That’s about what you could be doing when the country goes “ethanol.”

 The process of producing a combustible liquid to replace gasoline in your vehicle is basically the same as making moonshine. Both concoctions come from cooking and fermenting a mixture of organic sugars and then distilling off the vapors, drop by drop.

 The big difference is the size and scope of the process… while you might pay big bucks for something you drink in one-ounce glasses, are you willing to pay the same for something that you buy by the gallon?

THE ETHANOL SLIPPERY SLOPE… It appears each time the price of a gallon of gas goes up another 50 cents there’s more ink about building ethanol plants to replace our dependency on limited petroleum products with a “renewable” energy source.

 As I understand it, as of today, making ethanol from plants is more expensive than importing oil and producing gasoline. Without subsidies to the makers and suppliers, the ethanol product coming out of the pump will cost more than the gasoline coming out of the pump across the way.

 A major part of the problem is there are more costs to produce ethanol than what can be realized as profit at the end of the process. The major expense is buying the coal, oil, or electricity needed to drive the factory.

 The other major cost is the raw material needed to make the ethanol.

 Every story I’ve ever read on ethanol production reports the product can be made from any plant material, including weeds, saw grass and corn.

 “CORN!” My English landlady exclaimed 40 years ago as I dished some on her plate.  “We feed that to our pigs!” Not anymore, Fanny; it will be a long time before Porky gets corn for dinner.

 Driven by demand and speculation, corn prices have skyrocketed across the world; driving food prices 30-40% up along with it.  Fanny would be shocked to hear that nearly 90% of all prepared foods in the United States has some corn ingredient, most notably corn syrup.

 Finally, our long-suffering grain farmers have a product to take to market by the trainload and take home a bushel of money. They deserve it.

 You might think the plows would be slicing up the prairies to cash in on the windfall… actually, corn production is on the decline. There’s a market reality that product shortages drive prices up. Who can blame a farmer for growing less corn and getting paid more for it?

 That’s just what happened in the 1970s ands ’80s when dairy farmers dumped the milk down the drain because prices were too low, at a $1 a gallon. When milk prices got up to $2 a gallon, the small family dairies were bought out by the big boys. Now milk is nearly $4 a gallon and the super farms are producing more milk than ever. But that’s another story.

 So why pay more, now, to set up plants that will consume more energy than the energy they will produce?  Why not design the plants to consume what we have the most of… garbage? Why not take the garbage, the plastic and any else that will burn; melt and/or ferment what is filling up the landfills and use that to create the fuel to keep the internal combustion engines running?

 Smack dab in the middle of the tri-cities, right on Red Arrow Highway, an ethanol plant is slated to be built. The planning and public review process is just getting under way in Watervliet Township.

 Goodness knows the area could use the jobs, taxes, and capital such a plant will bring. 

 I’m all for it; and I support the need for an ethanol product to replace gasoline for the fuel needed to drive our engines, the four-wheeled kind and the economic kind.

 Perhaps sooner than later, gasoline will be more expensive than ethanol and all of this will make sense. 

 I’m just not sure the price tag to put corn-produced ethanol in the gas tank is something any of us can afford at this time, especially when it appears there are raw materials other than corn in abundance to make it.

kARL’S kOLUMN 4-17-08

 The game has no end, no winner, no solution… but it can be fun. Most of life’s twists aren’t that at all; most are gentle turns, maybe even just a nudge; like meeting your wife at a dance that you didn’t want to be at.

 But if you look back hard enough, you might find a giant twist of fate that had a huge impact on your life and that of your family.

 The historical moment might not be Abraham Lincoln moving to Chicago to be a postman instead of moving to Springfield to be a lawyer. But it could be as momentous to you personally.

6 TWISTS OF FATE… Some years ago I think I found a series of fateful twists that had a huge impact on my family; all of which could be major chapters in the “what if” game.

 Christian David Bayer was born October 3, 1877, in Germany. As the eldest son, there was friction with his father over his role as the heir apparent of the family farm. There is even a family story of some altercation with the son of another farmer over cows grazing in the grain fields.

 At the first twist of fate, my Grandfather Bayer left Germany for England; probably to get away from his allegiance and agricultural duties to his father. He goes to London just after the turn of the century.

 The second twist is he meets a young German girl, Anna Mueller, in a hospital there. They are both working off hospital bills as kitchen help.  It could be his first experience as a butcher, a trade that he kept his entire life.

 The third twist is the couple marries in 1904. They acquire a “pub” in the suburb of Shoreditch. One night a chimney leaks smoke into a nursery over the pub, suffocating the couple’s two baby children.

 The fourth twist comes one night in 1914. Police and soldiers beat on the family’s front door. On answering, Christian is arrested as a Germany National. England has declared war on Germany. German men and boys of military age are quickly rounded up and sent off to a prison camp on the Isle of Man. Their families, including Christian’s wife and four children, are deported to Germany.

 The fifth twist is after languishing five years in the POW camp, he promptly returns to Germany, reunites his family and begins plans to immigrate to America. In 1924, he arrives at Ellis Island with $50 dollars in his pocket and the address of his brother, Frederick, in Chicago.

 The sixth twist is in 1927 he has saved enough money to send for his children, my father included, to come to America.

 I’ve found the twists of fate that directed and drove my grandfather to be very interesting. Had he taken any other turn, it is very doubtful the Bayer clan would be more than 200 strong in America. 

A SEVENTH TWIST… For millions of those Americans, that first step into America was onto the soil of Ellis Island, the official entry point to the new world in New York Harbor.

 My daughter, Amy, and her daughter, Karlianne, on a trip to New York this past fall, took a tour of the island.

 Knowing our family history, of my grandfather coming to America, they took particular interest in the “American Immigrant Wall of Honor.”

 The Wall of Honor contains more than 700,000 names of the people who came to the United States through Ellis Island; it is the largest wall of names in the world, representing virtually every nationality.

 The names come from descendants of those immigrants making a donation that helps with upkeep and renovation of the Island.

 Karli and Amy studied the wall for some time, looking for a familiar Bayer name; though they found Johann and Frederick Bayer, there was no Christian David Bayer, my grandfather.

 As a Christmas gift to the Bayer family, Amy made the donation to have Christian David Bayer’s name inscribed on the wall sometime this spring.

 Little did Amy know she had a special connection to “Great-Grandpa Bayer.” As a newborn in 1970, she may have been the last great-grandchild he held?  He died in February 1971.

 Amy’s thoughtfulness is a gift to the entire Bayer family, as was Grandpa’s coming to America.

 Karl’s Kolumn 3-20-08

BYERS BIBLE QUEST LAID TO REST… I had a private Memorial Day event last weekend in a wooded cemetery in the Hiawatha Township Cemetery; 400 miles north of South Haven, Michigan, where James A. Byers, age 38, from Waverly Township, joined the 13th Michigan Regiment in 1862.

 I was at the grave of James A. Byers to tell him I had the Bible he had carried with him, marching from Kalamazoo to Nashville to Shiloh to Chickamauga to Chattanooga. 

 The story of the Bible I wrote in the December 13, 2007, Karl’s Kolumn; in part…

 JAMES A. BYERS FAMILY, I HAVE A BIBLE FOR YOU… Perhaps 10 years ago, Anne gave me a Civil War Bible. It was printed by the American Bible Society in 1862 in New York City.

 Inside the front cover, printed in pencil, is the name James Byers. Inside the back cover, again printed in pencil, is the name James Byers, plus 13th Michigan, Company I.

 Sweat stained; torn; a bit tattered; throughout it are penciled underlines.

 I’ve cherished this Bible; perhaps it spurred a new interest in the Civil War, causing me to pick up reading and studies of that great national catastrophe that I had abandoned at the end of my college years.

 Now, for the past year or so, it seems James has been pulling at my mind. Last summer, as I walked through the Lincoln Museum in Springfield, with its vast photos of Civil War soldiers in combat, living and dying, resting at a campfire, I started studying the faces… “Is that you, James?” I often wondered, looking into eyes that had dimmed more than a century ago.

 Just by chance, James was pulling at my mind just a week ago. I took his Bible off the bookshelf and opened it again. 

 For some reason, the name looked different; I swear it had been spelled differently that last time I had looked at. I had even approached a local named Baiers, looking for information on James. But his name wasn’t Baiers; it was Byers.

 When I went to a Michigan Civil War database, there was his name as a member of the 13th Michigan.

 Along with the information was a link to a Civil War database that lists all the soldiers from Michigan.

 I sent them an e-mail and got a response. According to their database…  James A. Byers had been drafted into the Union Army in South Haven, Michigan. He was discharged less than a year later in Washington, D.C.

 He may have been from Waverly (Township?). He died in 1898 and is buried in the Hiawatha Cemetery in Manistique, Schoolcraft County, Michigan. As there are 13 other Byers buried in the cemetery, it is also known as Byers Cemetery. Buried there is an Abraham Byers who may have been his brother or cousin.  According to Civil War veteran and census records of the 1880s and ’90s, he was not married.

 I believe this family heirloom belongs to James’ most direct descendents; folks who will cherish it as a Bible and as a link to a man who went to war, came home, died and was buried; and somehow he lost track of his Bible. I think he wants me to give it back.

 In return, I want to know what James did with his life and maybe even get to see a picture of him. 

 If you are kin of James A. Byers of Company I of the 13th Michigan, I want to hear from you. I have a Bible for you.  (269) 463-6397

BIBLE DONATED TO MUSEUM… Lo and behold, less than a week after I wrote the column a gentleman from Coloma called to say he thought his neighbors were related to James A. Byers; that they were out of town but would return soon.

 In early January, I was able to talk to Katherine Strawbridge of Coloma. She was able to tell me she thought James was a distant relative of her husband’s family and gave me a phone number of Russell and Peggy Ruggles in Manistique who live just down the road from the cemetery where James is buried. The Ruggles’ direct ancestor is James’ brother Abraham who was a member of the Hiawatha Association, a short-lived “utopian society” in the woods north of Manistique, after the war.

 It was she who suggested I give the Bible to the Schoolcraft Historical Society, which has a Museum in Manistique that includes an original log cabin from the Association grounds.

 I was pleased to give the Bible to Historical Society President M. Vonciel LeDuc. She told me the Bible would likely sometimes be on display in the log cabin or in the main Museum.

 Vonciel told me she had read somewhere that James was a member of the Hiawatha Association as well. His brother, Abraham, was a preacher who sometimes would come to Manistique to harangue its citizens.

 James’ tombstone reads J.A. Byers, 13th Michigan.

 I put my hand on the stone and thought, “James, I’m glad I found you.” 

 As I walked in the early morning sunshine, back to my car, I was glad I had found a home for the Bible; close to James and yet available to all to share its story and perhaps add to it. I hope so.

TCR 5-22-08

 Inside the front cover, printed in pencil, is the name James Byers. Inside the back cover, again printed in pencil, is the name James Byers, plus 13th Michigan, Company I.

 Sweat stained, torn, a bit tattered, throughout it are penciled underlines.

 I’ve cherished this Bible; perhaps it spurred a new interest in the Civil War, causing me to pick up reading and studies of that great national catastrophe that I had abandoned at the end of my college years.

 Now, for the past year or so, it seems James has been pulling at my mind. Last summer, as I walked through the Lincoln Museum in Springfield with its vast photos of Civil War Soldiers in combat, living and dying, resting at a campfire, I started studying the faces… “Is that you, James?” I often wondered, looking into eyes that had dimmed more than a century ago.

 Dan Stice, owner of the antique shop where Anne bought the Bible, had little to offer. He might have even been a little reluctant to share the information on where the Bible came from.

 On one occasion, at least, he told me that there was a lot of Civil War memorabilia in the area; mainly because so men from here went to war, and fortunately returned.

 When times get tough, Dan explained, families would sell off a piece that had been through the war.

 I guessed that might have been the case; how could, why would someone sell off a Bible that had been carried through Tennessee, all the way to Chickamauga and then maybe on Sherman’s march to Atlanta, because that is where the 13th Michigan traveled. Perhaps James went along.

 Just by chance, James was pulling at my mind just a week ago. I took his Bible off the bookshelf and opened it again. 

 For some reason, the name looked different; I swear it had been spelled differently that last time I had looked at. I had even approached a local named Baiers, looking for information on James. But his name wasn’t Baiers; it was Byers.

 When I went to a Michigan Civil War database, there was his name as a member of the 13th Michigan.

 Along with the information was a link to a Civil War database that lists all the soldiers from Michigan.

 I sent them an e-mail and got a response. According to their database…  James A. Byers had been drafted into the Union Army in South Haven, Michigan. He was discharged less than a year later in Washington, D.C.

 He may have been from Waverly (township?). He died in 1898 and is buried in the Hiawatha Cemetery in Manistique, Schoolcraft County, Michigan. As there are 13 other Byers buried in the cemetery, it is also known as the Byers Cemetery. Buried there is an Abraham Byers that may have been his brother or cousin.  According to Civil War veteran and census records of the 1880s and 90s, he was not married.

 I believe this family heirloom belongs to James’ most direct descendents; folks that will cherish it as a Bible and as a link to a man who went to war, came home, died and was buried; and somehow he lost track of his Bible. I think he wants me to give it back.

 In return, I want to know what James did with his life and maybe even get to see a picture of him. 

 If you are kin of James A. Byers of Company I of the 13th Michigan, I want to hear from you. I have a Bible for you.  269 463-6397

 As in many things, best intentions go by the wayside in favor of expediency and, in some cases, political manipulation.

 Anytime a majority of officials elected to the same constituency meets outside of social chance, it is a MEETING. When a majority of elected government officials accidentally or socially meet, they may not discuss or poll members on any pending action before them.

 The open meetings act (as I’ve just read it) doesn’t address workshops, but it does list what constitutes a regular meeting, what situation in which closed sessions are allowed and what constitutes  emergency and special meetings

 It does require regular meetings dates to be published and does require official notification of special meetings.

 Workshops have a place in the scheme of giving elected officials an opportunity to discuss issues that will be voted on in an upcoming meeting. Those workshop discussions need to be in a public meeting setting.

 I don’t think it is fair (and legal) for a local government to take votes at workshop meetings. I think when that occurs the workshop becomes a special meeting and the public should be notified as such.

 It appears to me more and more activity and action is happening at these workshops that should be occurring at regular meetings. The public, unless the press attends the workshop, might only find out a vote was taken when the minutes are presented after the fact.

 Local governments need to consider splitting the monthly meeting agenda over a couple of weeks to allow the work to get done in a regular meeting and to allow the public to attend the meetings, as is their right, and see the votes firsthand.

THE “BEST MOM” CONTEST… entry deadline is noon Friday, May 9. At this late date, your best bet at beating the deadline is to drop the letter off to the Record office at 138 N. Main Street or e-mail it to record@i2k.com before 12:00 noon.  Good luck.

 I guess you could say the deadline for finding a suitable gift for your “Best Mom” is coming closer as well. For some gift suggestion help, see the Mother’s Day gift ideas on Page 14.

MOTHER’S DAY… No matter how you say it, make sure your mother knows you love her on this special day honoring all mothers.

 While I think of my dearly departed mom almost every day, I do find a few quiet moments on Mother’s Day… reflecting on the great gift of life she gave me (and my 12 brothers and sisters!) always brings a sweet gladness and sadness.

 There are some “best moms” in the Karl Bayer clan that I want to send special greetings to: daughters Amy and Gillian and daughter-in-law Kris. Thanks for being such great moms to my grandkids! Special love to mother-in-law Elaine… you are the best!

 It is no accident that I can be so proud of my family; it is because Anne is the most phenomenal mom and grandma I know. She has juggled diversity, adversity, and her husband with several careers and still manages a home and family. 

 Thanks, Anne, and I love you.

 Keep in mind that the economic stimulus check was your money in the first place. Keep in mind, up to now our government was recommending we save more money and pay down our credit card bills.

 Now our government wants us to ignore our debts and spend money on things we don’t need to stimulate an economy that is overtaxed, overcharged and overextended.

  It could be “just in time” for you means sometime in the late summer, as that’s how long the IRS estimates it will take to get all the checks mailed out; hopefully, you won’t be hungry or homeless by then.

 By the way, don’t call your congressman or senator when the car runs out of gas and the fridge is empty; they’ll be on summer recess, right after their automatic pay raises kick in.

 Carl Oehling sent the following… How to use Your IRS Rebate check…

 As you may have heard, each of us will be getting a tax rebate check to stimulate the economy.

 If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, all the money will go to China.

 If we spend it on gasoline, it will go to the Arabs. 

 If we purchase a computer, it will go to India. 

 If we purchase fruits and vegetables, it will go to Mexico, Honduras, Brazil and Guatemala. 

 If we purchase a good car, it will go to Japan.

 If we purchase useless stuff, it will go to Taiwan.  And, none of it will help the American economy.

 We need to keep that money here in America. The only way to keep that money here at home is to spend it at yard sales, since those are the only businesses still in the US!

“I HAD A DREAM,” a youngster sitting at the lunch table said to no one in particular. “Ronald Reagan and Benedict Arnold were in it.  There was a bad guy too; he was a lawyer.”

 So went my lunch at Special Persons Day at Watervliet North Elementary School as the guest of my grandson, Ben.

 “Is the food always this good?” I asked Ben, as I dug into a generous portion of turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy and corn.

 “Yah,” Ben answered, “but they give more when there’s visitors.”

 I wasn’t surprised by his response. I’ve heard him comment on many occasions that he didn’t get enough lunch (especially when it’s a favorite like chicken strips).

 I’m surprised there’s not much conversation among the boys we sit with. It is evident they sit together regularly, with the joshing and general greetings; mainly, they just dig into the food, pick up their empty plastic plates and utensils, along with their empty milk container, and head out to the playground.

 Ben’s bunch gathers at a basketball hoop and immediately begins a complex game called “Knockout.”

 “C’mon, Grandpa. You can play,” Ben calls out. I beg off, my back really hurts and there’s no way I’m going to try to compete with a dozen boys shooting, rebounding and passing two basketballs until finally there are just two kids left; and when one finally misses, a winner is declared. Then the game begins again; with no arguments, players come and go. I’m not sure which kids have been “knocked out” and which are not playing. That’s not important for me to know; the youngsters know.

 I was impressed by how well all the youngsters on the playground got along. There were groups playing and talking; here and there were just a couple kids shooting baskets, swinging or talking.

 I must have missed a bell or something; but all at once everybody headed back to the classrooms, first lining up at the doors and then filing back to their assigned rooms.

 Special Persons Day drew a large group of visitors, parents, grandparents, even a great-grandparent, aunts and uncles, and friends.

 We were the guests; the special persons were really the great youngsters we were visiting.

 The first caller had plenty of information, including that the smell had been around for some time and that it was “more than cow manure,” that calls had been made to state officials, and the caller even got me to promise to go for a look myself.

 I jokingly said if it smelled that bad I would wait until after lunch.

 Not too long after that I got another call from another citizen in that area. The caller said the odor the day before has been so bad some neighbors had been confined to their house.

 At that, I headed to the area at about 11:00 a.m.

 Near the “S” curves, I got an occasional “whiff” of something smelly but nothing strong enough to keep me in the house or to roll up my car windows.

 I drove toward Riverside but really smelled nothing past Bessemer Road. I went back east, turned onto Boyer Road, and took Boyer Road all the way to Red Arrow. I turned around and went back to Coloma Road, again smelling nothing.

Nothing, that is, until I turned east onto Coloma Road.

 The pungent smell of something rotten hit my olfactory nerves like nothing ever before. The odor was as strong as a skunk’s on the back porch, but heavier and “sweeter.”

 The smell went right to my eyes and to the back of my throat. All I wanted to do was to get away from it. I drove east a bit and pulled over into a cannery parking lot to get my breath back and to consider what I had smelled.

 Just at the same time, a friend drove by, headed right for the packet of stench.

 He “two-wayed” me on his cell phone to asked why I was parked alongside the road.

 Just as he did, he exclaimed, “Holy cow! What is that smell?”

 I told what I knew. Later that day, he reported that the smell never left his vehicle until he was nearly to Benton Harbor.

 The information I got was that some 30 truckloads of “fertilizer” had been dumped on a nearby farm more than three weeks ago.

 Coloma City officials were aware of the smell and had referred the complaints to Coloma Township officials because the acreage is in Coloma Charter Township.

  The farmer had been “ordered’ to plow the offending materials under immediately went the smell first began bothering the neighborhood.

 The plowing under began early this week after other complaints were made to the Township, the Michigan Department of Agriculture, and the DEQ and EPA. A neighbor out there said the situation was improving rapidly.

 As someone at the Township reportedly told a complainant, “Farmers have a right to farm and they have a right to fertilize.”

 That being said, from firsthand experience of only a few minutes in dealing with the smell, that “neighbors” would have to deal with it for such a long period of time has to have been a public nuisance at the least to perhaps a serious health hazard.

 Every “rural” community has to deal with situations that bring agriculture into conflict with residential living; including smell and waste issues. Anyone living in a rural area better is at peace with that.  Even so, when agriculture infringes on the rights of all citizens to breathe air uncontaminated with animal waste, it is up to local officials to take immediate and decisive action.