I left the Marine Corps in 2005 with money I had saved from two foreign wars.

I came home to Missouri and bought a double-wide trailer for thirty thousand dollars.

It felt like prosperity.

A roof.

A yard.

A place to start a family.

I truly felt like I had beaten the system.

Years later, I learned the phrase “sub-prime mortgage.”

I still own that house.

I can’t sell it.

It doesn’t have a foundation.

And somewhere in between shaking out the cobwebs of war and working two jobs to pay the bills, I, along with my entire generation, was labeled a “snowflake.”

The label is as fragile and fleeting as the implication. What does “snowflake” even mean from a country that sends you to war at twenty and calls you soft at thirty?

My generation came home and tried to plant our lives in soil we’d fought for…in a nation we’d defended. A lot of us found out the soil had been leveraged, packaged, and resold while we were gone.

That’s when I stopped thinking about the word “snowflake” and what it might mean.

That’s when I started thinking about the word “prosperity” and what it actually means.

Not the kind of prosperity measured in stock indexes and acres.

Not the kind that can be bought or traded.

The kind that wears boots.

I got a job at a big-box home improvement store selling lumber and sheetrock.

The people I worked beside didn’t make that much money.

The people at the top made more in a year than we would in a lifetime.

Now listen: I understand scale.

Running a nationwide corporation is not the same as restocking two-by-fours and cinder blocks.

But when a ratio is that lopsided, it forces a question:

What exactly are we rewarding?

Is it effort?

Is it necessity?

Or is it leverage?

Because the guy loading treated posts into a trailer at 7:00 a.m. is not abstract.

He’s sweating in real time, hoping that each blister and splinter in his hand might eventually equate to some sort of comfort for his family.

And rural America is full of those people.

We don’t want yachts.

We want roofs that don’t leak.

We don’t want revolution.

We want stability.

The company eliminated the Loss Prevention department while I was there.

It was cheaper to just absorb theft than it was to pay the people guarding the doors.

That’s accounting.

But accounting decisions shape culture.

When efficiency replaces responsibility often enough, people start to feel like line items instead of citizens.

And when that happens long enough, trust begins to erode.

War works that way, too.

It becomes procedural.

Budget lines.

Contracts.

Authorizations.

Compartmentalization keeps everything functioning.

The engineer builds the part.

The worker assembles it.

The legislator funds it.

The soldier carries it.

No one person ever feels the whole weight.

That’s how modern systems operate.

But if no one feels the whole weight, who feels responsible for the whole outcome?

We got rid of the guys guarding the doors.

I’m not anti-American.

I am pro-accountability.

Accountability IS patriotism.

I love this country.

Not the social media version.

Not the cable news version.

The real one.

The one with volunteer fire departments.

County fairs and youth groups.

Church dinners and VFWs.

Gravel roads maintained by the people who use them.

And houses you can still afford as long as you’re willing to work at it.

I’m a nationalist in the sense that I believe a people can govern themselves.

But I’m old enough now to know that loving your country means not insulating it from criticism.

It means refusing to let it drift.

Prosperity shouldn’t be measured in growth alone.

It should be measured in dignity.

It should mean that the people who hold up the structure…farmers, laborers, soldiers, garbage collectors…can build a stable life without being called snowflakes when they’re struggling to hold it up.

It should mean that questioning leadership is not disloyal.

And it should mean that the system serves the people, not the other way around.

When I bought my house, I thought prosperity meant ownership.

A deed.

A mailbox.

A yard.

Now I think it means something deeper.

It means alignment.

Alignment between what we reward and what we rely on.

Alignment between leadership and consequence.

Alignment between growth and dignity.

Real prosperity wears boots because it’s built from the ground up.

It shows up early.

It does the heavy lifting.

It fixes things when they break.

It sends its sons and daughters when the country calls.

It doesn’t ask for recognition.

But it does deserve respect.

We don’t need to tear this country down.

But we don’t have to pretend everything is fine.

We can love this country and still expect more from it.

We can defend it and still question it.

We can be proud of it and still find room for improvement.

That’s not rebellion.

That’s not disloyalty.

It’s citizenship.

This interval is frequently misidentified as “the end of summer,” though it bears none of summer’s typical benefits. Shade offers no relief. Nightfall provides no mercy. The sun departs, but its heat remains, held in place by still air, humidity, and spite.

Insect activity reaches its annual apex during this period. Mosquitoes, gnats, and other unnamed flyers operate with confidence, exhibiting neither fear nor urgency. Repellents are generally acknowledged by these critters but widely ignored.

Several adaptive behaviors have been consistently documented:

1. Movement is reduced to necessity only.

Most tasks are approached slowly and with visible reluctance. Any action requiring sustained motion is postponed until “later,” a term that here means October.

2. Porch sitting becomes ceremonial.

Individuals remain outdoors not because it is pleasant, but because retreat to the air conditioning would signal defeat. Conversation should continue as if nothing were wrong.

3. Clothing choices abandon logic.

Long sleeves are worn despite the heat, not for warmth but as a defensive measure. The resulting discomfort is considered preferable to bug bites. Short pants, however, are typically worn during this period, suggesting that bug bites to the legs are of no concern.

4. Time loses definition.

Afternoons seem to stretch unnaturally through the day. Evenings arrive late and linger too long. Sleep is shallow and interrupted by both heat and sound.

This interval begins and ends without announcement. One morning, the air moves again. Windows open. Insects retreat. Relief is immediate and disproportionate, confirming that what preceded it was not merely unpleasant, but unnatural.

Survivors will later claim it “wasn’t that bad,” though their behavior at the time suggests otherwise.

-End Field Report-

I wrote these rules for myself as a kind of checkpoint…a way to figure out what stays, what goes, and what probably shouldn’t have been written in the first place.

1. Stick With What You Know

Write from lived experience, observation, and understanding.

Do not pretend to be an expert on subjects you have not encountered directly.

Keep ideas grounded in reality.

2. Observe and Report

Describe what you see.

Resist the urge to explain things.

Trust the reader to recognize meaning.

3. Don’t Sermonize

People don’t like to be preached at.

Offer reflection, not instruction.

If a lesson exists, let it be found naturally.

4. Avoid Taking Sides

The goal is understanding, not victory.

Avoid partisan framing wherever possible.

Politics is a necessary but messy human endeavor.

If politics must appear, treat them with skepticism.

5. Respect the Reader

Assume the reader is thoughtful.

Do not simplify complex ideas to win agreement.

Invite reflection rather than demanding it.

6. Stay Grounded (in the physical world)

Ideas should emerge from real places, real work, and real people.

Land, labor, community, and nature keep philosophy tethered to reality.

7. Value Human Life Above Systems

Never forget the human cost hidden inside policies, institutions, and abstractions.

People come before systems.

8. Ask Questions More Often Than You Give Answers

Questions open minds.

Answers often close them.

Let curiosity lead.

9. You’re Seeking Alignment, Not Outrage

The purpose of writing is not to provoke anger.

The purpose of writing is not to elicit applause.

The purpose is to help realign prosperity, dignity, responsibility, and citizenship.

10. Write With Humility

You are exploring ideas, not declaring truths.

Leave space for the reader, for doubt, and for growth.

That’s it. No rules on grammar, no deep thoughts on semicolons, no grand theories on character development. I’m not an English teacher…I’m still not entirely sure about the “i before e” rule.

This is just a sandbox; something to keep ideas contained long enough to see if they’re worth keeping. If it’s useful, you’re free to use it.

This is not a list of all potato dishes, this is a ranking of the top ten, based on taste, reliability, emotional support, and whether or not I would fight a stranger over the last one.

Let’s begin at the bottom, where some of these are destined to remain.

10. Baked Potato

The absolute most boring potato on the planet. The missionary position of the potato world.

A baked potato is only good when covered with butter, cheese, bacon bits, sour cream, ranch dressing, and green onions. At that point, the potato itself is just a structural element, an edible plate. You could replace it with drywall and no one would notice.

You can dress it up like a sexy librarian, but it’s still dry as a desert under all that makeup. No one has ever craved a baked potato. They’ve settled for one. A baked potato is what happens when a restaurant wants to pretend potatoes are “adult.”

9. Potato Soup

The only saving grace of modern potato soup is that it typically contains cheese and bacon, two ingredients doing all the heavy lifting while the potato quietly contributes nothing.

This depression-era “meal” is basically hot water and starch. You can feel yourself getting hungrier as you eat it, which should not be possible. And just like the government, someone is always trying to convince you that “it’s good” and “you’ll like it” while offering no sustenance.

Potato soup is what happens when someone wants comfort food but doesn’t want to comfort themselves.

8. Potato Dumplings

Leave it to the Germans to figure out how to take a potato apart and then put it back together in a way that is somehow less flavorful than a potato but with a weirder texture.

Potato dumplings only made it this high on the list because they usually come alongside savory meat dishes with lots of gravy, which you’re going to need to keep from choking to death on these gelatinous abominations. They feel like something you’re supposed to respect historically, not enjoy.

I enjoy these mostly when I’m in the mood for a meal that fights back.

7. Potatoes Au Gratin

Not bad, but demerit points for being a little too bougie.

“Au Gratin” refers to any dish topped with cheese and browned under a broiler, which is fine, but the name alone makes it feel like the potato thinks it’s better than you. This dish would rank higher if it didn’t come with a pronunciation lesson.

“Cheesy Potatoes” would be more attractive to my American sensibilities. I don’t trust a potato that comes with subtitles.

6. Mashed Potatoes

They’re just potatoes, but they stick to a spoon. That’s a huge win.

Mashed potatoes get extra points for their simplicity. The name itself is also the recipe.

Step 1: Potatoes

Step 2: Mash

Mashed potatoes may not be the most interesting person at the keg party, but you know they’re still gonna be there at the end of the night, holding your hair back and asking if you’re okay. Dependable. Uncomplicated. Emotionally available.

5. Potato Salad

Which recipe? Doesn’t matter…you know the one.

It shows up at every family reunion, looking for attention, looking like it’s spent too much time in the sun. You don’t want potato salad, but you feel rude not putting it on your plate. Potato salad survives entirely on tradition and guilt.

Still, when it’s good? It’s really good. Just don’t ask for the recipe.

4. Chips

I mean American, shelf-stable, deep-fried bags of happiness.

This high-calorie, low-nutrient snack food has been there for you at every low point in your life. Sad? Chips. Depressed? Chips. Angry but pretending you’re not? Chips.

Bonus: they contain enough salt to replace the sodium you lost while crying your way through half a bag during the last half of Marley & Me. Chips don’t judge. Chips understand.

3. French Fries

Close to perfect, but unreliable.

French fries are hit-or-miss, and like your ex-girlfriend, they don’t stay exciting for very long. You better get your fill while they’re still hot, because it won’t be long before they’re squishy, cold, and slightly bitter.

When they’re good, they’re incredible. When they’re bad, it’s best not to make eye contact. A bad fry knows what it did and isn’t even sorry about it.

2. Hash Browns

Hash browns are the absolute best…when they’re done well.

The only reason hash browns aren’t number one is that there is too much disagreement over what the “perfect” hash brown is. Crispy? Soft? Shredded? Chunked? Smothered? Covered? Scattered?

Even Waffle House passed on naming their franchise after their most popular and delicious dish and instead named themselves after something no one orders. If the Waffle House staff is scared of this fight, I’m steering clear of it too.

1. Tater Tots

The undisputed king of the potato.

This alpha meal leads the pack in taste, texture, portability, and emotional stability. Perfectly engineered. Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, impossible to mess up unless you sincerely hate happiness.

And unlike some of the more pretentious potatoes on this list, this absolute Chad is like, “Nah, it’s cool…you can call me Tater.”

No sauces required. No explanation needed. Tater tots know exactly who they are.

And that’s the highest compliment you can give a potato.