Rise and shine otters, Spiess in the Morning broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp in the land where the loons outnumber the voters.
It's July 3rd, the eve of independence, the calm before the fireworks, the pause before the parade. The town’s gearing up, flags getting hung just a bit crooked, grill covers coming off, and you can already smell freedom—or is that lighter fluid? Either way, something’s cooking.
But today, before the sparklers and national anthems, we’ve got ourselves a curious little cocktail of observances and birthdays that, like most good road trips, take a few unexpected turns.
Let’s start with Eat Your Beans Day. Yep. A whole day dedicated to the humble legume. Kidney, pinto, black, navy—beans have been feeding civilizations longer than most empires have stood. They’re sturdy, protein-packed, and if you treat them right, they’ll love you back. Eat ‘em for the fiber, sure. But also eat ‘em because they remind us that good things come from the dirt, take time, and fill us up from the inside out.
If beans don’t do it for you, how about something crispier? It’s also National Fried Clams Day. Now that’s a summertime indulgence if I’ve ever heard one. Golden-battered, salty little sea-nuggets. Somewhere between ocean breeze and boardwalk nostalgia. Whether you prefer ’em whole belly or strips, fried clams are proof that sometimes the best meals are the messiest. Just don’t forget the sauce.
And then, there’s Drop a Rock Day. No, it’s not a heavy metal album or a call to litter—it’s a grassroots kindness movement. You take a rock, paint it with a message—something simple, something hopeful—then drop it somewhere for a stranger to find. Maybe it says “You matter.” Maybe it’s just a heart or a sun or a swirl of color. Small weight, big meaning. It’s like a fortune cookie for the soul, left behind for someone who might need it more than they know.
Now let’s talk about the souls born on this pre-fireworks day:
Tom Cruise, born July 3, 1962. The man, the myth, the Mission: Impossible. Love him or side-eye him, Tom’s been running full-speed through Hollywood since the '80s—sometimes literally. He’s a human action figure with a charming grin and a complicated press file. From Risky Business to Top Gun to dangling off cliffs at 60, he’s committed to the bit. And maybe that’s his superpower: intensity without apology.
Audra McDonald, a voice wrapped in velvet thunder. Six Tony Awards. A Broadway legend with opera in her lungs and empathy in every note. If music is a cathedral, Audra is its high priestess.
Kurtwood Smith, born in 1943, forever burned into our memories as Red Forman from That '70s Show—that gruff voice, that death-stare, and of course, that famous threat to place a foot somewhere the sun don’t shine. But behind the tough exterior? A career filled with nuance and craft.
Montel Williams, former Navy officer turned talk show pioneer. Before wellness was a buzzword, Montel was talking about MS, personal growth, and tough truths in the daylight hours. One of the first to put emotional grit on TV with sincerity.
Yeardley Smith, the voice behind Lisa Simpson. America’s favorite saxophone-playing overachiever owes her wisdom and wit to Yeardley’s distinctive tone. Small voice, big impact. Thirty-plus years of reminding us that intelligence and empathy can still have a seat at the cartoon table.
Julian Assange, the founder of WikiLeaks, born today in 1971. Now, this one’s a bit more tangled in the wires of controversy. To some, he’s a champion of transparency. To others, a threat to national security. But whatever side of the glass you see him through, there’s no doubt he forced us to ask the question: What should be hidden, and who gets to decide?
So here we are, July 3rd. A day caught between celebration and contemplation. Between the slow simmer of beans and the fast crunch of fried clams. Between painted kindness on a rock and the kinds of truth that make people squirm.
Maybe today you skip the fireworks and sit in the stillness. Maybe you write something honest and leave it behind for someone else to find. Or maybe you go full Tom Cruise—put on the sunglasses, cue the music, and run like you’re saving the world, one footfall at a time.
This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding myself and anyone else listening that every rock we drop, every story we tell, and every voice—cartoon or otherwise—has the potential to echo.
Stay salty, stay soulful, and stay kind, otters.
Spiess in the Morning, broadcasting and podcasting straight from the spectacular studios next to the swamp. It’s July 3rd — not a holiday on most calendars, but did you know it’s Start the Conversation Day? Yeah, not exactly fireworks and hotdogs, but maybe something even more necessary in these frazzled times.
See, we human beings — homo sapiens, the thinking ape — we’re born with this wild, mysterious tool: language. Our ability to weave syllables and emotion into something that crosses the chasm between "you" and "me" is a miracle older than the pyramids and more intricate than a glacier's melt.
Start the Conversation Day... not about chitchat or gossip — this isn’t about asking someone what’s for dinner or the weather forecast for Parkers Prairie. No, this is about the kind of talk that digs into the layers — past the drywall and into the beams. It’s about checking in. About really asking, “How are you?” and being brave enough to hear the answer.
Now, you might think conversation is just the thing we do when the silence gets awkward. But I’d argue — and maybe Plato would back me up here — that conversation is the soul’s way of making sense of the world. In The Republic, ol’ Socrates wasn’t just philosophizing; he was probing, poking, dialoguing. They didn’t write treatises back then — they talked. They started the conversation.
And the ancients, oh, they knew. The Greeks had the god Asclepius — the healer. Not just the guy who slapped herbs on a wound, but the patron of talking cures. His temples were early versions of therapy clinics — you went in, dreamed, confessed, reflected. You talked. And that was medicine.
In the East, the Buddha — Siddhartha — didn’t give lectures, he gave dialogues. Talking with disciples. Engaging in right speech. In the Upanishads, it’s said the truth emerges not in monologue, but in dialogue. A reminder that wisdom isn’t a lightning bolt, it’s a flicker passed hand to hand.
And Christianity? Jesus didn’t just preach — he conversed. Think about the woman at the well. The tax collector. The doubters and deniers. He started conversations — often uncomfortable ones — that broke people open, made space for healing.
Even our mythologies understood the need for mental check-ins. In Norse lore, Odin gave up an eye for wisdom — but he also relied on Huginn and Muninn, thought and memory, two ravens who flew the world gathering information. Kind of like the mind’s own therapy session. Thoughts and memories swirling, needing to be named, heard, understood.
And here in the land of otters, where silence can stretch out like the Mississippi River, conversation is a lifeline. You gotta know when to stay quiet, sure — but also when to speak up. A long winter can make a mind start to turn inward too sharply.
That’s when a knock on the door, a voice on a podcast, a cup of coffee with a friend, can be the most profound act of grace.
So how do you start the conversation? And what is the conversation I am suppose to start?
Well, maybe it’s as simple as: “I’ve been thinking about you lately.” Or “You seem different — is everything okay?”
Or “I don’t know what you need right now, but I’m here.”
Or “How’s your week been - one-out-of-ten loons?”
It doesn’t have to be poetry. Just has to be real.
We’ve all got something — a weight, a memory, a fear, a grief. Some folks carry it like a backpack full of bricks, and they’ve gotten so good at hiding it you’d never guess. But words? Words are like little crowbars. The right ones can pry open the stuck parts.
So today, Start the Conversation. With your mom. With your neighbor. With that guy at the grocery store who always looks like he’s got more on his mind than a bag of oranges.
Don’t wait until someone’s drifting off the edge to toss them a rope. Let’s normalize the soul check-in. Make it as routine as brushing your teeth or checking the forecast.
And hey, if you’re the one carrying the weight? Don’t wait to be asked. You start the conversation. “Hey, I’m not okay.” That’s not weakness. That’s human.
Because if we can build bridges with our words, maybe we don’t have to feel so alone in our thoughts.
This is Spiess in the Morning — your bartender with no barstool — reminding myself and anyone listening that sometimes the bravest thing you can do... is simply talk.
And listen.
It’s your friendly neighborhood philosopher-broadcaster-podcaster Spiess in the Morning, sending warm vibes and healthy thoughts across the land of the muskrats and mallards. Hope you’re sipping something strong and stretching those limbs, because summer, my friends... summer is in full bloom.
And with it — the music.
You ever notice how summer doesn’t just look different — it sounds different? I’m not talking about the buzzing of mosquitoes or the slap of a screen door, though that’s part of the great auditory collage. I’m talking about music. Sweet, soul-quenching sound. The kind that rides shotgun on every memory from June through August.
There’s something alchemical about music in the summer. Out on the lake with friends, stereo pumping from a beached pontoon or the tinny Bluetooth speaker balancing on a cooler — every song becomes an anthem. You’re bronzed, barefoot, slightly buzzed on lemonade or something stronger, and then Fleetwood Mac comes on — “Everywhere.” And suddenly, you are everywhere. You’re 16, 26, 46 — age is irrelevant when the bass hits and the sun’s painting gold on your shoulders.
Or maybe you’re solo — earphones in, rod in hand, casting into the glassy water. You’ve got some old Willie Nelson playing, or maybe it’s Moody River Band. Either way, the song wraps around you like the mist off the lake. You’re not just fishing. You’re starring in the quietly profound indie film of your own life. That one gentle riff, that one line of lyrics — it binds you to the scene like a thread through time and memory.
And don’t even get me started on earbuds while running. You’re pounding pavement or gravel, dodging dragonflies and dust, and just when you think you’ve hit the wall — boom — Springsteen’s “Born to Run” or Pink’s “Raise Your Glass” kicks in. It’s not just cardio — it’s cinema.
Road trips? Well, c’mon. A summer road trip without a proper mixtape is like a campfire without s’mores. Whether it’s a carefully curated playlist or just your buddy’s scratched CD labeled “Road Jams Vol. 3,” those songs etch themselves into every passing cornfield, every truck stop snack, every weird roadside attraction. You hit that one perfect stretch of open road, windows down, Guns and Roses blaring — and the world just opens up. You become part of some invisible brotherhood — or sisterhood — of travelers and dreamers, sharing one collective summer soundtrack.
Music in summer is more than background noise — it amplifies the season. It syncs your heartbeat with the pulse of the universe. It remembers for you, long after the tan fades and the fireflies disappear. Because one day, it’ll be January, and you’ll be shoveling snow off your porch, and you’ll hear that song, and just like that, you’re back at the lake — sun-warmed, sand-streaked, smiling.
So, whatever you’re doing this summer, make sure to cue the right soundtrack. Whether it's funk or folk, rock or reggae — give your moments a melody. Make your memories hum.
This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding myself and anyone listening that the story of your life deserves a score. Might as well make it a good one.
Stay groovy beautiful otters.
Spiess in the Morning here, coming at you live from spectacular studios next to the swamp, broadcasting and podcasting on a wave of static and stardust.
And hey, it’s the Fourth of July week. Independence Day. The day we Americans decided, ‘You know what? We're gonna do our own thing. Tea’s too expensive, and red coats aren’t our color.’
But for me, the Fourth isn’t about muskets and powdered wigs, no sir.
The Fourth of July lives in a quieter place…
West Central Minnesota. A chain of lakes that ripple like silver coins tossed onto a green velvet bedspread. Lida. East Silent. Beers. Star. Little hidden gems with names that stick like summer sweat and old stories. And that’s just on 108 after hitting the DQ in Pelican.
The air? Always heavy with the scent of fresh-cut grass, lakewater and smoke—bonfire smoke, to be exact. The kind of fire you start at sundown with your oldest friends. A pyramid of birch logs stacked like an offering to the gods of memory.
We'd sit around that fire, legs stretched out, hoodies pulled tight, arguing over who had the best firework stash or which bait worked best for walleyes—leeches, crawlers, or the classic fathead minnow.
Speaking of bait—ever gone rock-flipping? It’s a special kind of meditation, flipping stones along the shoreline, searching for little squirmers to hook onto a rusty tackle. Something beautifully primal about it. You versus the fish, with nothing but a hook, a worm, and a little Midwestern stubbornness.
Days would drift by like lazy pontoons on still water. No real schedule except breakfast. And not just any breakfast. I’m talking from-scratch biscuits and gravy. Not the canned stuff. No shortcuts. Flour, milk, lard, black pepper, and sausage so spicy it made your eyes water with joy. Cooked slow in a cast-iron skillet that probably fed three generations before you.
And then there was the cast iron bullhead and eggs for breakfast before 5am walleye fishing. Before calling it a night, a quick cast with a hook and bait, leave in the lake until morning. Bullhead everytime. I can honestly say the only place I’ve had bullhead and eggs for breakfast is East Silent Lake, and it was well over a dozen times. Funny how I’ve never seen bullhead and eggs on the menu at Perkins or the Rothsay Truck Stop.
Then there were the late-night swims. You know the kind—when the lake turns black as ink and the stars fall all over it like confetti from the universe. Water so still, you’re not swimming through it, you’re gliding across a liquid mirror. There’s nothing quite like feeling weightless in the dark, with only the sound of loons echoing in the distance and the bonfire crackle dimming behind you.
Fireworks? Oh yeah.
Bottle rockets that fizzled. Roman candles held irresponsibly. Sparklers spelling out names of summer crushes in the night air. And that one uncle who always tried to light the finale with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a beer in the other hand. God love him.
Independence. That’s what we celebrate today.
But when I think of freedom, I don’t just think of flags and parades.
I think of sunburned shoulders on a dock, the pop of a cold beer, the silence between best friends that says more than any fireworks finale.
I think of standing barefoot on a lakeshore, arms stretched wide, as if trying to hold the whole summer in one breath.
So wherever you are today—whether it's in the heartland, the highlands, or right here in the great white north—may you find a moment of stillness, a flicker of memory, and a flash of joy.
Keep your lines untangled, your hearts open, and your biscuits flaky.
The OtterTalk media network – Doing our best to keep the small town smiles alive, fish tales told and the coffee percolating.
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Erhard’s 4th of July Celebration. It is a community celebration including live music, activities for kids and adults, and food and refreshments which will take place from 12 PM to 5 PM, with a parade earlier that morning at 11 AM.
Loon Lake Boat Parade on July 4th! Line up in the bay at 11am. Any questions, contact Katie Jensen (Site 18)
Wall Lake 4th of July Boat Parade Friday, July 4th, 2025 12:00 PM Boat parade will line up and start on the south side of Wall Lake. In case of rain, the parade will be delayed 1 hour.
Patio Party at the Vergas Liquor Store on Friday, July 4th from 2-4pm! Local musician damian will be performing on the brand new patio!
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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Happy Thursday Everyone! Feel free to like, share and or comment!
Please tune in tomorrow for more local lakes area tunes, totally tubular tales, and some small-town smiles.
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