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

  • KayseInField
    IN THE FIELD—2004 Morenci graduate Kayse Onweller works in a test plot of wheat in Texas. She’s part of Bayer CropScience’s North American wheat breeding program based in Nebraska, where she completed post-graduate work in plant breeding and genetics.
  • Front.winner
    REFEREE Camden Miller raises the hand of Morenci Jr. Dawgs wrestler Ryder Ryan as his opponent leaves the mat in disappointment. Morenci’s youth wrestling program served as host for a tournament Saturday morning to raise money for the club. Additional photos are on the back page.
  • Front.bank.2
    SHERWOOD STATE Bank opened its Fayette office at a grand opening Friday morning, drawing a large crowd to view the renovated building. Above, Burt Blue talks to teller Cindy Funk, while his wife, Jackie, looks around the new office. The Blues missed the opening and took a quick tour on Tuesday. Few traces remain of the former grocery store and theater, however, part of the original brick wall still shows in the hallway leading to the back of the building. The drive-through window should be ready for customers later in the month.
  • Front.carry.casket
    CARRYING—Riley Terry (blue jacket) and Mason Vaughn lead the way, carrying an empty casket outside to the hearse waiting at the curb. Morenci juniors and seniors visited Eagle Funeral Home last week to learn about the role of a funeral director and to understand the process of arranging for a funeral.
  • 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.make.three
    FROM THE LEFT, Landon Wilkins, Ryan White and Logan Blaker try out their artistic skills Saturday afternoon at the Morenci PTO’s first Date to Create event. More than 50 people showed up to create decorated planks of wood to hang from rope. The event served as a fund-raiser for miscellaneous PTO projects. Additional photos are on the back of this week’s Observer.
  • Front.F.office
    NEW OFFICES—Fayette village administrator Steve Blue speaks with tax administrator Genna Biddix at the new front desk of the village office. Village council members voted to use budgeted renovation funds targeted for the old office and instead buy the vacant bank building on the corner of Main and Fayette streets. The old office was sold to Sherwood State Bank. When everything is put into place in the spacious new village office, an open house will be scheduled. Council member David Wheeler donated all of his time needed to make changes in the bank interior to fit the Village’s needs.

2006.11.30 A barfy Thanksgiving

Written by David Green.

By JEFF PICKELL

It was, indeed, a very barfy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving, or THANKSgiving as it is pronounced in the south and elsewhere in the midwest, is probably my favorite holiday. I know, you’d never expect the guy who writes 50 percent of his columns about food to favor above all others the holiday where people get together to gorge themselves, but it’s true—turkeys have nightmares about me.

This was probably the worst Thanksgiving ever. I’ve been fighting a stomach bug for about two weeks now. It’s nothing major, so long as I stick to what my mom calls bland foods—lightly buttered toast, soup broth, salad, and cups of noodles. Pretty much anything heavier sends me bolting for the bathroom before long.

I spent the three or so days leading up to T-day (turkey day) in training, nibbling on this and that, relying on my plentiful fat stores to stave off collapse. I wanted to be better so I could go after that turkey with a passion, to teach it who’s boss with salvoes of mashed potato body slams, dinner roll pile drivers, and green bean casserole haymakers.

But during the two hour drive from Highland to Sturgis, echoes of wooziness still bounced around my belly. I ignored them, and when we arrived at Aunt Julie’s, went straight for the hors d’oeuvres, plying my empty food bag with fancy cheese and crackers and cauliflower with vegetable dip, delightedly washing them down with can after can of Diet Coke.

Big mistake. When dinner time came, I got about halfway through my first plate before something down there went awry. I excused myself to quell this uneasy feeling with a few laps around the house (this should be read as “I dashed out the back door to a nearby pile of leaves and emptied my stomach”).

My Thanksgiving was effectively over, but Darla the dog’s feast was just beginning. As much as she may hate it, Darla is a dog of weak gastro-intestinal fortitude. She may want to eat things like paper, deer turds, and jalapeno poppers, but she just can’t keep them down. Add to this list large quantities of turkey grease.

Just as we were leaving, my Uncle Don opened the garage, where the left over grease was stored. Darla swiftly struck at this target of opportunity and was snout-deep in it before Dad found out and shooed her away. It was too late. She was dry-heaving before we made it out of Sturgis.

An hour later, as the sun dipped into the west and the sky took on a tint of purple and orange, she barfed all over Mom. Were anything left in my stomach, the sickening smell of the Darla barf would’ve led me to follow suit. I hiccuped and swallowed spittle for the remainder of the trip.

The next day, it was back to soups, salads and fruits for me. I exercised with my dad, mom and Darla at the park and felt pretty good afterward, but took it easy and watched reruns of “Third Rock from the Sun” all afternoon and into the night, ignoring my friends’ calls for me to leave the basement.

Saturday was much the same. I ran some errands and envyingly munched a Greek salad while my friends Tony and Evan enjoyed kielbasa and macaroni and cheese and fried cod and french fries, respectively.

Sunday was once again soup, salad and napping all day, right until mom woke me up for dinner, after which I crankily remarked “Why don’t you turn down the heater? It’s burning up in here.”

“What are you talking about?” said Dad. “It’s cold.”

“John, check to see if he has a fever,” said Mom.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I insisted. “What’s for dinner?”

“Corned beef casserole,” said Mom.

“I’m in,” I said.

Shortly afterward, I departed for Morenci, making it precisely three quarters of the way down my road before barfing all over myself, my car interior, and my work clothes. Then I sobbed.

Back home, mom forbid me from leaving the house, even after the laundry was redone. This was a good maneuver, because my night was filled with more barfing, feverish half-sleep and nightmares involving a talking, teleporting washing machine and, wouldn’t you know it, turkeys.

Again, it’s a good thing my stomach was empty when I set out for Morenci in the morning, because the smell in my car—I’ll be eating blandly until I devise a way to get rid of it.

I will, however, live to eat again.

    - Nov. 30, 2006 

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