The Weekly Newspaper serving the citizens of Morenci, Mich., Fayette, Ohio, and surrounding areas.

  • Front.cheers
    MACEE BEERS joins other Fayette Elementary School students for the annual Mini-Cheer performance during the half-time break at the basketball game.
  • Family.3.wide
    CHILDREN at Stair District Library’s Family Story Time toss scarves into the air during an activity. The evening program provided a mix of stories, songs, dancing, crafts and snacks Monday evening. The program is offered at 5:30 p.m. every Monday for five more weeks. The program is designed for three to five year olds and their family.
  • Front.newpaper.2
    THE INTERVIEW—Evelyn Joughin (right) records the interaction with an iPad while Jack Varga, next to her, asks questions of Morenci Elementary School principal Gail Frey. Morenci senior Sam Cool (standing) listens. Cool serves as the editor for the newspaper written by members of Mrs. Barrett’s second grade class.
  • Front.code.2
    WRITING CODE—Brock Christle (left), a Morenci fifth grade student, takes a look at the progress being made by fourth grader Anthony Lewis. Libby Rorick, a sixth grade student, is next in a line of girls trying out the coding tutorials. This year marked Morenci’s second year of participation in the Hour of Code project.
  • Front.gym.new
    REMIE RYAN (left) tries to dodge the foam wand held by Hayden Bays during physical education class at Morenci Elementary School. In the background, Lauryn Dominique and Brooklyn Williams stay clear of the tag. Second grade students were working on cardiovascular health on the first day back from vacation. For the record, Safety Tag is a very difficult sport to photograph.
  • Front.lift
    MORENCI student Dalton McCowan puts everything into a dead lift attempt Saturday morning during the Wyseguy Push/Pull event. Lifters helped raise more than $1,600 for the family of the late Devin Wyse, a former Morenci power-lifter who graduated last year. Commemorative T-shirts are still available by contacting teacher Dan Hoffman.
  • Front.library.books
    MACK DICKSON takes a book off the “blind date” cart at the Fayette library. Patrons can choose a book without knowing what’s inside other than a general category. The books are among those designated for removal so patrons can consider them gifts. In Morenci, new books and staff favorites were chosen from the stacks and must be returned. Patrons get a piece of chocolate, too, to take on their date, but no clue about their “date.” One reader said she really enjoyed her book for a few pages, but then lost interest—so typical for a blind date.

2008.01.30 Rats and I like peanuts

Written by David Green.

By DAVID GREEN

I have found great joy in a bag of peanuts. Great joy and a little trepidation.

My wife bought a 20 oz. bag of Hampton Farms salted and roasted peanuts in the shell. “Goodness grows in North Carolina,” says the state agriculture slogan.

“Remember: small children can choke on peanuts.” No mention that this product may contain peanuts.

It must have been a long time since we had a bag of salted, roasted peanuts because they tasted so darn good. Colleen didn’t want to eat the darker ones for some reason, so I got all of those, too.

It’s been a good week, despite the rubbing of salt in wounds. I get these weird little slits on my right thumb and index finger in the winter—apparently something I inherited from my mother—and it really hurts to crack open those salted shells.

It’s such an odd thing about peanuts that they aren’t nuts. Think soybeans, alfalfa, locust trees. Think legumes—woody, indehiscent legumes. Peanuts are goober peas.

The allergy issue is a serious one for many people. I’ve read that one whiff of peanut dust can cause a fatal reaction. Fortunately, peanut dust doesn’t blow around here. It’s down in Alabama where nearly half of the U.S. crop is grown.

For me, an allergic reaction is not an issue. I have other fears about peanuts and about peanut butter.

The oldest peanut butter manufacturer in the nation, the Krema Nut Company of Columbus, began selling its product exactly 100 years ago. The owner had a catchy slogan: “I refuse to sell outside of Ohio.”

It’s comforting to know that U.S.D.A. standards allow only about 30 insect fragments per 100 grams of peanut butter. That’s probably only about six legs per sandwich, but maybe that’s part of what makes it taste so good. Or maybe it’s rodent hair or feces, but the likelihood of encountering that stuff is only about one in five sandwiches. This sounds rather disgusting, but it’s unavoidable. That and more is in a lot of food.

It’s not the rat poop in peanut butter that worries me, it’s the choking hazard. So many times I’ve quickly packed a peanut butter sandwich when driving off to attend some event or another and I’ve almost gotten a mouthful stuck in my throat.

When it happens, various scenarios run through my mind. Speeding into someone’s driveway, knocking on the door, pantomiming the need for water. Or quickly stopping and melting snow in my hands or lapping up water from a puddle.

With peanuts—like that wonderful bag we ate our way through last week—it’s the rotten peanut that worries me. Remember the song?

“Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut last night.

Last night I found a peanut, found a peanut last night.”

So far, so good.

“Cracked it open, cracked it open, cracked it open last night.

Last night I cracked it open, cracked it open last night.”

Now is when it gets a little troublesome.

“It was rotten, it was rotten, it was rotten last night.

Last night it was rotten, it was rotten last night.”

My mother taught me this song in my preschool years. It made quite an impact. It frightened me. I worried about dying.

Now where were we? Found a peanut, cracked it open, it was rotten.

“Ate it anyway, ate it anyway, ate it anyway last night.

Last night I ate it anyway, ate it anyway last night.

Got sick, got sick, got sick last night.

Last night I got sick, I got sick last night.”

I’m not sure what happens after that. I know there are many variations to the song and I can’t remember just how our family version went.

Called the doctor.

Didn’t answer.

Called the hospital.

Cut me open.

Took the peanut out.

Sewed me up again.

Died anyway.

Now what a thing to be telling a preschool kid. Eat some food you know is bad and end up dead.

You see? There’s much worse in this world than a simple rat’s whisker.

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