today is a gift. The longest inhale before the exhale begins. It’s sitting on the porch with your boots off. It’s remembering someone you loved once — and realizing you still do.

It’s watching a dragonfly hover above your coffee cup, suspended like magic.

So take it in, Otters. Go barefoot in the grass. Leave your phone at home. Say something kind to someone who doesn’t expect it. This light — this moment — it’s not just outside you. It is you.

Me? I’m gonna take a hike along the Pelican River with my trusted companion Gouda till the light turns blue. Might even read some Voltaire out loud to the loons. See what happens. You never know who’s listening on a day like today.

Stay awesome sauce, stay human, and lean into the light... while we have it.

This is Spiess in the Morning, broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp, and today I am sending some sonic vibes through the spruce-scented air and across mosquito-bitten lakeshores.

You ever notice how some summers don’t just pass by — they etch themselves into the grain of your memory like initials carved into a cottonwood tree? For me, that summer was 1981. I remember riding the handlebars of that age where innocence meets awareness, where a kid's world starts stretching just far enough to notice things like pop music, Cold War headlines, three-wheeler thrills... and chore manipulation as a fine art form.

Minnesota in the summer was a cocktail of humidity, hope, and hot dogs. The lakes were bathwater warm by July, and the nights hung heavy with the scent of lilac, citronella, and Dad’s two-stroke outboard engine smoke.

It was the summer MTV almost existed — it launched in August right before school started— but, those those final few months we were still tuned into Solid Gold, watching Marilyn McCoo introduce Hall & Oates, REO Speedwagon, and this wild little English guy named Adam Ant.

Pop culture was slipping its way into our houses through the voice of Scooby-Doo’s Shaggy on Top 40 radio and shag-carpeted living rooms with wood-paneled Zenith consoles. And while the world out there was learning to moonwalk toward the '80s, I was busy doing something else: turning my 30-minute daily chores into a magnum opus of childhood time management.

You see, when you’re knee high to a grasshopper and it’s 1981, and your mom says “go pull the weeds,” you don’t just pull the weeds. Oh no, you start by finding the right stick. Then you organize the weeds into piles — like little tribes — maybe give 'em names. You stop to talk to your dog, maybe climb the fence, maybe discover a robin’s nest and forget entirely what you were doing in the first place.

Suddenly it’s lunchtime, and the dandelions are still standing proud like a yellow rebellion against domestic responsibility. And somehow, your mom just sighs, smiles, and lets you be.

It’s almost as if she’s extremely grateful to those weeds for babysitting me while mom finds out who Laura Horton's biological father was.

We didn’t have cell phones buzzing or digital calendars pinging. Time, back then, was like a loose rubber band. It stretched. It snapped. It could disappear for hours between a kickball game and watching ants march across the driveway. You learned to fill that space with imagination, with comic books under a maple tree, or building ramps with two bricks and a 2x6 you found behind the shed. You learned the sacred art of delay, the beauty of boredom, and the alchemy of summer sweat and Kool-Aid mustaches.

But it was the little things that stuck with me — chasing fireflies with a jelly jar, waiting for the ice cream truck’s tinny melody echoing through elm-lined streets, and watching my older cousin Holly show me how to rewind a cassette tape with a pencil.

Baseball was heard in tractors, cafes and bait shops, the static hiss of the AM dial wrapping itself around a Twins game like a dusty screen door.

So here’s to the summer of ’81. To being in love with life and bubble gum, with a whole world ahead that you didn’t need to understand — only feel.

This is Spiess in the Morning reminding myself and anyone else listening to pull a few weeds, name a few bugs, and stretch your chores just long enough to become a memory. Otter and Out.

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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 (Elizabeth Area)

Abbie’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $9 for 30 eggs - washed or unwashed - call or text 320-349-0942

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 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. Not only does the Bookmobile have 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.

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