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The Trouble with Truth
I started fly fishing recently, because, coronavirus. It’s an isolated activity, a good excuse to get out of the house, I don’t need to worry about germs (like I do everywhere else) and it’s something I’ve wanted to do for about eight years. Now is a good time to dip my torso in the water.
So far, it’s golden. If given the option of standing against the flow of a body of water and standing somewhere else, I’m taking the water. The activity is part art and part science; it’s peaceful and everything about it is full of motion. I love driving out of Minneapolis and into Wisconsin, down winding roads that ascend hills and descend into valleys along the way. It reminds me of home, in the driftless region of Wisconsin, outside of La Crosse. So far, I’ve gone with friends, my wife, our dog and by myself and it’s been life-giving every time. But I can’t help noticing the intermittent Trump support off the county highways. Every time I head to the water, I’m reminded of something that A) I know is awful and B) I don’t understand. Not just normal political signs, either. Flags. Big ones that fly right beside Old Glory, POW MIA, the Wisconsin state flag and those of the Green Bay Packers.
Living in a fair-sized city, I don’t see an abundance of national or political pride. I know people around me are glad to live in America and appreciate it for what it is, but they don’t act like they…
