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Except for a few afternoon clouds, mainly sunny. A stray shower or thunderstorm is possible. High 93F. Winds SW at 5 to 10 mph..

Some clouds early will give way to generally clear conditions overnight. Warm and humid. Low 74F. Winds light and variable.

I apologize in advance for missing the Reporter’s Notebook deadline last week. I sure did hear about it from those who read the notebook entries every week.

I wanted to share my South Mountain Fair experience.

Viewing all the exhibits firsthand to meeting the Upper Adams community, it was wonderful to go to the 100th anniversary of the fair.

I wanted to thank Ginny Martin for her gracious help last week. Not only did she help me obtain the information for winners in the different competitions, but she also took me to where the desserts were to get photos. She was already busy working throughout that day.

She went above and beyond to help me write articles about the winners, and I truly appreciate the kindness and assistance she gave me. It was a fun mini-adventure.

Since the winners weren’t there, I was able to call them and learn more about their creations. Seeing their decorations, I was amazed with the detail, time, and effort they put into the work. I’m excited to see how their journeys go at the Pennsylvania Farm Show.

I also had an opportunity to learn about Department 24 and the South Mountain Antique Engine Association. Their displays were eye-catching and showed a wide array of farming equipment.

“It’s main purpose is to educate people on the way back days of farming and give them an idea of what the equipment did compared to today’s modern technology,” said Adam A. Brown, chairperson of Department 24.

The South Mountain Fair offers a great agri-tourism experience and gives people a chance to go back in time, especially with some of the farming equipment dating back to the 1900s.

TRANSPARENCY, TRANSPARENCY, TRANSPARENCY, even if you would have attended the Gettysburg Area School District Board meeting you would have missed the fact that the district hired a new head of security for $98,000 a year or the board decided to give the district superintendent a raise on top of the other increases to which he was entitled per his contract

The district received a generous amount of additional funding from the state for the upcoming school year and the spend-happy, tax-happy school board could not wait to spend those dollars along with the unnecessary tax increase they forced down the throats of school district taxpayers.

The hire and raises along with some previously approved “pay-offs” to make teachers go away quietly and “secretly” were approved through a consent agenda vote this board and other elected boards use to hide spending and other actions from constituents. Creating a new, and in today’s world a needed position, with a very qualified and great candidate at a salary at $98,000 may not seem like a lot of money to some people in Adams County, but since a portion of that salary is coming from my tax dollars, I think a voice vote by all nine of our school board members is not too much to ask. I also ask how many district taxpayers are aware of Superintendent Jason Perrin’s salary? First and foremost, I like and admire Dr. Jason Perrin, he is a good superintendent and good for the district and our community but when his annual compensation package is nearly four times the median income of those paying his salary, things may have gotten a bit upside down.

This consent agenda way of doing things and spending our tax dollars needs to stop and transparency needs to return when elected officials are spending our money.

Next year is a local election year and there will be five spots up for grabs on the GASD Board; it is time for the taxpayers to take back control from the administration that is currently dictating to the board how and what to spend. This is also the time to put transparency back into the operations of the school district.

Give it up for the Eastern prickly-pear cactus.

I really knew nothing about this pokey plant when my mother-in-law asked if we could remove a patch of them from the front of her house. My wife and I dug in – literally – and spent some sweat equity uprooting a good-sized batch of cacti.

I can attest to the sting produced when one of the needles touches your skin. I can also attest to the pain produced when about a hundred of said needles decide to implant themselves in every inch of uncovered flesh. Not the best feeling ever, and incredibly hard to eradicate because those tiny barbed hairs are a chore to remove.

Not sure what to do with the huge tote full of uprooted cacti, we placed them at the edge of our backyard. And then sort of forgot about them.

Two weeks ago while mowing, I couldn’t help but notice the forgotten prickly-pear patch bordering our yard had produced a sea of really vibrant yellow flowers. Not a botanist by any stretch, I was pretty taken aback at the sight, assuming we had killed the not-so-cuddly cacti simply by not doing anything with them.

On Thursday, while knocking out some yardwork in the sweltering heat, I checked on our cactus patch and was again impressed with the resiliency of these plants. They were standing straight and looking healthy, despite their incomplete transplant.

Curious to know more about them, a quick trip down the information superhighway told me they are most commonly found in Pennsylvania’s southern counties, including Adams. June and July are the prime times for blooming yellow flowers, and a red or purple fruit appears at maturity.

The prickly-pear is also a species of special concern, I learned, thriving mostly in a specialized habitat that is on dry, cool and rocky ground. That nugget made me glad our batch of once-discarded cacti is doing well.

The irony wasn’t lost on me that we spend generous amounts of time and energy watering, pruning and worrying about plants that can at times struggle to thrive, while out in the backyard a bunch of prickly-pear is doing just fine on its own, despite an abrupt change of address.

I’ve heard it said, “You don’t stop playing rugby because you get old, you get old because you stop playing rugby.”

I put that adage to the test last weekend.

After a three-year absence due to COVID-19, the Can-Am rugby tournament took place in Saranac Lake, N.Y. I accompanied good friend Dano on a journey to familiar turf. It’s a long ride but well worth it. The Adirondack Mountains are beautiful and the air quality, at least according to my phone, is excellent. We’ve been playing rugby up there for more than 25 years.

Our usual club, the Pequea Exiles, was on continued hiatus, so we hooked up with the host squad, the Mountaineer Old Boys (MOB), an over-55 side. We lost our first two contests, shut out in fact. I was mostly a spectator but had a cameo or two. In my first appearance, I touched the ball within seconds of trotting onto the pitch, at wing of all things. A back for the Connecticut Grays kicked a high ball that I circled under precariously. Just as caught the fluttering spheroid over my shoulder, I was drilled by my opposite number. I landed most indelicately. After a scoreless first half, the Grays rode their superior numbers to triumph in the final frame.

The Lockport Lardasses (that is their official name in the program) used the same formula to grind out a win over MOB in Friday’s second match (it wasn’t really necessary in my view, but they want to make sure you get your money’s worth, I did).

We concluded the tournament with a victory over Old Breed, a team of USMC veterans. We beat them 20-17 on Dano’s penalty kick after time had expired.

We’ll savor the win and forget the losses.

If nothing else, I suppose I showed I can still take a hit. Is that really enough?

Before coming to the Times in 2017 as a freelancer, I had the same position with the GameTimePA family of newspapers for almost 18 years.

So I occasionally would have to go to the York Daily Record office for whatever reason. But since coming to the Times, I hadn’t been back to the YDR. I had no reason to go back.

On Tuesday, I finally made my return and things had changed at the building. The door I used to enter wasn’t the entrance to the YDR office anymore. That’s where the West York School District has its administrative offices now. So I wandered around outside, until a nice lady came out and asked me if I was there for YAIAA Football Media Day.

I said I was and she invited me inside.

Once inside, I saw some familiar faces that I hadn’t seen in years and it was nice to catch up. I’m gonna go ahead and venture a guess that it won’t be five years before I go back there again.

A typical semi tanker truck carries around 10,000 gallons of liquid. Imagine five of those hooking up to a small town’s water supply and hauling the H2O somewhere else. That’s the equivalent of what was happening up in Biglerville for a few days recently.

After noticing a precipitous 50 percent increase in daily consumption, the borough’s very capable sewer and water staff went scurrying all over town in search of the leak(s). They knew the problem was more than a few running toilets.

At Tuesday’s borough council meeting, it was explained that nobody had called in complaining of a full basement or sudden appearance of a backyard pond. Checks of sewer drains had not revealed where a gusher might be effusing.

I imagined possibilities for a great mystery plot. “So, who’s behind the great water heist in Bigler’s town? Given the ample rain we’ve had of late, it doesn’t seem likely the H2O thieves are local. Are some water-starved growers from California slinking into the borough by night and filling a couple of tanker train cars for shipment out west?”

By Wednesday evening my mystery novel was DOA before I wrote the first paragraph. The big leak from a water main breakage was discovered and fixed.

But this whole episode caused me to reflect on the importance of all the water-keepers around the world. Those who tend our water sources, like Doug and Kevin in Biglerville, are seldom recognized. We just turn on taps and drink or wash, without thinking that bad water could lead to “Taps” being played over us prematurely.

“Water” is mentioned over 700 times in the Bible, more frequently than “faith.” “There is no life without water,” said doctor/scientist Albert Szent-Gyorgyi. And Gandhi reminded us, “The earth, the air, the land, and the water are not an inheritance from our forefathers but on loan from our children.”

Much ink is spilled in letters to the editor about the merits of Israeli policies of expanding housing for Israelis in the occupied West Bank, the level of US support for Israel defense, and the indiscriminate violence that results from the inequities of power.

But there was good news coming from East Jerusalem last month that was barely covered thanks to the preoccupation with Saudi politics. The U.S. President visited the Mount of Olives, a 30 minute walk from Jerusalem’s Old City, the setting of Augusta Victoria Hospital, and announced major financial support for health care for the Arab populations in occupied territories. One of five accredited hospitals serving the Arabic population, Augusta Victoria is a hospital of the Lutheran World Federation and the only cancer treatment source for Arabic people who live in the West Bank and Gaza.

This is a guns and butter story in a way. Military aid flows to Israel from the U.S. steadily and without delay. Guns and Israel both have strong lobbying operations. Medicine and health care move more slowly. In fact, sometimes this kind of aid never gets sent. There have been several times when U.S. AID (Aid in Development) has targeted these hospitals for assistance, but partisan politics have not allowed release of those funds.

Modern medicine in places of conflict always faces challenge. The five hospitals can be owed many millions of dollars at any given time due to the inability of the Palestinian Authority to access its own tax dollars for health care reimbursements. They have been on the brink of having to deny treatment. Imagine knowing that you have cancer but having no place where you could access state of the art treatment.

I have been fortunate to visit this particular setting devoted to healing and health care multiple times since the early 1980’s. One of my daughters worked there a decade ago, and I have been blessed to stay in the campus’ guest house more than once. The facility was created for hospitality for Holy Land pilgrims by the Germans in the late 19th century.

This aid won’t solve the two state problem. But to see U.S. aid doing good in the world should be gratifying to everyone. This was an underreported, but joyful first time a sitting U.S. President paid such a visit and brought aid that will save countless lives. “Guns” still get all the headlines, but the U.S. actually delivered life-saving “butter,” and that was nothing short of spectacular news for this tax payer.

A few weeks ago, I used my Reporter’s Notebook space as an obituary for my 2002 Ford Focus, which sadly died just as I was turning into my driveway in the middle of a heat advisory. With there being a shortage of everything, this is arguably the worst time to be without wheels.

After several promising offers that did not work out, I ended up falling in love with a vehicle my mechanic was selling that resembled a PT Cruiser…except it was a Chevy HHR. Anyone who knows me will tell you I love Chevys; I only bought the Ford out of necessity (but it proved my point Chevys are better).

Since I can remember, I swore I’d never drive anything other than a car. I always thought that trucks are gas hogs, crossovers aren’t stylish and minivans/SUVs are for soccer moms. When I climbed into the HHR and drove it for the first time, I knew I wanted to have a crossover vehicle from now on. I can see the road better, I feel safer since the vehicle is larger than a car and there’s plenty of room in the back for my sons (though I’m not sure why that would matter since my sons are small parrots).

Surprisingly, I’ve only filled the HHR up once since I bought it last week. It’s nice not to have the anxiety that my car is about to kick the bucket or leak some new fluid. The only thing I miss about my Focus is the antenna- I liked sticking smiley toppers on them.

Hopefully the HHR last me a long time and I’m not writing a eulogy for this vehicle. I love it so much I think I’m actually going to take it to the car wash tomorrow!

I actually got away from the office last weekend to spend a few hours doing things I wanted to do, rather than chores I had to do, which is too often the case anymore.

Since the night, assistant and managing editors’ jobs were rolled into one with me in the hot seat, I put in a lot of hours. Thankfully, I love what I do, but every once in a while I do need a bit of time to recharge. Last weekend was that time.

I went to the South Mountain Fair.

I decided I was going to enjoy that fair as if I was a youngster, although I didn’t kick, whine and carry on about having to go through the exhibit halls instead of being out on the midway spinning round on rides. I recall when my five children were young and only wanted to ride the night away, seeing no value in looking at the myriad items entered for exhibition. It was always a fight to drag them through the exhibition buildings, and during those years I never did get to check out all the entries, instead relenting to the kids’ wishes.

This year I looked at each and every item people took the time to bring to the fairgrounds for judging, and I didn’t whirl around on any rides.

If they’d had a carousel I would have ridden it, but that’s as adventurous as I get on carnival rides these days. Checking out the exhibits was an acceptable alternative for a senior citizen, in my opinion.

I have to say, I was shocked at the very few entries. The building where 4-H exhibits are normally housed was locked up tight. The 4-H exhibits were on display with all the other artwork, handicrafts, food and flowers, and there was still a lot of empty space in that building.

Normally there are a ton of entries from school children. Not so this year. (Hint art teachers, maybe you can work on that for next year.) Fruit and vegetables were limited, as were plants and flowers. It was actually sad.

Of course, with the fair in July, instead of after Labor Day as it was traditionally and should still be, there aren’t apples to enter yet, or pears, and peaches, I suspect, are just starting to ripen.

Competing with the York fair, and at least one area carnival and another county fair, can’t be good for attendance or entries at the South Mountain Fair.

Alas, I didn’t have a lot to see, but I made the most of it.

We’d run a photo of Leroy Rentzel and his Angus cross steer, Tres, in the paper and I wanted to get a first-hand look at that fine piece of beef. I met Leroy, and he pointed out Tres for me. That steer was as good looking in person as he was in the photo in the paper, better actually. Tres’ silky black coat glistened in the early evening light. Leroy did an excellent job raising this fellow.

We’d also run a photo of a couple heifers handled by a pair of young girls. It took me a bit to locate those young cows, but I finally did. One was a Brown Swiss, my absolute favorite breed. That heifer was so little, and sweet, and cute, and cuddly. For years I’ve wanted a Brown Swiss. Maybe someday. In the meantime, I got to pet and love on that little girl cow at the fair.

Did I ever mention I really, really like cows? I don’t need a herd, just one to treat like an over-sized dog.

So, on my mission to enjoy the fair as if I was 5 years old, I petted goats, sheep and pigs, in addition to the aforementioned cattle. There were bunnies, but they really only interest me if they’re on my dinner plate and I don’t typically pet my food, so no rabbit coddling for me. And I bypassed the guinea pigs just so I wouldn’t be too tempted to bring one home. I still miss Bess and Riley, my guinea pig girls, but I’m to an age where keeping guinea pigs is getting to be a chore rather than a pleasure.

After checking out all the fair animals, and looking at the tractors without sitting on any, it was game time.

It only took me $5-worth of ping-pong balls to win a goldfish. Yay! I won a fish, which I gave to some little boy who desperately wanted one.

I was actually afraid to take home a new fish, too unsure about adding it to my aquarium.

I have two fair fish in an aquarium in what was once the schoolroom at my house. The fish are a decade old. Daughter Rebekah won them that long ago at the fair, and they are still thriving. I was afraid adding a new fair fish would upset the balance in the aquarium, so I made a little boy happy instead. I hope the fish I gave him lasts as long as Rebekah’s fish have so far. The smile on his face was well worth the $5.

Time for a break, husband Bill and I headed to the Lions’ pavilion for supper, and a sit-down. Old people get tired wandering around petting critters and need to refuel.

Well sated with some wonderful food, we walked around checking out every nook, cranny and corner of the fair.

Tired after a long evening of strolling, there was only one thing left to do before going home, getting a bag of cotton candy. It wouldn’t be the fair without cotton candy.

I did something I’ve never done before.

It’s not news that my colleagues and I sometimes have a hard time coming up with ideas for Reporter’s Notebook.

But this time, I was so stuck that I decided to do a Google search for “writing prompts.”

The prompts are supposed to inspire creativity. None of them worked, so I decided to write some prompts of my own.

• A brand-new car, the model you’ve always dreamed of, is in your driveway. All the necessary paperwork is on the driver’s seat, made out in your name. The gas tank is full. But there’s something moving in the trunk.

• A new neighbor moves in. He seems perfectly nice. But he won’t tell you his name.

• You call an Uber. The driver keeps asking if you’re sure you want to go to your destination. Every time he asks, his voice is a little softer and he becomes a little more transparent.

• You open your local newspaper and find out one of the reporters sometimes has a less than sunny imagination.

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