“Where the coffee’s hot, the lakes are cold, and all the children are above average.” — Serving the Chain since 1897.
Tuesday, September 15, 2026 · 3 item(s) in this section.
The Klatch · From Eunice
Eunice on the first ordinary week since June: the grouse sheet needing a second page, thirty-one pies going in two hours, and the particular quiet of a Monday when nothing at all is scheduled.
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Churches & Community
First Lutheran opened its Sunday school year fully staffed for the first time since 2017. The sermon series that began in July reached Part Twelve, which the reverend declines to discuss.
Read the full story →One month. Mud Lake Brewing Co. passed four weeks Saturday: 59 customers Friday, 104 Saturday, 46 Sunday, and the stout out for the seventh time.
Twenty-four. Barb Nyberg opened her twenty-fourth September in Room 6 with twenty-four books on twenty-four desks, as she has since 2002.
One bird. The second Big Pelican juvenile was still on the water Monday morning. SEPT. 14 — ONE.
Forty-one. Sunday school enrollment at First Lutheran, up from thirty-four, with every grade staffed for the first time since 2017.
Ninth Saturday. The regular at the north end of the brewery’s bar has now occupied the same stool for nine consecutive Saturdays.
Grouse, for People Who Got One. Breast them out; nobody here is plucking a grouse and anybody who says otherwise is performing. Pound the breasts flat, salt them, dredge in flour with a good deal of pepper, and into hot butter for three minutes a side and not a minute more — the entire way to ruin a grouse is to keep cooking it. Onions in the same pan after. If you got two birds and have four people, slice it thin and call it an appetizer, which is what everyone does and nobody admits.
Requested by two people at the counter Saturday, both of whom got a bird and neither of whom had cooked one in some years.
By Sigrid Pelto. The harvest moon rises full on the twenty-sixth, and this is the one night a year when the moon is worth more to you than the dark is. It comes up enormous and orange over the east shore about twenty minutes after sunset and it does that because it is close to the horizon and your eye is a liar, and knowing that has never once made it less impressive. Bring nothing. Look at it with your eyes. The photograph will disappoint you and you will take one anyway.
Fire signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius). You have been walking too fast in the woods and you know it. Half the distance, twice the stopping.
Earth signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn). Twenty-one days without rain. You have been watering something that is finished. Let it be finished.
Air signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius). Two events on the same Friday and you have opinions about both. Attend one and be pleasant about the other.
Water signs (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces). One bird is still there. You have checked more than once this week. So have I.
Filed Sunday from the dock, frost on the boards at seven, gone by eight. It comes out Tuesday.