“Where the coffee’s hot, the lakes are cold, and all the children are above average.” — Serving the Chain since 1897.
Tuesday, September 8, 2026 · 3 item(s) in this section.
The Klatch · From Eunice
Eunice on the week the town got busy again: children on the sidewalk, a clerk who told on herself, and the first cold morning that made anybody say anything.
Read the full story →Second Avenue
Mud Lake Brewing Co. has been open twenty-four days. The Holts have announced no event, no special release and no ceremony, and report that this has disappointed several people.
Read the full story →The Daybreak
Pat Reinholt’s legal pad matched fourteen drivers with twenty-six riders over twelve days. It came down Monday. Something else is already taped in its place.
Read the full story →Year fifteen. All three roof funds — First Lutheran’s basement, the pavilion, the rec warming house — passed fourteen years today. They began within eleven days of each other in September 2012.
Sixty seasons. The sweet-corn stand on County 12 closed Saturday at 2:20, its sixtieth season and its first without Arvid Paulson. Forty-one days; opened at six every one.
One month. Mud Lake Brewing Co. reaches four weeks Saturday and will mark it by opening at noon.
One gone. The first of Big Pelican’s two juvenile loons left Saturday night or Sunday morning. The log reads SEPT. 6 — ONE.
Aged out. Christopher Jonson, 17, showed at his last State Fair as a member. He says somebody has to hold the halters.
Twenty-fourth. Barb Nyberg opened her twenty-fourth September in the third grade Wednesday, with one book on every desk, as she has since 2002.
Hotdish for a Tuesday That Feels Like a Monday. Brown a pound and a half of hamburger with an onion. Two cans cream of mushroom, one can of milk, a bag of frozen green beans, salt, pepper, and more pepper than you think. Into a 9×13, tater tots across the top in rows if you are the kind of person who does rows and scattered if you are not. 375° for forty-five minutes, uncovered the last fifteen so the tots go where tots should go. Feeds six, or four if two of them have been at practice.
Requested by three separate people the week school starts, every single year, which the Box has decided says something true about the second week of September and intends not to examine further.
By Sigrid Pelto. The dark is coming back and it is coming back fast — we lose about three minutes of daylight a day now, which is the steepest run of the year, and by the end of the month full dark arrives before eight. Nothing is peaking. The harvest moon rises full on the twenty-sixth and will be photographed by everyone and will look, in every one of those photographs, smaller than it looked. It always does. Nobody has ever solved this.
Fire signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius). You have opinions about a vote you did not attend. Attend the next one. It is October 6 and it is on the calendar page.
Earth signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn). Fourteen days without rain and you have watered every one of them. You are not being praised for this and you were not going to be.
Air signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius). A handwritten 8 became a 6 and two houses stopped existing. Consider your own penmanship. Consider it briefly and then let it go.
Water signs (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces). One bird left and one did not. You have been checking. Keep checking; it is not morbid, it is attention.
Filed Sunday from the dock, first jacket of the season, first frost still a rumor. It comes out Tuesday.