Author: Administrator

By RAHN ADAMS

SALEM, N.C. (Jan. 14, 2026) — Last week I got fed up with current events and fired off one of those “What a Crazy World We Live In” posts on social media. In it, I pointed out that on the one hand we’re raptly watching a reverent procession of orange-robed Buddhist monks and their well-behaved dog walk single file across the South promoting peace, while on the other hand we are terrified to witness legions of masked federal stormtroopers, like Hitler’s SS, descending upon Main Street, U.S.A., and murdering us in broad daylight. (Yes, it truly was murder — a conscious decision at worst, depraved indifference at best. However it occurred, the killing was anointed by our heads of state and blessed by the crowd that pushes for The Ten Commandments to be posted everywhere publicly, including “Thou Shalt Not Kill,” I presume.)

Talk about the yin and the yang of living in the material world now. It’s like night and day; like fire and ice; like having a white dog on one shoulder, a black dog on the other; or like claiming to be followers of Christ, but worshiping the devil instead, as many white Christian fundamentalists do. These days I can’t seem to get W.B. Yeats’s apocalyptic poem “The Second Coming” out of my head, with its talk about things falling apart and centers not holding and anarchy being loosed upon the world. (That’s where the “Rough Beast” in my headline comes from. It isn’t a reference to the monks’ yellow dog.)

Yeah, this is gonna be one of those blog columns — not a lot of laughs, because Rahn’s big-boy panties are in a wad again. (Well? Referring to oneself in the third person seems to be par for the course now, even though it was a funny bit from a 30-year-old Seinfeld episode.)

Oh, right. Rahn needs to buy himself some big-boy panties. Sorry, he gets those put-downs mixed up sometimes. It’s from having TDS or from letting that lying sack of farts with the orange spray-tan and weird comb-over live rent-free in his head. All the bald-faced lies, hatefulness, bullying and braggadocio run together after a while. (And that’s how SAD things have gotten — I mean, that the big bad wolf of 5th Avenue’s dyed-in-the-wool Sheep Are Du-u-u-ummmb.)

Continue reading Monks Walk for Peace as ‘Rough Beast’ Slouches Towards War

By RAHN ADAMS

for Joseph R. Biden Jr.

At the edge of the ocean / On the cusp of sea and sky and spit / Lived the old lighthouse keeper; / Ever faithful Charlie Swan kept the Cape Fear beacon lit.

Three square little houses / In a row with unobstructed ocean views, / Like pieces on a game board, / Sheltered Captain Charlie and his beach-borne lifesaving crews.

This fearsome washboard of shoals / Has always sent swabbies to their knees / On the decks of sailing ships / Seeking safe harbor from dark or stormy seas.

That blessed beacon in its day / Was more than hope and saving grace; / It was a confident beam, / A blinding pinpoint of trust in that barren, windswept place.

But the captain and his light are gone; / God only knows where his crewmen now abide. / Left are their vacant dwellings / With sand and sunflowers on every side.

By RAHN ADAMS

BOONE, N.C. (Jan. 7, 2026) – So, how did you spend Old Christmas yesterday? Did you have a big feast or give someone special a gift? Did you take down your Christmas decorations and stow them away until next Halloween? You should have done that at least.

No? Well, then, did you stay up past midnight on Tuesday to see if your pets would kneel and pray? That’s an Appalachian tradition—staying up late on Old Christmas Eve to hear animals talk. I mean, Balaam’s ass actually speaks in the Bible (Numbers 22:28-30). The mule doesn’t exactly pray, but he does ask why his master is mistreating him. Animals can talk, and they do pray.

We need no proof at our house, because Scout, our little Type-A Manx cat, has a word of prayer with me every blessed morning. She tells me—not Timberley, mind you—in no uncertain terms when it’s time to get up and feed her. Her laid-back brother Jem, an orange tabby, knows to keep his mouth shut—until I open the can of cat food. Then it’s smack, smack, munch, munch.

When Scout says, “Muh-wow,” we know she’s asking for water, and we let her jump up on the bathroom counter for a drink. When she’s perturbed with me for wanting to stay in bed a minute longer, she says, “Raw-run, Raw-run,” and I’m not quite sure if that’s my name or what I need to do to keep her from jumping up on me. But she does—with all four feet—if I don’t rise and shine.

Continue reading How Do You Celebrate Old Christmas — With a Bang or a Whimper?

By RAHN ADAMS

Crossing Mad Inlet to get there / was what made the trek / An adventure on an otherwise ordinary day.

If your sojourn on Bird Island / wasn’t timed with the tide, / Your return might be delayed for hours

While you waited on the beach / for the meandering moon / And the arcing sun to align for your benefit.

So then you’d wander on down / to the driftwood bench in the dunes, / To see what other dawdlers had said

About getting themselves stranded / for wanting to be in touch / With limitless sky, salted winds, and holy sea.

But storms through the years / have closed Mad Inlet / And have posted a shiftless sign in the sands of time.

It’s almost too easy now — / a dog walk to the box and back, / Stopping by dunes on a showy evening / for what is lovely, dark, and deep.

By RAHN ADAMS

MORGANTON, N.C. (Dec. 31, 2025) – Like that time the crazy guy groped his mic stand on the campaign trail, this past year has sucked so badly that I’m looking for a watchnight service to attend tonight. I need some hope for a change. Call it what you will.

You’re probably asking yourself, what in the H-E-double hockey sticks is a watchnight service? Well, it’s kinda like Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Ryan Seacrest, but without the late Dick Clark’s ageless charisma (because he’s still dead), without real rock ‘n’ roll, just fake rock called contemporary Christian music or praise hymns, and without the boyish charm of Ryan Seacrest.

But it does take place on New Year’s Eve, though in a church or cathedral with lots of singing and praying. It sometimes follows a light communal meal called a lovefeast, usually only coffee or tea and cookies—more of a love-snack, if you ask me.

What will attendees be watching for tonight? According to Wikipedia, the watchnight service “provides the opportunity for Christians to review the year that has passed and make confession, and then prepare for the year ahead by praying and resolving.” Make confession? Hmm. That could take a while.

And what was that last thing, after praying? Resolving? No, no, I don’t bother with New Year’s resolutions anymore. At my age, I figure it’s too late to change my ways. This old dog ain’t learning any new tricks.

Continue reading Watching for Common Sense’s Second Coming

By RAHN ADAMS

MORGANTON, N.C. (Dec. 24, 2025) – No, I’m not going to criticize my wife Timberley here on Christmas Eve, not until after we open our presents, anyway.

This is a brief review of Lenoir native Jan Karon’s latest Mitford novel, My Beloved, which I just finished reading aloud to Timberley as one of my gifts to her this holiday season. As I discovered in reading the heartwarming story, my gesture was like a common thread running through the book.

Actually, this is the second present my beloved wife and best friend has gotten early this year. The other one was The Chicken Encyclopedia for her to use with the children’s book she has started working on. Yeah, I know. I’m so romantic, huh?

But back to My Beloved. Over the past four decades, Ms. Karon, 88, has written 25 bestselling books, 15 of which are novels set in the fictional mountain village of Mitford. Her faithful readers—like Timberley—know that Mitford is really Blowing Rock, N.C., the Watauga County town where Ms. Karon lived for 10 years.

She moved to Virginia around the time that Timberley and I took teaching jobs at Watauga High School after our own 10-year sojourn, but on the N.C. coast. To my knowledge, our paths never crossed in Blowing Rock or Boone.

Or in Lenoir, where both Ms. Karon and I were products of the Caldwell County public school system—her, in and around the town of Hudson; me, at Happy Valley Elementary and Hibriten High. She credits her first-grade teacher, Nan Downs, with encouraging her love of reading and writing.

I must have been a late bloomer, because the educator who turned me on to reading and writing was Shannon Russing, my 11th-grade English teacher. I hope she knows how much I still appreciate the encouragement she gave me, a shy 16-year-old struggling to find my place among more privileged and confident peers.

As I think back on that 11th-grade English class, I’m not exaggerating to say that I have only positive memories of the lessons in Ms. Russing’s classroom. If anything bad happened, I don’t remember it.

That isn’t the case, however, with my other high school English classes, where the two teachers—one an abusive man, the other an overly strict woman—managed their classrooms through fear. They started out tough to get us kids under control, and they rarely let up.

One thing I did learn in those bad classes, though, was what not to do as an English teacher myself later on.

Continue reading An Honest Review of ‘My Beloved’

BOONE, N.C. (Nov. 17, 2025) – Local authors Rahn and Timberley Adams have released the third book in their series of young adult novels focusing on teen living and high school sports.

Published by Gaillardia Press, this third installment is entitled Tales of the Barf Table, Book Three: Diamonds and Stone. The 365-page book deals primarily with boys’ baseball, but also with girls’ softball and year-ending school events. It also explores a mystery of life-and-death proportions that has been building throughout the series.

“Actually, the devastation of Hurricane Helene inspired this book,” said Timberley Adams. “We started on it late last year as storm recovery here was underway. We also remembered our experiences in Hugo and other hurricanes from when we lived on the N.C. coast in the 1980s and ‘90s.”

The release of Diamonds and Stone follows the January 2024 publication of From the Gridiron to the Fire, about high school football, and the November 2024 publication of Trouble Shooters, about girls’ basketball and boys’ wrestling. All three novels feature a group of misfits who sit together in the school cafeteria at what others call the Barf Table.

From the new book’s back cover: “A devastating tornado on Good Friday strikes Arbor High and forces teenagers Artie Bauer and Ty Green—both Arbor Bruins baseball stars—to take shelter in the team’s indoor batting cage. When the two friends emerge after the storm, they see that their ballpark has been severely damaged . . . but they soon learn that a rival school in the next town has been destroyed. Baseball season comes to an exciting end, prom time arrives, and graduation approaches. Through it all, [the Barf Table gang learns] the value of teamwork by helping friends and neighbors cope with the aftermath of the storm and with the unearthing of skeletons from the past.”

Rahn Adams noted, “We’re really pleased with this story. It offers positive alternatives for dealing with tough situations that many young people face. That’s what we want readers to see in all these books—good role models.”

Continue reading Gaillardia Press Releases ‘Barf Table III: Diamonds and Stone’

By RAHN ADAMS

BOONE, N.C. (July 4, 2025) — Isn’t it great when someone — maybe even a complete stranger — does something that exceeds your expectations? That’s how I felt yesterday when I picked up the mail at the post office.

In last month’s column, I wrote about receiving someone else’s mail in error and deciding to do more than just dropping the envelope back in the outgoing mail slot. I’ve done that before and then have received the same piece of errant mail again and again.

But this appeared to be a birthday card or an invitation, and so I put it in another, larger envelope, addressed it legibly without the abbreviation that had confused the post office mail scanner, and sent it back across the state to Elizabethtown in Bladen County, not far from where Timberley and I used to live.

Continue reading Some Good Deeds Are Rewarded

By RAHN ADAMS

MORGANTON, N.C. (June 10, 2025) — As we watch 79-year-old Donald Trump prepare to celebrate his own birthday with a taxpayer-funded, multimillion-dollar military parade in D.C. and a manufactured declaration of martial law in L.A., let’s take stock of where we’ve been and where we’re going.

Remember the old campaign question: Are you better off now than you were four years ago?

Well, how about this: Are you better off now than you were six months ago — you know, before Trump took office again?

By any objective and reasonable measure — egg prices, inflation rates, constitutional rights and freedoms — an honest American’s answer to both questions would be Oh, hell no.

Continue reading Do We Really Trust Machines to Do Our Work? ‘I’m Sorry, Dave. I Can’t Do That.’

By RAHN ADAMS

MORGANTON, N.C. (May 28, 2025) — Since May 2017, my sweetheart and I have spent considerable time at Levine Cancer Institute in Charlotte—our stays thankfully less extended and less frequent as the years have passed. We were there today for what has become an annual visit for tests and consultations. We are truly thankful.

At the start of this journey, Timberley had to endure multiple scans and painfully relentless blood testing and radical surgery that would have made even the patient Job cuss. This morning, however, she had three quick and relatively painless tests done. Later she met again briefly with the surgeon who had saved her life eight years ago. Though inconvenient, today’s trip back to the huge medical center was a tolerable and not entirely unpleasant reunion of sorts.

My job all along has been to provide support services for our shared endeavor—driving us from Boone or Morganton to Charlotte, often in the predawn hours; sitting patiently in waiting rooms while appointments are met, usually masked to keep from catching others’ viruses (which has happened, anyway); and driving us back home through summer heat, winter cold, and any type of traffic, without cursing the transportation gods (the auto pilot?) too often or too loudly.

Admittedly, I’ve had the easier job. I hope I haven’t fallen short of expectations—or at least not too much.

Continue reading A Column for Donald and His Friends; or, It Better End Soon