My life has been and continues to be filled with wonderful opportunities and experiences. 
One opportunity that comes to mind is returning to school and earning a college degree at 38-years of age.
    At the time, I was only the third family member on both sides of the fence to earn a degree. I believe several of my cousins and family members have earned degrees in the years since.
     What makes it even more special is that I attended the University of Missouri-Columbia, home to one of the top journalism programs in the world.
    Not only did I barely pass high school English, I didn’t have the grades to get into the MU School of Journalism. I was in my mid-30s, which made the experience even more challenging.
       What I lacked in skills didn’t matter because I had heart and that will take you a long way in life.
Part of the requirements to get into the MU School of Journalism is taking courses in the introduction to news writing, a writing intensive course on the History of American Journalism and scoring 80 or better on a 100-question grammar exam.
       The first pre-journalism course I took was on the History of America Journalism. I had to complete two writing intensive papers as part of the course work. Papers were graded on a scale of 1-15, with 15 being tops. My first paper was so bad that I scored a negative 6. Thanks to tutoring and help from a friend, I turned the paper around and my second draft earned a score of 14. I had done a great job with my research, it was structuring the paper that I had problems completing.
       I also took the news writing course in the summer of 1995. I was so nervous; the instructor didn’t help either. He stepped into the room on the first day, handed out the course outline and then proceeded tell us that he had to cut a fishing trip short to come teach the class. After he finished outlining the course, he offered anyone who had not written on the course outline the option of quitting. I’m glad I didn’t.
     Course requirements included finding stories in press releases, writing obits, writing spot news and features. I was told that if I earned a “C” in any class in journalism school that I was doing great. I earned a B- in the course.
       The grammar exam was another bump in the road. I failed it twice and passed it the third time, which was on my 36th birthday. I will never forget the day. Prior to the exam, I was outside with other student test takers. Some were talking about the test being unnecessary, calling it a weed out test, and others were grumbling. So, I took a detour and walked to the other end of the building. It was there that I walked up and down the short sidewalk praying. I only stopped when someone walked past. I told God that I believed I belonged in this school. I may not have been the smartest student or understood it all, but I belonged there and I was going to get in the school. I did.
        No matter what is going on the world, your town and your life, the opportunity to dream, take a step and see it come to pass is still there. It hasn’t changed in this country in more than 200-years. Our Freedoms may be threatened, but we are still free.
         Keep going, don’t give up. If you fail or miss the mark, get up, wipe the dust off and get going again.
I challenge you to read stories of the great men and women who built this country. Learn from them and see how they persevered so we can enjoy life today.
       Write down your dreams. It doesn’t cost a dime. Ask for help. It’s more humbling to ask for help than trying to do it by yourself. When you reach a goal or make a breakthrough, celebrate. Take time to celebrate your accomplishment. Then get up and go after it again.
        Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

      My mom loved old-time county music, especially country gospel.
     When Sunday morning rolled around, she’d get out of bed at the crack of dawn and turn the radio on to country gospel.
      It was usually loud enough to wake the dead, or in my family’s case, the deadheads piled under the covers.
      I think the goal was to get everyone up and ready for church – on time. In spite of her efforts, we were late more often than early to Sunday school, but we were there and that was a good thing.
        I will always be thankful that my mom and dad took me to church. It helped mold me into the man I am today.
       Anyway, my mom loved country music and one her favorites was Minnie Pearl. She had a Minnie Pearl hat that she wore in an adult church skit. “Howdy,” she’d say, wearing the hat with its tag still attached.
       Another of her favorites was Jerry Clower. Who didn’t love old Jerry and his stories of the Ledbetters, coon hunting and life in the south?
          She also enjoyed Charlie Pride, Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. 
         Back in the day, my family always took a vacation in August. My dad had a 1967 Chevrolet C-10 pickup with a camper shell complete with walk-in door. My mom had three custom beds built in the back. One bed went across the rear of the camper and two beds were built on each side of the camper. We’d store our Coleman camping stove, ice chest and luggage under the beds. My brother would sleep on a pad in the middle.
        We enjoyed many trips to the Bootheel of Southeast Missouri to see family. My mom was born and raised in New Madrid, Mo., which is on the Mississippi River. She later moved to Van Buren, Mo., which is on the Current River, where she graduated high school in 1955.
         We also took trips to San Diego, Calif., Niagara Falls on the Canada and U.S. sides and various trips to Kansas, Texas and Arkansas.
          In 1974, the Grand Old Opry moved out of the Ryman Theater into its new (and current) building next to Opryland Amusement Park in Nashville. My mom always wanted to see the opry, so we, I mean my dad, loaded the camper and off we went to Nashville. 
          “Load and unload,” my dad would say when we went on vacation. 
          I don’t recall the route we took, but we ended up staying a night on Interstate 40 near Dixon, Tenn.
         After eating breakfast cooked on the camp stove, washing the dishes and packing the truck, it was off to Nashville to get Opry tickets. My parents didn’t have credit cards in those days, so the only other option was to buy tickets in person.
            My dad’s truck was running rough that morning and it died by the Interstate on-ramp.
         My dad walked across the bridge to a nearby gas station. He soon came back with a mechanic, who wasn’t having any luck getting the truck to run.
           The gas station owner towed the truck to the station and spent most of the day trying to troubleshoot the problem. I remember riding with him in his vehicle to Dixon to buy parts.
          He tried everything from new sparkplugs and wires to a new fuel filter. He had a Monte Carlo at the station that had caught on fire. He took the distributor out of engine, added new points and it worked. I think he only charged us a $100 for his work.
           We took off for Nashville, but it was too late to get tickets and my mom missed out on attending the Opry. 
           We made the best of it and enjoyed Opryland and I got to see Conway Twitty perform. On our return trip, we stayed in a campground in East Tennessee on the same night that Sheriff Buford Pusser (Walking Tall fame) was killed on Aug. 21, 1974. Pusser was a legendary sheriff from Adamsville, Tenn., who carried a big stick and went after moonshiners and lawbreakers back in the day. There are several books out about his interesting life in law enforcement.
             I have fond memoires of our family vacations and growing up in a good, God-loving family.
I can still hear the country gospel playing on the radio as my mom cooked a meal and my dad peddled out in the yard, reliving his memories growing up in the river bottoms.
            Always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” and enjoy life, my friends!

     I was at a Grinnell pizza eatery late last week picking up a gift card, when I mentioned to the fellow helping me that my birthday was the next week.
     “I’m going to be 60,” I told him as he rang up my purchase.
     A young fellow nearby making a pizza heard the comment and turned and smiled at me.
   “I’m so old that they study my generation in history,” I said as the young man and others smiled and chuckled.
   A few days earlier, I was at a Grinnell bank making the house payment when I mentioned to the teller helping me that my birthday was just around the corner.
     “I’m going to be 60,” I told her.
     “You don’t look 60,” she said, commenting about my youthful face.
     I told her that I was born in 1959, the Baby Boom Generation.
   The Baby Boom Generation defines a time in history following World War II for those born worldwide between 1946 – 1964. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 76.4 million people were born during the Baby Boom Generation. I was one of them.
      I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m turning 60. I don’t feel 60. Apparently I don’t look 60 (as some people say). And I can’t believe I’m 60.
      It wasn’t that long ago that I was in school and working on my first job as a newspaper carrier in my Tulsa neighborhood. In 10th grade, I had a Saturday job cleaning a north Tulsa refrigeration business and I also spent a summer working at a 10-stool neighborhood eatery, where I washed dishes and breaded chicken fried steaks. I worked at Sears and Roebuck my senior year, later entering the printing trade through a vocational education program in high school.

Memories
      I remember when my dad turned 60. It was June 30, 1989, half my life ago. His 60th birthday came during a memorable 11-day trip we took to the Grand Canyon. It was just me and Dad.
     I remember the trip well. We left Tulsa and headed west, spending the first night in Amarillo, Texas. The next day, we visited Palo Duro Canyon State Park, only to discover that it was quite cold in the canyon. We didn’t stay long.
      We made a stop at Stanly Marsh Cadillac Ranch (a roadside attraction of 10 Cadillac cars buried halfway in the ground) west of Amarillo, before making our way to Albuquerque, New Mexico for the evening.
The next day, we visited Acoma Pueblo west of Albuquerque, where I had to pay $5 to take photos, spending the night in Gallup. We then made it to Arizona with stops at the Petrified Forest, Painted Desert before spending the night in Jerome, Ariz. The next day we traveled to Jerome, Ariz., before spending the night in Flagstaff.
        The next day was a trip north to the Grand Canyon. What an amazing place.
      Our return trip took us through the Four Corners Tourist site into Utah, where we visited a Hollywood movie set built in the early 1960s. The movie, Sergeants 3, was filmed there. Released in 1962, the movie featured Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Peter Lawford and was about three rowdy American sergeants stationed in Indian territory.
        A segment of Clint Eastwood’s movie, The Outlaw Jose Wells, where he stabbed the fellow at the end of the movie, was also filmed there
        We made our way through the Southern Colorado mountains and Northern New Mexico before driving through the Panhandle of Oklahoma. 
        My dad worked nearly 40-years for Gaso Pump, a company in West Tulsa that built pumps used to move crude oil through pipelines. I remember stopping on our trip through the Panhandle at a substation that had pumps built by my dad’s company. I can still see him standing there watching them run. I’ll never forget it.
        That evening, the last night of the trip, we stayed in the Panhandle town of Buffalo, Okla. We ate supper at local café. My dad found someone to visit with while I watched television in the motel room. He enjoyed visiting and what better day to do that than his birthday.
       The Grand Canyon trip was one of several we took together between 1987-1991, including a trip to Mount Rushmore.
     I have lots of great memories. In the years since, I earned my college degree at age 38, got married, bought a house, published books and made a lot more friends than enemies along the way.
       Here’s to 60 and many more years to come!
     Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.

   I’ve attended the Iowa State Fair all but one year (2001) since moving to this fine state in December 1997.
   During that tenure, I’ve spent as little as an afternoon at the fair nodding off on one of the few benches that still remain at the fairgrounds while people watching. I’ve also stayed all 11-days sleeping in a camper and showering in a concrete building that appears to not have been updated, outside of a few new toilets, since World War II.
   I even spent one year (2017) working at the fair as a cashier. I was out of job and the fair was looking for workers. I met some of the nicest folks. There were a few rotten eggs (customers) in the bunch that would complain if they had a million dollars. Overall, it was a good experience. In the end, I made a lot of new friends and sold tickets to some familiar faces from the Poweshiek County area.
   One of the most special years at the fair was 2003. At the last minute, I decided to do a photo story for The Montezuma Republican on Iowa State Fair Campers from the Montezuma area. Since about half the town camps at the fair, I thought it would make a unique story for the paper.
   That was the year that I met Debbie, who would become my wife 13-months later. Somehow, I happened to walk by the Tindle camper at the same time that Debbie was headed down to the fairgrounds.
Few words were exchange outside of “hello,” but my heart jumped a mile. I later learned that Debbie had been following my writing in the newspaper and wanted to meet me. I believe God had something to do with arranging that chance meeting.
   After meeting Debbie, I stopped to visit with Raymond and Connie Thompson to ask about the young lady in the camper down the way. “That’s Debbie,” said Connie. “She’s a nice young lady.” The Thompsons are neighbors to the Tindle family at home and at the state fair campground.
   This September Debbie and I will celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. How time flies!
   We published our first book, An ABC Photo Album of the Iowa State Fair, in 2006. And this year, I’m doing a Facebook version of the ABC fair book. I’m taking new fair photos following the ABCs and plan to create a book on my Facebook page. Look for that soon.

4-H photography judging

   This year the Iowa State Fair took on a new meaning for me. I’ve been judging 4-H photography on the county level since 2012. Each summer, I travel to various county fairs and spend the day helping 4-H’ers become better photographers. I’ve judged in Linn, Benton, Washington, Keokuk, Mahaska, Marion and Warren counties. I have also judged open class photography in Iowa and Poweshiek counties. I even judged creative arts at one fair.
   My dream has always been to judge at the state fair. I was in Linn County in June of this year judging 4-H photography. While there, I shared with Ann Torbert, 4-H Youth Development Specialist, about my interest in judging photography at the state fair. She directed me to send an email to Mitch Hoyer, 4-H Youth Program Specialist at Iowa State University in Ames and mention her name. Mitch serves as the superintendent for the Iowa State Fair 4-H Exhibit Building and Communication Events programs. 
   I sent Mitch an email that week and never heard a word until a week before the fair when I received a phone call from Ames asking if I might be interested in judging at the state fair. I talked it over with Debbie and accepted the opportunity.
   I was one of 12 photography judges who spent Tuesday and Wednesday, Aug. 6-7, judging photos and making written comments. I did a number on my pencil and about wore the eraser out.
   On the county level, I get to talk to the 4-H’ers. At state, it’s just me, the photographer’s write up and photos. I tell every 4-H’er that I judge on the county level that they need to put lots of details in their write ups.
   “This will make you a better judge on the county level,” one seasoned judge told me.
   There’s a lot of truth in that statement. Another judge shared tips with me on how to give 4-H’ers positive reinforcement through my comments while also teaching them in the process.
   In the end, the goal is helping 4-H’ers improve.
   That is what life is all about – trying new adventures while learning, growing and improving. 
  Have a great week and take care of yourself, my friends. And always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day and always.