The literary-art magazine and contest of Crowder College All rights reserved, Copyright 2025 Crowder College
MISSION STATEMENT
The Crowder Quill is a literary-art magazine published by the Magazine Production class at Crowder College in order to encourage and showcase the creative abilities of local writers, artists, and photographers, as well as provide a cultural link between Crowder College and our surrounding communities.
The publication is funded through Crowder College as an educational tool and service to the community. Both the contest and publication are free. The Crowder Quill is published each spring semester in May. The contest deadline is Feb. 1 each year.
For more information about the contest and publication, see pages 76-77 and 80.
The Crowder Quill, 601 Laclede Ave., Neosho, Mo., 64850, 417-455-5410, fax 417-451-4280 www.CrowderQuill.com; Facebook and Instagram: Crowder Quill; email: Quill@crowder.edu
Dawn Kimmel Granby | Community Silver | 2D Art
The fantasy of this piece is stepping from one landscape to another, one climate to another, and for a brief moment find respite. Acrylic on stretched canvas and clear poly-sheet
Kimmel, a 43-year-old mom and avid Bob Ross fan, hopes to continue growing and learning as an artist and person.
Growing up in Colorado, I would watch the sun set behind the mountains every night. iPhone 16 Pro with minor editing for black and white
Cafferty is a first-time college student 10 years after graduating high school, mother to a handsome son, and currently working full time in the ER while taking full time online classes.
CROWDER QUILL HISTORY
The Crowder Quill magazine and contest was proposed and founded by Crowder College English faculty Dan Richard in 1980. With 45 years since its inception, the Quill strives to consistently move forward in producing quality content.
Initially, the Crowder Quill contest was open to students of Crowder College as well as high school students and community members. Nearly all entries were published, but winners received a “Gold Quill” certificate award and designation in the publication. The contest was expanded to include a “Junior Division,” grades 1-8, starting in 1985.
The magazine was published bi-annually until 2006 when it was changed to a yearly contest cycle. At that time, the Junior Division was also removed. In its place was an annual K-8 fine arts day, held in the fall of each year until 2011.
The feather logo was created by Mark Hollandsworth and solely graced the cover of each publication from 1981-1989. The logo is still used as a symbol of the contest and publication today, present on all publicity materials and in the magazine itself.
Color was increasingly added to the cover and contents, prompting the addition of separate color categories for art and photography in spring 2003. Digital Art was added in 2010 to reflect the new art of extensively altered photographs, particularly using photo-manipulation software such as Photoshop, as well as computer-generated art. In 2013, the art categories were modified to reflect the academic departments at Crowder: 2D Art and 3D Art. Also, $500 scholarships were added to the prize for each high school gold winners for all eight categories. Each year, the contest receives around 1,000 entries.
Beginning in 2023 and the pivot of the journalism program to Digital Marketing to meet the demands of a growing career field, the Crowder Quill again underwent modifications. The course changed from “Magazine Production” to “Applied Graphic Design and Digital Media Campaigns.” Magazines and certificates are mailed in May with additional digital content available on social media.
Dan Richard served as adviser until his retirement in spring 1988. David Sherlock took over the magazine in fall 1988 to spring 1990 in addition to his duties as adviser for the Crowder Sentry and director of the theatre department. Nina Gibson’s turn was from fall 1990 to spring 1992, and Suzanne Woolever from fall 1992 to spring 1994.
Latonia Bailey has served as adviser since fall 1994. Bailey won a Quill gold award in 1987 as a high school student and then joined the staff as poetry editor in spring 1989. As adviser, her works in nearly every category have been chosen for honorary publication through the years by faculty and students.
AWARDS from the American Scholastic Press Association, College Point, New York:
2013-2022 Best Community College Literary-Art Magazine
2010-2022 First Place with Special Merit
2009 First Place
1993-2008 Did not compete
1992 First Place
1988-1991 First Place with Special Merit
1988 Outstanding Service for the Community
1987 Second Place
In 2017, The Crowder Quill was given the highest possible honor by the College Media Association: The Pinnacle for 1st Place for two-year literary magazines.
Kansas High Rise
Neosho
Community
I was driving through Kansas and saw this old barn and decided it would make a good subject for a painting. I took a number of pictures for reference and thought this one would be the best for a painting.
Moore is currently retired and works part-time. He has been painting since 2011, using mostly acrylic paints. He enjoys painting and always has a painting in progress.
Michael Moore
Gold
2D Art
Kelly Reddin Joplin Crowder Bronze Nonfiction
This memory still makes me laugh - I don’t know why I stopped to pick up the cat. But I am glad I did, because I have had as much laughter recalling it as I did the day it happened.
Reddin is an author of children’s books and is trying to stretch into other genres.
THE STOLEN CHRISTMAS PRESENT
“Did I tell you about the stolen Christmas present?” My daughter shook her head “No.” Well, it all started a few days before Christmas. I was home on college break. I was meeting a friend for lunch and then we wanted to pick up a few last-minute gifts. When I got to the restaurant, I parked and met my friend. We were seated at a table near the windows and it just so happened that we could see my car.
We talked and laughed a bit and then my friend looked outside.
She said, “Kelly, someone just stole a box out of your car!”
I told her that he wouldn’t like the gift inside.
“Kelly, you have to call the police. You can’t let some guy steal from you!”
I laughed. She looked astounded and
frustrated.
I explained that on the way to meet her, I saw a cat lying dead on the side of the road. It was in the snowbank – I thought it is going to be a mess when things start to thaw. So, I stopped and was going to move it so it would not get repeatedly run over. Then I remembered I had an empty but nicely wrapped box in the car, so I put the frozen cat carcass in it and put the box on a piece of plastic in the back seat. I rolled down the window a bit to keep it cold in the car.
“So,” I said, “he just stole a gift-wrapped dead cat.” We howled with laughter.
I picked up my wine glass and toasted. “Merry Christmas, my dear thief.”
Then added, “Wouldn’t you just love to see the look on his face when he opens that box!”
My daughter and I had a good laugh at the story, albeit some 25 years later.
Majestic
Melissa Lee Purdy Crowder Silver B&W Photography
Writing this entry has been a meaningful experience for me. I was inspired by my own life and the stories of people I know. It has helped me connect with others and has made a positive difference in my life and theirs. iPhone 14
Pro Max, auto
Lee is a student who loves learning and helping others. Right now, she’s focused on her studies. In the future, she wants to keep learning and use her skills to make a difference.
Russell was a beautiful Australian
his
Snow Dog Russel
Samantha Cafferty Neosho Crowder Gold Color Photography
Cafferty is a firsttime college student after 10 plus years of graduating high school. She is a mother to a handsome son, works full time in the ER and is taking full time online classes to pursue her dreams of nursing.
Whiskered Elegance
Bobbi Gober Carthage Quill Staff B&W Photography
My photograph was inspired by my desire to showcase the character and charm of my Maine Coon cat, capturing its unique essence through the lens. Google Pixel smart phone
Gober is a Digital Media Marketing student. This is her first year attending Crowder College and her first submission to the Crowder Quill. Gober lives in Carthage with her husband, daughter, two dogs, and five cats. She also has a daughter in Springfield and a son stationed in Japan.
shepherd with long gorgeous hair. He always reminded me of a lion. This photo captures
strength and beauty contrasting with the simple snow. Nikon Z, Shutter Speed was high, ISO was low
Venita Henson Neosho Crowder Gold Fiction
I like stories with a bit of a twist using fantasy and some supernatural. We never know who we are judging at first sight. Sometimes they are who or what we think they are but sometimes they are not.... or are they?
Henson is retired and currently a nontraditional student at Crowder enjoying ceramics and sculpture. She has written short stories, most with a fantasy or supernatural theme, since middle school with most of them filed away in a folder never to be seen again. Sometimes our most harsh critics are ourselves.
BISCUITS WITH BUTTER AND RED APPLE JAM
No one knew when Philomenia appeared. One day she was not there and the next she was living in the old shack down by the creek that had belonged to the old man they called Baker. She was a short, round, old woman who wore a long black skirt protected by an apron that had been green in a better time. Her bright red long sleeve shirt was covered by a black shawl secured around her shoulders with a huge safety pin and her long wildly curly snow white hair was barely kept under control by a bright purple scarf tied securely under her chin. She walked using an old and very short wooden cane. It was doubtful that she needed the cane to walk, but she could use the tip to send any rock or small branch flying that was in her path.
She had arrived with an assortment of animals that often were seen sharing her front porch with her as she sat and smoked sweet tobacco in her darkly stained pipe or spitting tobacco juice at beetles as they crawled past. Many of the local people viewed her with suspicion and whispered among themselves, “She is a Bruja.” “Watch out for your little ones that she don’t steal them, you know Brujas steal children.” “Her pipe smoke will bewitch you if you are not careful.”
With time, folks found other topics to discuss but still viewed Philomenia with suspicion. Mothers pulled their children to the other side of the street when they saw her and her entourage of scruffy dogs and cats walking to the small general store. Children were instructed to never play near her shack for fear she would snatch them away, never to be seen again. Therefore, it was inevitable when the Gordon children disappeared while playing on the edge of the forest that all eyes turned toward Philomenia.
It was a beautiful spring afternoon, and Tom and Kelli Gordan were playing tag among the large trees that bordered their family’s hay field. They were given strict instructions not to go into the woods, but the day was nice, the game was fun, and the trees offered so many great and cool shady places to hide that they ventured farther into the deeper, darker woods than they had ever been before. When they realized they could no longer see the field or their house it was too late, they
were lost. Tom, being the oldest, assured Kelli that he knew the way because he recognized a massive Oak, but that only took them deeper into the woods. Every direction looked right, every tree and rock looked familiar only to find it was not and their search took them farther from their home. As the sun began to slowly set, the woods were becoming darker and darker.
Kelli was terrified. She stood in one spot, turning in a circle looking at the never-ending trees and crying. “I want my Mommy!’ she wailed as big tears streamed down her cheeks.
Tom wanted to cry too but tried very hard to assure Kelli they were just fine, and were having a great adventure. “Kelli, you know how we like to sleep in our tent under the big tree in our yard? We are going to camp here tonight under these big trees, just like we do at home. Only this time with no tent, we are going to be able to see the stars! It will be fun! Help me find a good place with lots of leaves to sleep on.”
Kelli calmed a little but was still whimpering as she started gathering leaves into a deep pile under the low branches of a now dark cedar tree. “Will Mommy and Daddy find us in the morning, Tom?”
“Sure they will. They are going to be really mad cause we worried them but they’ll find us for sure.” As the deep dark settled over the woods and the owls started to talk to each other, the two snuggled together in the leaves, looking at the stars that peeked through the branches and went to sleep.
Ben and Shirley Gordan were starting evening chores when they noticed Tom and Kelli had not returned home from their games. Tom was supposed to bring in the cows to be milked, and Kelli’s job was to feed the flock of chickens, and their chores had not been done. Ben walked to the edge of the woods calling their names while Shirley phoned the neighbors hoping that the two had gone to play there. Their fear grew as they began to realize that Tom and Kelli were missing. Neighbors with lights began to search the woods calling for them but the two had wandered so deep into the trees they could not hear. The sheriff was called and arrived with his search dogs. Everyone felt confident the search would be over soon, but by late night
the children were still missing. The dogs would quickly find their scent but would just as quickly, as if by some magic, lose it again. Sheriff Jacobs scratched his head in disbelief that his experienced dogs had failed; this had never happened before.
As evening passed and fear grew among the searchers, whispers began. “That old witch took them!” “Brujas do that” “They won’t find them alive,” she has them now. Ben and Shirley tried to calm everyone telling them they were sure the two had just wandered too far into the woods and had gotten lost, but it did little good.
Sometime late in the night while the men searched, a group of women quietly left the Gordon’s home and traveled to town. As Philomenia’s cats and all but her favorite dog were sleeping in the old cabin, they splashed it with gasoline and lit it ablaze. All were lost. The women returned to the Gordan’s home assuring themselves and each other that it was proper pay back for taking the children. The Bruja would leave now because her home and helpers were gone.
Two days passed, the children were still not found and the searchers were becoming discouraged, certain of a tragic outcome. Deep in the woods Tom and Kelli had found a few berries and some nuts to eat but were cold and very hungry, making sleep difficult.
Kelli woke first and was snuggling closer to Tom for warmth when a cold nose poked at her arm. She first thought it was a dog and they were saved but as sleep left her eyes, she could see it was a small curious bear cub. As she reached to pet it, she heard a low growl from behind the tree. The cub’s mother had come in search of her little one and was not pleased to see a human about to touch it. Kelli screamed, waking Tom who quickly jumped out of their bed of leaves startling the mother bear who rose up onto her rear legs to her full height, snarling and walking forward. He grabbed a large stick and swung it at the bear, only making her angrier as she moved closer.
Kelli was screaming, and Tom was
swinging the stick when they heard someone firmly say, “Stop it!! Leave dem childs alone and leave!” Just as quickly as it attacked, the bear stopped, dropped down onto her four feet and shuffled toward the cub. Looking back at the source of the voice, the bear and cub silently walked away from the children.
As Tom calmed Kelli they both looked around for who had spoken. “Dat ole bar be plumb mad bout you gonna touch her babe. You hungry? Got some biscuit with butter and red apple jam if ya be.” Philomenia was sitting on a large rock with a little dog and small donkey beside her. Sweet smelling smoke curled from her stained pipe scenting the air. The morning sun rising behind her made her white hair sparkle and appear that she had light glowing from her body. With a slight toothless grin, she held a biscuit wrapped in a stained cloth toward the children.
Kelli happily started to accept the food
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Zebras
Amy Carr Neosho Quill Staff 2D Art
I created this to represent all zebras rather than individuals.
Carr has always loved art and history. She is currently at MSSU majoring in history while dual enrolled at Crowder.
Predator Searching for Prey
Cheyenne Hill
Joplin Quill Staff
B&W Photography
While taking a hike at Hawthorn Bluff Camp Site in Oologah, Okla., I stumbled upon this bird watching for fish in the shallow waters that lead to the side of a cliff. With supermarkets on every corner, we often forget that animals fend for themselves. Canon
Highlander Cow
Kayley Drake East Newton High School
Gold
B&W Photography
This photo captures a gentle giant. iPhone 7, rear camera 22mm, Shutter 1/149 sec., f/1.8, ISO 20
Drake is a multimedia student at East Newton High School.
* Scholarship recipient
Rebel T7
Hill is a full-time mother who decided to go back to college 9 years after graduation to get a Photography and Digital Marketing Certificate.
but Tom stopped her. “Mom said to not talk to her!”
“Don’t take that biscuit, it is probably a trick.”
“But Tommy, I am so hungry!!” whined Kelli.
“Suit yer self boy, but dat babe be hungry. Here dog, take dis here to dat little one.”
Philomenia handed the wrapped biscuit to the little dog who carefully carried it to Kelli.
“Look Tommy, her dog does tricks!” giggled Kelli.
“Don’t touch that!” scolded Tom as he swatted the biscuit out of her hand.
“Boy, it be good you do what yer Mam tole you! Lak I say, you suit yerself but dat babe be hungry and you don’t be waste’n food!” snapped Philomenia with a frown. “Eat child!”
Kelli grabbed the biscuit and happily bit into it. “Yum Tommy, it is so good!”
“Yes’um, we needs to get you childs back to your Mam and Pap.” Philomenia grinned. “You been gone two day now and they be plenty worried. They be searching every place but not the right place for you childs. Whar dat dang bird? He brung me to you and now he need to get us out?”
“Bird! Bird! Whar are ya??” yelled Philomenia looking up at the treetops as a large black crow suddenly appeared and glided down landing on her shoulder
“Dis ole Donkey George here he gonna carry you out,” Philomenia said, patting the donkey on his neck. “He ken walk faster than you younguns.”
The strange group slowly walked through the forest while Philomenia puffed
on her pipe, and hummed a strange tune to herself. The crow made little rasping sounds in her ear as it rode on her shoulder while she and Donkey George slowly brought the children to the edge of the woods where people were searching. Everyone stopped and turned to watch as Tom and Kelli climbed off George, Kelli gave Philomenia a huge hug, and they ran toward the house and their parents. In the blink of an eye, Philomenia, George, and the crow had vanished, never to be seen again.
Some say that Philomenia went back to the cabin and buried her lost dogs and cats before she moved on; someone buried them. No one knows where she went. But people say that when the moon is full and moonlight flows between the trees making pools of light on the forest floor she returns, and Kelli meets her at the edge of the deep dark woods where Philomenia smokes her pipe with sweet smelling smoke and tells her secrets while they eat biscuits with butter and red apple jam.
Willow
Julie Hilton Goodman Community Honorable Mention Digital Art
I wanted to photograph my puppy and then get rid of the background I found to be a bit ugly compared to her. So, I tried some alterations which gave her almost a surrealism result.
Hilton has been drawing since she could hold a pencil. She is mostly self-taught after high school, aside from a few college drawing classes. Since 2020, she’s taken some watercolor, pen and ink, and book making classes in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, through E S.S.A.
Samsung Galaxy S24, Shutter 1/120 sec., f/1.8, ISO 500 Then I edited with the Photos app, using “magic eraser” and filters. I added a bit of darkened border with the vignette tool. I added filter, “Honey” at the end.
Iris
Phoenix
Avari Fifer
Carl Junction High School
Bronze 3D Art
I created this piece to explore using clay and different types of glazes. I wanted this piece to be calm and peaceful yet also very bright and elegant.
Fifer is a young artist who strives to learn more about different styles of art through mediums. She plans to go to college for art and business and wants to create her artistic studio in the future.
Survival’s Embrace
Marlena Lule
McDonald County High School
Bronze 2D Art
I was inspired by the brightly colorful body of the praying mantis. I enjoy the more eerie spectrum of insects, so I combined my two favorites. It’s helped me become more confident in my ability to use color media.
Lule is pushing towards creating more art pieces in her own time, trying to be more motivated towards her pursuit of creation.
Statue
Steve Wilson Anderson Community Honorable Mention B&W Photography
This character saw me before I saw him. He did not move, waiting to see what I was going to do next.
Wilson is a local photographer who captures the moment for others to enjoy.
For this piece, I was inspired by the contrast between round and angular shapes. I wanted to incorporate that contrast into my sculpture to find harmony and balance between the shapes, texture, and pattern. Creating this piece felt like a new beginning towards something good.
Aurum
Form
Ialani Yang Neosho Crowder Silver
3D Art
Yang is an art and design major who plans on continuing her education in art.
Emma Spriggs Joplin Crowder Bronze Poetry Free Verse
I wrote this poem about a friend who took his own life when he was 15 years old to capture his effect on me and how radiant and beautiful his soul was.
Spriggs is majoring in psychology and afterwards will pursue a doctorate and become a psychiatrist.
Spirit of Winter
Caitlyn Bonass Cassville High School
Honorable Mention 3D Art
Bonass is a student known for her strong academics and use of imagination. She has been crocheting for 5 years. She has used her projects to create a small business, Kat’s Fantastic Creations, and has created many unique projects by following patterns and even writing some of her own.
BUTTERFLY
I drag myself out of reality Fading in and out of conversation
I was present with your presence Now I am gone.
I ponder the days we spoke face to face Now I pray, in hope to one day see your grave
A mystic butterfly Are plica of your aura
Fading in and out of my walls Why won’t you stay?
Your violet colors shine bright in my room So bright that I wonder if I’m in Heaven with you
One day we’ll cross paths again We’ll be gifted with one another’s eternal presence
Although until my time comes I will value your weekly visits
Your mystic butterfly.
This snowflake dragon was modelled after the unknowns of winter. Because of how unique every winter is, this dragon uses a unique wing design that represents the individuality of every snowflake during the season
Holding Space
Nellie Mitchell | Joplin Community | Bronze | 3D Art
This piece examines the tension between the desire for growth and change and the feeling of being stuck in the sameness of our circumstances.
Mitchell, an art teacher since 2006, loves to experiment with new mediums.
Transforming and Exploring the Potential of Soy in Fashion
Kasandra Wright Joplin Crowder Bronze 3D Art
The transformation of soybeans into striking textiles—using batik techniques and a moth motif—became a powerful metaphor for the change I hope to inspire in sustainable fashion. The natural properties of soy created unexpected textures and a rich canvas for natural pigments that surpassed my initial expectations.
Outside of her academic pursuits, Wright is passionate about giving back to the community and strives to lead a well-rounded and purposeful life, contributing to both her personal growth and the betterment of the community around her.
I love the beach and anything ocean-related, especially marine life. I wanted to make something that was relevant to my love for the sea.
Tentacle Treasure
Kinlee Holman Cassville High School
Honorable Mention 3D Art
Holman plans on attending a four-year college after graduating in May 2025 and wants to be either an occupational therapist or a radiologist.
Turtle Bay
Kylie Turner
Carterville Community Bronze
B&W Photography
I took my daughter to the Tulsa aquarium & this turtle at the turtle bay posed for photos! The turtle was so beautiful!
iPhone 5
Turner is the mother to a 10-year-old active daughter! She has lived in the Webb City area her whole life and loves photography!
Betta
Lindsey Hubbard
Butler Community Bronze 2D Art
I had little time for art over the last several years due to life circumstances. Once things calmed down, I was able to pick up the pencil again.
Hubbard has a lifelong passion for art, but only recently picked it back up. She works at Crowder in Nevada as an instructor for the RN program.
Ethereal Elegance
Sophie Holcomb
Carl Junction High School
Gold
Digital Art
I took this picture with my iPhone at Wonders of Wildlife. I loved how delicate and simple this creature moved as it looked so intricate. I think this photo captures that of a jellyfish.
iPhone, Phone Editing
Holcomb, a senior, is taking three art classes: 2D ll, AP 3-D, and Photography ll. She will attend Crowder for two years, studying art and business. After that, she plans to travel!
* Scholarship recipient
Colossal Squid
Avari Fifer
Carl Junction High School
Honorable Mention 2D Art
I created this to show the beauty and power. This creature lives in the deep and is often forgotten among many of the more beautiful creatures of the sea. This piece has shown me the importance of not only showing the creature’s strength but also its natural tendencies.
When the Lightning Strikes
Logan Thompson Seneca High School Bronze B&W Photography
I caught this lightning strike in the distance while a summer thunderstorm rolled in.
iPhone 7, auto Thompson enjoys the outdoors and riding four wheelers. He also plays football and wrestles for his school.
WHERE HAVE ALL THE GOOD BEES GONE?
Amy Carr Neosho Quill Staff Nonfiction
I wrote this originally as an argumentative research paper in college. I have an interest in bees, pollination, and the circle of life.
Carr has always loved art and history. She is currently at MSSU majoring in history while dual enrolled at Crowder.
Most life on planet Earth is dependent upon the honeybee as a key pollinator. In recent years, there have been drastic changes to the honeybee population, not only in the United States but also worldwide. Here we review some research about colony losses and explore several of the leading causes of honeybee decline. Maria Vanegas, in her work, “The Silent Beehive: How the Decline of Honey Bee Populations Shifted the Environmental Protection Agency’s Pesticide Policy towards Pollinators”, which was published in Ecology Law Quarterly, states honey bees are the most important commercially managed species of insect, and responsible for $11.68 billion annually. This is quite a large income for such small workers!
There are multiple stressors responsible for the decline in the honeybee population in recent decades. Luca Insolia et al. in their work, “Honey Bee Colony Loss Linked to Parasites, Pesticides and Extreme Weather Across the United States” that appeared in Scientific Reports in 2022 state, “Between April of 2019 and April of 2020 the United States reported a 43% colony loss. Among the multitude of difficulties facing honeybee survival are viruses caused by parasites, which include the Varroa and Tracheal mites, and rising high temperatures caused by climate change and poor air quality. There are also pesticides that kill not only unwanted pests but also, you guessed it, honeybees!
Honeybee population decline has gained worldwide attention in recent years. Research
is taking place to find a solution to the problems facing these tiny striped insects, from beekeepers and veterinarians to the EPA and USDA who are working to preserve this valuable keystone species. Many people are not aware of issues that cause decline of honeybees, but everyone must realize the importance of this insect and the impact it has on nearly everything, or in a matter of time deaths work up the food chain to humans.
Viruses from the Varroa and Tracheal mites are prevalent in honeybee colonies. The Bee Informed Partnership has a database where research is compiled. “In 2013 deformed wing virus and Black queen cell virus were present in over 80% of sampled colonies in the United States, according to Moore. Sacbrood, virus makes the final skin of the pupa impossible to shed, causing death. “Each larva that dies from sacbrood contains enough virus particles to infect every larva in 1,000 colonies according to Moore. Deformed Wing Virus (DWV) is another virus spread by the Varroa mite, colonies with Varroa mites will infect nearly all workers (DWV) and is a significant cause of winter colony mortality, Moore states.
Another significant cause of honeybee death and colony decline is extreme weather and air pollution. Bees are being shipped from all over the United States to California to pollinate crops for agricultural purposes. Christopher Mayack et al. have published a study in Insects, titled “Poor Air Quality Is Linked to Stress in Honeybees and Can Be Compounded by the Presence of Disease” they researched the correlation between air quality and diseases in honeybees. Hives were placed in six strategic locations in central California, where all but two hives were fed weekly. “As [bees] returned from foraging trips, approximately 150 forager bees were collected from each colony at the entrance to the hive” according to Mayack. Also, “approximately 300 bees were scooped… from a brood frame from each hive to estimate the total number of Varroa mites in the hive” Mayack states. Essentially, Mayack et al. found that climate change causes higher daily high temperatures, resulting in poor air quality. More Varroa mites are also found in the hives with higher daily temperatures. The Varroa mites and the poor air quality work in conjunction to make it harder for the honeybee’s respiration and therefore compromise the bee’s immune systems leading to premature deaths, according to Mayack. More research must be
done to see if the results are the same with native hives as they are with controlled hives.
Climate change is also having other unfavorable consequences for honeybees. Philip Donkersley et al. in their article in Veterinary Sciences, “A One-Health Model for Reversing Honeybee Decline” say that “Honeybee health cannot be separated from the health of the environment that surrounds them.” Changes in seasonal patterns are having serious impacts on pollinators, notably through changes in forage plant phenology (Donkersley et al. 2020). It has also been found that “air pollutants mask the floral odor receptors of honeybee antennae (Mayack et al. 2023). I have noticed that it is easier to smell things on cool days in the country rather than hot days in the city near a busy street.
Humans have had the detrimental impact upon the health of honeybee colonies through creation and use of pesticides. Pesticides are
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Palm Tree
Paradise
Sierra Wilson Anderson Community Honorable Mention B&W Photography
I took this photo while on vacation in Florida. I like how palm trees embody a sense of paradise. This photo is captivating due to the number of palm trees in one place. Samsung Galaxy S22+
Wilson likes to enhance the photography experience by looking beyond the picture to find deeper meaning.
Butterfly Drinking from a Rhododendron
Marcy Abercrombie | Neosho Community | Gold | Color Photography
Every year, I look forward to this Rhododendron blooming because it attracts more butterflies and bees than any other flower or shrub that we have.
Abercrombie is a data engineer in the information technology industry. Photography is one of her favorite hobbies,and she especially enjoys taking pictures of nature and NASCAR races.
[Continued from 17]
meant to kill pests that harm crops. However, there is no way to stop pesticides from killing the helpful insects as well as the harmful ones. Kristine Smith et al. in their article, “Pathogens, Pests, and Economics: Drivers of Honey Bee Colony Declines and Losses” that appeared in EcoHealth, states that “exposure to pesticides may result in sublethal effects on the health of individual honeybees that could lead to reduced survival.” Even if bees survive exposure to insecticide, they are at higher risk of several other health problems that could lead to death including immune system function, learning ability, memory, foraging behavior and odor discrimination, according to Smith.
One of the ways pesticides are harmful to honeybees is by being exposed to “drift”. Drift is when crop fields are sprayed with pesticides, typically from an airplane, and chemicals literally drift on the wind. When honeybees are in contact with these chemicals, it is bad for their health and can lead to premature death. The most harmful pesticides are neonicotinoid insecticides, which are put on the seeds of the crop so less chemical is used overall. This method has also been used in recent years to reduce drift.
Contrary to all this evidence, Jon Entine in his article “The Bee Apocalypse Was Never Real; Here’s Why” states, “Honeybee populations haven’t “crashed’ in the United States or elsewhere. Honeybees are not going “extinct.” And crops are not “in trouble.” Entine claims that honeybee decline is a myth created by bee keepers and those in the honey bee industry to drive up prices. Entine does acknowledge that Varroa mites and the viruses that they cause are a true danger to honeybees. The evidence that Entine uses to support his
viewpoint are numbers of honeybee colonies in the US that comes from the USDA, and colony numbers from Canada, the European Union and the World. These charts only list the year and number of colonies for the years of 1961-2012. The charts show downward fluctuation but then end with about the same number of colonies they began with. Entine claims that colony numbers have risen in recent years.
Entine also uses evidence from Michael Burgett, a professor of entomology at Oregon State University, who says, “The honeybee is in no way endangered.” Burgett claims, “Colony Collapse Disorder” only lasted from 2006 until 2011 and that the term is still in use when the problem no longer exists. Entine also says, “Anti-chemical memes targeting neonics with the not-all-that vulnerable honeybee as their symbol remains a powerful fund-raising tool for environmental advocacy groups, and often linked to the organic industry.” Entine sees honeybee decline as a way for the media to spread fear and pad the profit margins of the honey and pollination industries. The trouble with Entine’s claims is that they are only that, claims. No research has been done; no studies have been conducted.
All the stressors like paracites, Trachael mites, Varroa mites, and the multitude of viruses including sacbrood, Deformed Wing Virus, and Black Queen Cell Virus are detrimental to honeybee health. These stressors will continue to be problems until people demand changes to help save these tiny creatures. In “2006 beekeepers reported winter hive losses of 30-90 percent, a stark increase from the 15 percent losses that were common, according to Vanegas. The health of honeybees is crucial to our own survival.
PURSUING PURSLANE
Our ancestors spent much of the day wandering the land and searching for wild spring greens to supplement their diets. For them, this practice was a way of life and often essential to maintaining life. Many of their desired plants were superfoods containing vitamins, antioxidants, and other essential nutrients. Even though many people think of these greens as weeds today, foraging is once again becoming popular as a way to save money, provide nourishment, and add variety to meals.
One of the most sought-after weedy greens is purslane or Portulaca oleracea—an annual, self-fertile plant found worldwide in flower beds, cultivated fields, sidewalk cracks, driveways, and along roadsides. Sometimes called pusley, duckweed, pigweed, fatweed, or little hogweed, purslane has few pests and tolerates hot, dry conditions due to its ability to store water. Even in poor soil, it can grow from 10 to 40 cm in height.
Purslane has oval to spoon-shaped, succulent, green leaves, and smooth, fleshy, reddish stems. Plants produce small, yellow flowers that open for a few hours during sunny mornings. Depending on rainfall, these flowers may bloom from mid-summer through the early fall. The flowers are replaced by seed pods that open when the seeds are mature. A single purslane plant can produce thousands of tiny, black seeds, and the seeds remain viable in the soil for 20 to 40 years!
Purslane is highly desired because of its nutritional value and multiple uses. All parts of the plant are edible, and it can be eaten raw or cooked. With a salty, slightly tart, lemony flavor, purslane often is cooked as a leaf vegetable, but it is also used in salads, sandwiches, stews, soups, sauces, baked pastries, popsicles, and smoothies. The plant should always be washed thoroughly before eating to ensure that no dirt or pesticides are consumed.
Research has shown that purslane has a better nutritional quality than many
regularly cultivated vegetables. Low in fat and calories, purslane contains several essential vitamins and minerals, including vitamin A, vitamin C, vitamin E, magnesium, manganese, potassium, iron, and calcium. This tasty, nutrient-dense weed has seven times more beta carotene than carrots, and it possesses high levels of antioxidants and omega-3 fatty acids.
Prized also for its healing properties, purslane has been regarded as a medical wonder for years. While Pliny the Elder advised wearing purslane as an amulet to ward off evil, the plant has been used medicinally to treat headaches, insomnia, burns, psoriasis, osteoporosis, arthritis, and cardiac disease. The omega-3 fatty acids in purslane are thought to be beneficial in preventing heart attacks and strengthening the immune system.
Although purslane is an incredible food source, modern foragers need to be extremely careful during their hunts because other plants can appear similar, but actually be poisonous. You should never consume any wild plant unless you are absolutely certain of its identity.
But if you know what you are looking for, foraging can be an extremely positive and rewarding experience. Pausing to look for food slows down the daily pace and enables people to connect with their surroundings. It makes us more aware of our environment, and it provides beneficial exercise, healthy nourishment, and free food.
Billie Holladay
Skelley
Joplin
Community Gold
Nonfiction
I was inspired to write this piece after hearing about people foraging for free food. I didn’t know much about the practice, but I learned that many individuals actively seek and collect wild plants and other edibles to supplement their diets and offset the rising cost of food in stores.
Holladay now retired from working as a clinical nurse specialist and nursing educator, She enjoys focusing on her writing.
Pickin’ Wildflowers
Terri White
Joplin
Crowder
Silver
Color Photography
The beautiful complex design of something so simple! iPhone 13
White is a current Crowder student having already received a certificate in Digital Marketing and now pursuing a certificate in Business Management.
Raegen Phelps
Aurora High School
Silver 2D Art
My inspiration for this short story was both Halloween and my trip to Gulf Shores. I have always been afraid of the ocean so I wanted to incorporate that.
Phelps is an avid literature lover and is active in her community. Usually she writes poems, but she has been branching out and writing more short stories.
ITHE HEAVENLY HUE
t’s February first, at the turn of the century. A lonesome man wanders the deck of an old shrimping boat. Noise echoes lightly across the deck of the ship. Faint sounds of joy spout into the moonless night. Downstairs the crew is enjoying the fortune of the new year. Meanwhile, the man paces across the boat wondering about his wife. It had been two weeks since he had heard anything from her. Their marriage had been on the rocks long before he left for his voyage.
Just as Captain Ahab’s boat had been ripped to pieces, his life had been ripped apart. The oncoming divorce encompasses his mind. The man pulls a cigarette from his pocket and examines the thin stick. So much time has been melted away by a roll of tobacco. He pulls out his lighter and flicks it, sending the sparks ablaze. Barely touching the orange flame, he sucks in and the end of the cigarette begins to turn to ash. The exhilarating yet calming sensation the man feels as he breathes settles his nerves. His lungs are coated with nicotine and when he breathes out, thick potent smoke flares in the winds.
Looking back at the dark mysterious sea he continues to revel in his thoughts. A large gust of wind snuffs the burning cigarette. Flicking the lighter on again the man catches sight of a different light in front of him. In the distance, an angelic glow grows from the darkness. The color is as decadent as gold yet cooling like moonlight. It seems as if God was sending one of his angels down to earth to fight the world’s grievances. The boat drew nearer and yet light grew no bigger, but brighter. He tightened his grip on the freezing metal of the boat’s railing.
The light taunts him. Its glorious hue dances within his pupils. Instinctively, the man steps up onto the railing, below the blackened waves threatened to swallow him up if he dared to jump. Yet the enticing light called louder than the threat of death. Throwing his body overboard, the man plummets into the endless darkness. Cold shocks his body, but the thought of the light warmed his core. Straining against the thrashing waves, he pushes himself to the surface allowing him to suck in the freezing air greedily.
Forward, he thrusts himself against the aggressiveness of the ocean. The last thing he needed was not to reach the heavenly light. The sounds of angels drawing near gave
him the courage to continue forward. The color of heaven that had descended to Earth turned more silver as the angels grew louder. Whoever these decadent voices belonged to became the man’s top priority. The boat, his wife, and even the addicting coolness of a cigarette had been purged from his mind.
For a moment his thoughts snap into reality and he acknowledged the waves. The closer he got to the angels the softer the waves were. In fact, the waves seemed to be pushing him towards something. Peering past the salty water that coated his eyes, a large mound began to rise from the water. A minuscule island in the middle of the vast ocean was the source of the most enchanting feeling inside his soul. The chokehold it had on his body and mind was more powerful than any other thought or feeling he had ever had. Even the hypothermia that was creeping into his body seemed to be nonexistent.
By the time the man managed to make it to the island, it seemed even more like an oasis than he imagined. It was a massive rock that was covered in moss and delectable greenery. The entire mound was covered with a warming light that made it appear like daytime. Butterflies danced across the grass and circled two figures at the top. The man heaved himself upon the rock curious if he might see one of the angels who lured him there. Sure enough, a beauty beyond his imagination sat elegantly before him.
Sitting closely together, the two exquisite creatures playfully tugged at the grass around them, weaving ornate crowns. Both of the girls seemed to enjoy the light of God so much, that neither of them had clothes on. The one on the left had skin as clear as pale and glass that looked like it could shatter at any moment. Long, dark wavy hair contoured her body perfectly. It covered everything that needed to be, but it still left little to the imagination. Her eyes were icy cold with how blue they were. Yet the color complimented her rosy cheeks and smile.
The woman beside her looked like the exact opposite. Her skin was silky but instead of pale, it was a delicious mocha color. This angel’s hair was so blonde it glowed in the sunlight. Bouncy curls sprang when the wind passed by. Just like the other woman it draped around her body perfectly. Everything about the pair drew the man closer. For
a moment, the man’s eyes were full of lust. Thoughts bounced about his head. They looked like the personification of heaven on Earth. The blonde goddess noticed the man and beckoned, “Look Elana! A mortal has answered our call!”. Elana, the dark-haired lady, looked through her thick lashes at the man. Observing him for a moment she said, “Well Lizzy, it appears that way.”
The women drop their grassy projects and stalk towards the man on all fours. Encapsulated by their beauty all he could do was watch. They slowly encompassed him and toyed with his hair. “So tell me, darling, did you hear our voices or see the light first?” Elana pressed. The man simply stared at the girls in shock. Mere inches from his face they examine his eyes. “How delicious!” Lizzy squealed. Elana pushed her out of the way to see what her companion was talking about.
“I am curious,” Elana wondered aloud. She put her hands on each side of the man’s face and lightly brushed her lips against his. Electricity shot down his spine. Elana’s smell of lavender and lemongrass permeated his nose causing him to forget everything around him. To him, she tasted of sunlight. At that moment, the last bit of sanity the man possessed was taken from him. As she pulled away he leaned forward, As if he was silently pleading for her to continue. His eyes fluttered open, his mouth partly open as he processed what had happened.
Visibly upset, Elana states, “It is really a shame we didn’t get a talker. All of the others have been boring me lately.” Lizzy looked at her companion and glanced back at the man. “Well, at least he looks more appetizing compared to the other ones,” Lizzy added. At that moment the atmosphere shifted. The clouds drifted downward from the skies and
surrounded the tiny island in gloom. All the light that had lured him there darkened.
The butterflies that once danced across the foliage, crumpled to the ground. Elana grabbed the man by the chin and forced him to focus on her. Her silky black hair turned gray and wild, while her vibrant complexion dimmed. Everything about the mysterious girl turned cold. Lizzy pushed the man onto his back and examined him with a cryptic smile. She too had turned into a sort of monster.
The lush grasses on the island had disappeared and now he lay pressed against jagged rocks. The reality of the situation began to set in on the man. His bones ached from the persistent swimming. Hypothermia nibbled at his life force. He was overcome with weakness. The man’s body and mind had started to betray him. In no one’s right mind would they jump off a ship just because they
[Continued to 23]
Waltz of the Waves
Adalyn Christenson Neosho High School Silver
2D
Art
I was inspired by the ocean and making reality look more interesting. I incorporated multiple hues and textures throughout the painting. I like to add more color in my artworks not really focusing on realism but rather making reality look more dream like.
Christenson, a junior, is interested in the arts and loves the creations she makes. She likes to share her work and hope other people enjoy it too.
Angie Brewer Noel Community Honorable Mention Poetry
Brewer is a wife, mother, daughter, and educator. She loves her family, nature, gardening, and making herbal concoctions. She believes in the power and beauty of the written word.
THE MOCKINGBIRD
Who is the mockingbird calling?
His love from beyond the grave, a mate in the deep forest, the cat lying below?
Is it nature born in him to speak, dawn to dusk, no song of his own.
Or desire, born on wings that lifts him high to spy upon the world beneath.
A quandary bird, the mockingbird.
I am inspired by nature and the beauty of our world.
I live in the country at the dead end of a dirt road and enjoy the solitude of nature.
Feather Paint
Julie Hilton Goodman Community
Honorable Mention 2D Art
I just thought it would be fun to make art with feathers from my chickens. This is my favorite.
Hilton has taken some watercolor, pen and ink, and book making classes in Eureka Springs, Ark., through E.S.S.A.
[Continued from 21]
saw a light in the distance. He felt idiotic, but more importantly, he felt defeated.
The angels that once beckoned him near were now too close for comfort. Their beady eyes danced over his body with hunger. He could see the veins below their grey skin pulsing rhythmically. Gills stretched across their necks, raising and lowering with their excited breaths. The creature’s sharp nails dug into his body letting trails of blood hit the damp rocks below.
They began to gnash at his clothes, shredding them to get to his flesh. The demon’s sharp nails slicing against his skin filled his brain with signals of agony. Yet he did nothing to fight against it. “Sirens…,” he whispered. Elana and Lizzy both paused and peered into his eyes. “How curious…,” they both cooed.
Almost instantaneously the girls returned to their mission. The man’s vision blackened as he accepted his fate. Once immortal goddesses
had become horrific cannibalistic entities. They gouged their teeth into his supple flesh and tore it away from the bone. Blood bubbled out of the wounds spilling down into the ocean. Giggles filled the air as they feasted. Piece by piece the man was torn apart.
When they were done their features shifted once more. Light came back to the island. The butterflies rose from the dead and pranced once more. The two goddesses sat on the rocks and played with the bountiful greenery once more. Elana looked sorrowful at the vast ocean scenery. Dropping her head in her hands, tears began to stain her cheeks. “Why can’t we keep one at least once?”she whimpered. Lizzy shuffled closer to the distressed angel and embraced her. The man’s bones were strewn about the island. Moss rapidly crept over the man’s bones as Elana’s tears hit the ground. Lizzy began to sing like the angels that lured him, hoping to capture another man.
Feathering the Path
Latonia Bailey
Neosho
Quill Staff Adviser
B&W Photography
I found this turkey feather along a hiking trail near Stockton Lake, Mo. Samsung Phone, auto
Bailey, coordinator of the Digital Marketing and Photography programs, enjoys contributing to the contest each year in various categories.
Now & Then
Amber Davidson Joplin Community Honorable Mention
2D Art
When I’m in a new location, I often think about all of the people that have been there before me. This collage considers how the past and present come together in those moments.
Davidson has been teaching for 14 years and is currently teaching art and photography at Carl Junction High School. She loves to travel with her family and students. She often uses inspiration from her travels to inform her work in painting, photography, and mixed media.
Perry’s Ride
Julie Hilton Goodman Community
Honorable Mention 2D Art
Using a photo of the bike, I sketched it in pencil and inked it with the help of a magnifying glass. I created the countryside background from imagination, adding a barn and inking the entire scene.
Hilton has been drawing since she could hold a pencil. She is mostly self-taught. Since 2020, she’s taken some watercolor, pen and ink, and book making classes in Eureka Springs, Ark., through E.S.S.A.
Joplin Fire Department’s Rescue
Charles Jennings
Neosho
Quill Staff
Color Photography
I captured Joplin Fire Department’s Rescue 1 prior to responding to a medical call.
iPhone 4 Pro Max
Jennings takes photos with his phone. He does not work with any of the fire departments but hopes to in the future.
Monett Fire Engine 1113
Charles Jennings
Neosho
Quill Staff
B&W Photography
I captured Monett Fire Department’s Engine 1113 on the scene of an apartment fire.
iPhone 4 Pro Max
Jennings takes photos with his phone. He does not work with any of the fire departments but hopes to in the future.
Dixie Randolph Gravette, Ark. Crowder
Honorable Mention Nonfiction
This was originally an assignment for my English Composition course, but my dream house is something that I imagine on a daily basis. I knew it would a favorite writing piece for me.
Randolph is majoring in poultry science and hopes to be working somewhere in the agriculture industry in the future.
OUTSIDE MY DREAM HOUSE
From a young age, the same image of a farmhouse popped into my head. A big farmhouse resting on tons of acreage is my dream. That dream remains today, but with more of a modern twist with a homely feeling.
A long and winding driveway that secludes my property from others. The view traveling from the driveway to the front of the house shows wide open fields I can see for a mile or so that create a food source for the black angus cattle graze on. Parking in the driveway, the first thing that I would notice is the bright white paint that covers the house matching soundly to the rectangular windows that are spread across the house evenly with a hand-built stone chimney indicating that there’s a fireplace inside. Bright-colored flowers cover the flowerbeds in front of the porch and a dark, wooden door waiting to welcome guests inside.
A wooden porch wraps around the entire house. The house being placed in the perfect spot to watch the sunrise from the front porch and the sunset from the back porch. The rocking chairs placed around the porch create a picture I want to see as a calendar cover. While sitting outside the occasional fluttering of wings from a hummingbird can be heard by the feeder that hangs from the overhead on
Alley
Spring Mill
Latonia Bailey Neosho
Quill Staff Advisor
Color Photography
The mill is registered with the National Park Service as a historic site. Samsung Phone, Auto
Bailey, coordinator of the Digital Marketing and Photography programs, enjoys contributing to the contest each year in various categories.
the roof.
Walking around to the side, a garden is visible. Green vines from the high-spirited cucumbers tower from an arch that creates the entrance. Vibrant red tomato plants join them in taking over the garden space by space. The sunshine shade squash lay hidden underneath all the greenery that rests among the dirt. The variety of pepper plants give off a spicy smell when near scatter the rest of the garden creating an image of a multi-colored blob from a distance.
Walking a little farther to the back is a hand-built chicken coop. The clucking of the egg-laying hens creates an active sound to listen to in such a quiet area. Looking through the small shapes of the chicken wire, the daily shiny, brown eggs are laying on the stringy hay placed inside the wooden barn red chicken coop. The little light colored baby chicks constantly waddle around with their mothers to find a sense of place in their new world.
Only imagining the outside of the house, I can picture everything that I could ever want just on an exterior basis. Just thinking about my opinions on the boldness of this house lets me know that the interior will hold just as much meaning as the outside will hold for my future.
THE YEAR THAT WANDA JANELLE COLEMAN WORE SHORTS TO THE METHODIST CHURCH PICNIC
“Well, it’s indecent… that’s what it is.”“It’s worse than indecent. It’s downright scandalous!”
Gladys Meriwether and her twin sister Goldie were looking out to the side yard of the Oak Avenue Methodist Church from the kitchen window of the basement as they were cutting watermelon slices to serve to the gathering crowd of picnickers. It’s true, Wanda Janelle Coleman had shown up at the church’s annual mid-summer event wearing a pair of striped cotton shorts that, lengthwise, ended a full three inches above the sixteenyear-old’s knee. Of course, since the window being used by the octogenarian women was nearly at ground level, they were looking upwards toward a lot of bare leg, no doubt exaggerating their perspective that the girl’s choice of attire was inappropriate.
Goldie carried over another twelvepound Charleston Gray melon from the extra refrigerator.“I blame the television… Ed Sullivan allowin’ that Elvin Prescott guy to sing that “hound dog” song…swingin’ his hips around like some kind of wild maniac. It’s no wonder the kids turn out like they do nowadays.”
Gladys had a different idea. “Oh, it ain’t that, sister. It’s them Roo-sians. When they launched that little metal basketball into space, it poked a hole in the stratosphere, and let in some of that space dust. Makes the kids go goofy. That’s what’s causin’ the problem.”
The other sister shook her head in agreement.“I mean, I could understand it if the church was havin’ a swimmin’ party, or lettin’ the youth group wade for pollywogs down on Chickadee Creek…but, to be halfdressed right here in the church yard, not thirty steps from the private graveyard where the Reverend Weaver and his missus are laid to rest…not to mention all them old-timers from the Oliver family…nearly paid for this whole building by themselves… it’s flat out disrespectful.”
“Well, you know where she gets it, don’t you?” Gladys explained. “Her mother is the one that shows up at choir practice wearing a half-a-bottle of Chanel Number Five. Ever since her husband ran off with that Avon lady, I think she’s had her cap set for one of the baritones.”
“We only got two. Which one?”
“Edgar Brannon.”
“Edgar Brannon? He’s almost twice her age and weighs four hundred pounds!”
Gladys just closed her eyes and gave a deliberate nod yes, affirming that she was quite sure there was truth to the rumor. “Money, my dear. It’s always about the money.”
For a short while, there was only the cracking sounds of watermelon rinds being split open, followed by the metallic clacking of knife blades as they sliced their way through to the countertop. After a bit of thought, Gladys resignedly admitted, “Well, I guess all we can do is pray for the Coleman girl. She may come around eventually. After all, Rahab was a harlot before she saw the error of her ways. Says so right there in the Book of Judges.”
“Joshua.”
“Pardon me?”
“The story of Rahab was in the Book of Joshua.”
“It was JUDGES!”
Now…as it happens, the two sisters were in the basement kitchen by themselves, but anybody from the congregation who might have heard the exchange would have quickly recognized this behavior. The Meriwether sisters tended to regard stubbornness as a virtue, and their arguments in the church kitchen were legendary. A back-and-forth of “Joshua” and “Judges” could have easily gone on for hours, even when a simple flip of pages in the Old Testament would have quickly proven who was correct.
Just then, however, there was a commotion noticed at one of the picnic tables out on the lawn. Apparently, the six-year-old Nelson boy was choking on a chicken bone. Most of the hollering was coming from his distressed mother and his aunt, who noticed that he was turning red-faced, and struggling to breathe.
As the Meriwether sisters watched in horror, the scene seemed to unfold in slow motion. Apparently, no one in the immediate vicinity of the poor little boy knew how to help. Finally, rushing over from the Red Rover game, a bossy sixteen-year-old girl in striped cotton shorts shoved onlookers out of the way, and ran to a position behind the victim. Wrapping her arms around his stomach and hoisting him from the ground, she squeezed
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Ronald Smith
Loma Linda Community Silver Fiction
Small churches are wonderful institutions where so many of us were taught godly ways. Of course, in addition to the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments, we will also remember some of the more humorous events that occurred during those Sunday school years.
Smith is an author of short stories and novella-length manuscripts, writing in a folksy, down-home style. He is a member of the Ozarks Writers League and currently serves as the president of the Joplin Writers’ Guild.
him tight and let out a yell. As his feet landed back on the grass, he spat out the gristly knob from a chicken leg, launching it directly into the potato salad.
The danger having passed, the rescued Nelson boy took a much-needed deep breath, then turned and hugged his new best friend.
The crowd roared with approval.
The spinsters at the kitchen window had been frozen in fear, but finally relaxed and let out loud sighs of relief.
About that time, young Pastor Martin came down the outside stairs to the basement kitchen door, grabbed a clean glass, and started filling it at the faucet. “Well, that was close, wasn’t it? Little Jerry needs a cool sip of water after all that.”
“Oh, he’s fine. A little shaken up, maybe, but he’ll be okay. I think we can all be thankful
that Wanda Janelle was smart enough to know what to do. Very intelligent young lady.” Then he paused, looked at the Meriwether sisters and raised an eyebrow. “I just wish someone would teach her how to dress for a church function.”
“NOW, YOU JUST LISTEN HERE, BROTHER MARTIN! There’s nothing wrong with how that sweet teenager dresses! That’s the style nowadays! If you don’t like it, you’re just gonna have to get used to it! Understand?”
He winced, because he was still getting an earful of scolding from the Meriwether sisters as he climbed back up the stairs to the side lawn.
Apparently, the “Rahab” at Oak Avenue Methodist Church had turned from harlot to hero.
Goldie looked over at Gladys, and matterof-factly repeated, “And it was Joshua.”
“It was JUDGES!”
Old School House Kailey Atnip | Cassville High School | Silver | B&W Photography
I took this picture because some of my family used to attend this school. Moto G Power 2021
Atnip is in many clubs in school like FFA, Band, and Rotary. He likes helping around the community and spending time with loved ones.
SPRING RITUAL
Susan, brown-eyed, in the meadow lives. She goes away when the weather turns cold, But there is nothing so sure as her return when a new April arrives.
I watch for her when the last frost has passed, For I have loved her since I was only a child. Our reunions are precious in my memories.
Is she fancy or covered with frills?
Oh, no. Her beauty is Simplicity at it’s finest, Nothing more than a bright yellow bonnet to catch the eye of an admirer.
Many think of her as a wild type, Showing up in places she was never invited. But, they’ve never surrendered to her charms the way I have.
For, in my eyes, she is lovelier than any lilac, Prettier than any pansy,
And sunnier than any sunflower that ever graced the earth.
I have no doubt that she loves me, as well, For she never fails to find me when the days get warm. Without announcement or fanfare, she quietly appears outside my window.
Someday, when I’m laid to my rest, I believe she’ll stay very nearby, And decorate my grave when others have forgotten my existence.
Susan, brown-eyed, in the meadow lives. She goes away when the weather turns cold, But there is nothing so sure as her return when a new April arrives.
Ronald Smith
Loma Linda Community Silver Poetry
The verses of Spring Ritual seem to describe a man’s affection for a mysterious lover, who goes away and returns on a regular basis. Is she his fair maiden, or simply the warmweather wildflower that he has known since his childhood?
Smith is an author of short stories, novellalength manuscripts, and the occasional poem.
Cherry Blossom Beauty
Cailey Storms Monett Crowder Bronze
Color Photography
I was lucky to see the Cherry Blossom trees in person and it was an incredible experience. I took the photo as a memory for myself.
iPhone XR
Storms is a current student at Crowder College in Cassville.
The Gift
Julie Hilton Goodman Community Honorable Mention
B&W Photography
I love how small children choose gifts. A rock or a flower seems to me a powerful show of love by giving everything they have to give. I have tried to capture these moments in many of my photos.
Motorola Edge, auto
Hilton has been drawing since she could hold a pencil. Since 2020, she’s taken some watercolor, pen and ink, and book making classes
I wrote this speech based from a single quote prompt.
Brink graduated in May 2024 with an AAS in Advanced Manufacturing Technology with a robotics option.
Do you ever feel like a failure? I know that I have a multitude of times. Everyone’s perception of failure varies, but its base is pretty similar. Some people view a B grade as a failure, while some don’t consider it a failure until it is an F grade. The subject runs much deeper than academics, though, and it is far-reaching. The flip side of failure, of course, is success, or winning. The emotional response to failure vs. success is infinitely different as well.
Failure, though doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. Michael Jordan is quoted saying, “ I’ve failed over and over again in my life, and that’s why I succeed.” This can be viewed as a simple turn of phrase, but we are going to dig into the deeper underlying meaning of his wise words. The quote again is “I’ve failed over and over again in my life, and that’s why I succeed.” The first admission of failure is not only the first step to moving on from it but also the first toward using it to help you succeed. By taking the experiences of various failures and applying the knowledge gained, it is possible to become successful. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. This applies to almost every facet of life. If
you don’t change the way you attack a task, or reach for a goal even after multiple failures, nothing will change. That being said, though, if you simply examine what went wrong, you can make the necessary changes and drive to success.
As a 33-year-old student, I have had my fair share of failures. A shining example is the fact that this is my fourth attempt at college since 2009. Every time something came up that caused me to have to quit, I was quick to push the blame off. When I finally started to look internally and reflect on what issues had come up, I began to hold myself accountable. Doing so has forced me to succeed. It was easy as a first-generation college student fresh out of the Army to blame others and wallow in my own self-doubt. Rising above this though, again has forced me to succeed. I believe the age-old saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade” is applicable here as well. You have to be able to take the failures and turn them into successes of some kind or another. Maybe it isn’t what you had originally planned, but every success, even the small ones can help you build into a great one. Turning the negative into a positive can be difficult; however, by relying on the
opinions of others to determine if we are failures or not, is a mistake. Sure that’s easy to say, but how do you apply it to your life? Comparing oneself to others is a fallacy. Being successful looks different for everyone, and just because someone may appear at face value to be a success, doesn’t necessarily translate into being successful. There are too many underlying factors to what success is to base it solely on outward appearances. Sometimes, you have to take the loss. Move on, learn from it, apply the lessons, and try again. I consider myself to be a successful parent now, but eight, six, and even four years ago I felt very differently about it.
My success as a parent has been built from countless failures. I wasn’t around for a lot of firsts when my oldest daughter was growing up because I was traveling around the Midwest for work. I reflected on this a lot, and by the time my youngest daughter was hitting her milestones I was around for most of them.
This still was not good enough though. I still felt like a failure because I still missed some things. Now, that my son is growing into his own personality, I have pride in knowing that I have been there for everything. I took what felt like failures to me and grew from the experience. They drove me to make changes to be able to “right the wrongs” I felt I had committed against my family—against the people who mean the most to me—the people who depend on me to always be at my best. No, I’m not the perfect parent or even person, but my kids no longer have to worry about whether I’m going to be there for them, and that sounds pretty darn successful to me. To summarize, don’t be afraid to fail. Failures aren’t always the bad thing they are often portrayed to be, and they certainly don’t last forever if you don’t let them. Go out and take the chance. Change the narrative. It’s your story; how it goes is up to you. You only truly fail if you don’t try at all.
Lily of the Pond
Steve Wilson Anderson Community Bronze Color Photography
I am a local photographer that captures the moment for others to enjoy.
Wilson is always looking for the “shot.” Whether it is sequential lines or the pose of a subject.
Harddwch & Ofn
Tiffany D. Blevins Anderson Community Silver 3D Art
This piece is part of a paired series called Beautifully Feminine & An Artist’s Perspective on Birth. The vase is a representation of the diversity of women and the flower represents one of the many mixed feelings I have as I enter a time in my life where I am considering having children. Together the vase and flower partially my feelings on the bringing of life, and the blessing or burden of women.
Blevins is a life long creative and learner, having earned degrees in theatre, graphic design, and art from Crowder as well as other degrees. Tiffany works as the Fine Arts Division Assistant for Crowder College while continuing to hone her artistic skills using her lifetime learner credit. She hopes to pursue her Master’s Degree in Art Therapy.
Infest the Rat’s Nest
Weems Neosho Crowder Gold
3D Art
Inspired by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard’s fifteenth studio album in 2019, I threw this lidded vessel and found the shape reminiscent of a rat’s skull, which appears on the album’s cover. The designs were all from my mind, whether to fill space or express the illusion of depth. This piece won me first in the Crowder College Student Show in 2024 for 3D Art.
Weems is pursuing an art degree at Crowder College. They’ve always been an artist for as long as they could hold a crayon.
COMMEMORATING THE ROOM THAT MADE ME
My husband lounged in the wooden rocking chair across the room and, while I’m sure he would attempt to assure me otherwise, crept toward sleep. I always called it Jacob’s superpower that he could fall asleep anywhere at a moment’s notice. He remained motionless, eyes closed behind his square-framed, black glasses. His heather grey face mask matched his oversized hoodie and usual neutral beanie. A hospital bracelet that matched mine and a spare scrunchie clung to his wrist. Ten years into our relationship, he knew me well enough to know that it never hurts to have an extra scrunchie.
His stillness was interrupted every time the nurse nudged back the curtains. She stopped in to check my vitals several times throughout the morning. The soft-spoken, doe-eyed woman made amiable small talk as her nails clacked against the keyboard. She sported the same baby blue scrubs that all the hospital staff wore, but her lanyard with her employee badge was decorated with a cheery, multicolored floral pattern. The badge indicated that her name was Gina, which matched the name on the whiteboard above Jacob’s head that read, “Birthing Room 5, March 11th, Dr. Langer, RN: Gina, Welcome baby boy!”
The welcome sign was displayed on a clean, white wall next to where several boxes of medical gloves in various sizes were mounted. Near the ceiling, the walls were accented with pewter grey paint, and they were lined by light oak cabinets. Most of the fluorescent lights overhead were off, but the rest emitted a low hum. Outside of the room, the world was hushed, except for the occasional chatter from the nurse’s station across the hall.
The noises inside were more persistent. One of the machines beside my bed flashed and beeped along with my pulse, which it gathered from the device clamped onto my left index finger. The fetal monitor bound to my belly picked up a steady heartbeat that pulsated through the other machine. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. His heart pumped 152 beats per minute. I closed my eyes and fixated on his heartbeat, wanting to subdue the growing uneasiness that stemmed from the pressure
of the needles in my left arm. I couldn’t help but notice the scratchy, beige hospital blanket rubbing my arms like sandpaper. My anxiety was notorious for clinging to trivial concepts. Snatching a clear plastic cup from the bedside table, I chomped on a few ice chips, biting back the intrusive thoughts.
They were stifled by the time Gina told me that it was time to have a baby. All at once, a wave of motion crashed into the room, drowning the morning’s peace. Nurses bustled in with an infant warmer. My doctor breezed in and pulled on a pair of medical gloves. Jacob appeared by my side and grasped my shaking hand with his own warm, steady one.
Time lingered, stagnant, until the pressure was released. The doctor lifted a silent figure, and my breath caught in my throat. Days seemed to pass before the silence broke. Finally, his birth cry flooded through me like a downpour of relief. The nurses wiped him off, weighed him, and then positioned him on my chest, wrapped in a cotton blanket decorated with colorful ducklings. I tasted salt before I sensed the tears that trickled down my cheeks.
When the commotion dissipated, I found myself alone with my husband and my newborn baby boy. Unwrapping him, I pressed his mild skin against mine. I stroked his petite hand until his delicate fingers clasped my own. His eyes were clamped shut, and he exhaled with a light fuss. Wiggling his outstretched legs, he turned his head toward me in search of milk. As I listened to his faint suckle, I glanced up at Jacob, who flashed me a quick smile and squeezed my hand in encouragement.
Eventually, a nurse came in and informed us that she needed to take the little one to the nursery. Jacob, who was cradling him as he cooed and yawned, nodded, then situated him in the clear bassinet basket attached to the cart she presented. Gina returned and transferred me over to a wheelchair so that I could relocate to my recovery room. The wheels whispered a squeak as she propelled me forward through a maze of hallways. An intercom overhead sounded a melodious piano lullaby, announcing to everybody that a tiny blessing had arrived. I felt a sense of loss as we rolled further away from the room that made me a mother of two.
Jenna Ehrhardt
Neosho Crowder
Honorable Mention Nonfiction
Cambridge Dictionary defines “commemorate” as “to show honor to the memory of an important person or event in a special way.” This descriptive essay is my way of commemorating a room that gave me one of my biggest blessings: my second-born child. I wrote it so that I will never forget the joy I felt on that day.
Ehrhardt is a 29-yearold studying with aspirations of becoming an accountant at a nonprofit organization. Although it is not her major, writing has always been dear to Jenna’s heart as a form of expression and entertainment.
Elliana
Griffith Lamar High School Honorable Mention Fiction Fantasy
This excerpt is part of a longer novel that I’ve been working on for five years. This book inspired my dream of becoming an author and editor. I’ve had so much fun writing it.
Griffith, a senior, participates in many clubs and plays tennis. She has written several works that have received awards from the Language Arts Department of Missouri. In the future, she hopes to attend Ouachita Baptist University and become a book editor.
THE SUN STONE EXCERPT
Alex holds out his hand. “Cmon, dance with me.” I glare at him. “I don’t know, you might try to trip me for a laugh.” He laughs and his eyes take on a mischievous look. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
Ha! I trust him as far as I can throw him. But, I still need to get to Lady Silena for the magic shard in her bracelet. “Alright, fine.”
He takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. I hate to admit it, but Alex is a good dancer. Somehow he manages to direct me through dance steps I would’ve fumbled on my own. After a bit, I start getting the hang of it and begin dancing more smoothly. Until Alex asks me a question that makes me lose my footing.
“Where did you get your necklace? I’ve never seen anything like it.” That was an abrupt subject change. My brain immediately goes dead. I can’t tell him that it’s a magical stone that gives me powers. “Well, I’m not sure, my grandma might have given it to me.” This conversation is starting to feel off.
“Interesting, do you know where she got it?” Ok no, something is wrong here. I can’t latch on to what it is though. And this dancing isn’t helping, especially since we seem to be dancing faster now.
“Of course I did. I must say, I wish you hadn’t realized it was me. I should’ve known the questioning was too much.” I can only look up at him and stare. The voice that’s been trying to take the stone from me, made flesh in front of me, is a teenager.
“Why are you doing this?” “You’re going to have to be more specific, Sunny.” “I mean why are you wasting your time with me instead of getting the stone from Lady Silena? And why are you calling me Sunny? My name is Lilly.”
“I would’ve thought the nickname was obvious, you have sun powers. And I wouldn’t call it wasting my time, you are delightful company, not to mention the rock around your neck.”
I sneer up at him. “Of course, why do you want it so bad anyway?”
“Give it to me and you’ll find out.” He grabs for the stone and I try to step back, but he’s got his arm wrapped around my waist. His fingers close around the stone and yank on it, sending a bolt of pain through me.
A slow grin crosses his face, beautiful and wicked all at
once.
“No, I don’t, and why are you so interested in it anyway?” He pauses and something that looks like hunger flashes on his face as he looks at the stone. My eyes widen as I’m struck with a realization. At that moment everything that felt wrong comes together and forms one horrible thought. “Blur?”
A slow grin crosses his face, beautiful and wicked all at once. “Nice to finally meet you face to face, Sunny.” I don’t know how I could’ve been more stupid, I had all the clues laid out in front of me. Why he approached me. The reason he seemed familiar. His insistent asking about the stone. All of it, plain for me to see.
With each new revelation, my steps slow and Alex, no, Blur yanks me along until I’m dancing again.
“C’mon now Lilly, we can’t lose pace with the music.” I finally find my voice. “You knew it was me this whole time?”
My knees go weak and I sag. “Please stop, you’re hurting me!” For a second he looks conflicted, but then he yanks on it again. Luckily the necklace chain holds. I whimper as I feel another white hot bolt of pain. My fingers latch on his arm and pull on it, trying to get him to let go, but it’s no use. I look at the hand holding the stone, he’s got a ring with a diamond on his middle finger. I look closer, no, not a diamond, a shard! The edges are uneven and it’s not reflecting color, it’s glowing with it. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it sooner. He’s still trying to get my necklace off and suddenly a little self-defense training comes back to me. I stomp on his foot with my heel, hard, and knee him in the gut, then poke his eyes. He grunts with pain and releases me, saying a string of words I’d get my mouth washed out with soap for saying at home. I quickly snatch his hand and start trying to pull the ring off.
“I wonder what would happen if I took this, hmm?” Panic and pain flash across his face as I slide the ring free.
He shouts, “No!” But I don’t wait around to hear anymore. I turn and run toward the
Most formations in Badlands National Park are gray and brown, lacking the vivid reds of Arches or Zion. I chose black and white for this photo, using dodging and burning to highlight the rugged details. Nikon D610, Aperture Priority, 18-35mm lens, ISO 200
crowd on the other side of the room. Alex, no Blur must have danced us into a secluded corner of the ballroom. His footsteps pound into the floor, getting closer with each step. Oh no, I refuse to be caught, the shard in my hand will tip the tables in our favor.
If I can just make it to the crowd surrounding the married couple, I should be able to blend in. I still need to get Lady Silena’s shard though. There’s no time to focus on that right now, I have bigger problems, mostly in the form of the angry teenage boy chasing me. I start shoving my way through people as I get closer to the crowd. I risk a glance over my shoulder and say my own curse. He’s still gaining, and a triumphant smile spreads across his face as he closes the distance between us. That smile is the last thing I see before everything gets flipped upside down and thrown into chaos.
I groan and sit up, then look around at the pandemonium around me. It looks like all of the party guests are on the floor, shaking their heads and trying to get their bearings.
I feel a little woozy too, so I shake my head to clear it. Shoot! Now I remember, I was running, someone stepped in my way, and I collided with them. That someone turns
out to be Lady Silena! Finally, my first bit of luck! She looks unconscious, but I can see her starting to stir.
Quickly looking around to make sure no one’s watching me, I lean down, reach for her wrist and unclasp her bracelet. Then I slip it into one of the pockets of my dress and zip it closed. More people are starting to stand up now so I scramble to my feet. I look down at Lady Silena guiltily. I want to help her, but I can’t be around when she realizes her prize bracelet is missing.
Wait a minute, speaking of missing, where’s Alex’s shard of the stone?! My eyes scan the ballroom floor until there! I see it!
A small glimmer of silver. I move towards it, but something else catches my eye. A figure, rising and dusting himself off. Alex’s gaze meets mine right away, then darts to the floor where his ring sits. He raises his eyebrows and smirks, then starts moving towards it. I hesitate if I go back for it, he’ll surely catch me and then I’ll lose all three shards.
But it gnaws at me how close I am. I force myself to move and swiftly walk to the wine cellar. At the entrance, I can’t resist one last look back. I see Alex, with a challenge in his eyes, mouth the word “almost” as he slips his ring back on, turns away, and disappears.
Badlands B&W
David Zacharias Pittsburg, Kan. Community Gold B&W Photography
Zacharias transitions seamlessly between film and digital photography, embracing a variety of genres.
Jamie Billings Aurora High School Bronze Fiction Short Story
I wrote this story as an attempt gets out of my comfort zone. This writing style is my preferred; however, it was about a situation I knew nothing about, so I did my best to recreate it.
Billings has been passionate about writing since childhood, finding escape in creating worlds and characters.
A HUNDRED YEARS OF MEMORIES
“Happy birthday, Grammy!” The older woman smiled softly at the children who sat around her feet, a twinkle in her eye as she leaned back on her small wooden stool.
“Thank you, babies.” Her accent was warm and thick, like a hug made of cinnamon. One of the children looked up at her with wide eyes, lounging on the embroidered rug,
“Grammy! It’s so cool you’re one 100! You must have seen so much!” An even younger child added, “Yeah! Like the dinosaurs!”
The mother hurriedly chides them from the doorway, leaning against the dark wood.
The older woman chuckled, “Yes baby, I did in fact see the dinosaurs. They were so big and terrifying, one almost ate me.” The children giggled, she smiled and continues, “But… do you know what was more terrifying?” The children shook their heads. “What was more terrifying… were the sounds of war.” The older child’s eyes widened, “War, Grammy?”
The older woman nodded, “Yes, war. From my homeland. I grew accustomed to the sounds of gunfire, the screams of the wounded. You could not even walk down the street at night without coming across fallen soldiers, both enemy and not. And… the bombs.”
A man appeared next to the older woman,
Grand Falls on Shoal Creek, Joplin
George Haubein Joplin Community Silver
B&W Photography
Haubein has been fascinated by the photographic process since 1971. He enjoys exploring the medium in his retirement.
holding her hand, “Nana…” His tone was kind with a hint of the older woman’s accent, but it sounded faded, watered down by generations in a new land. The older woman’s hand shook.
“I can… still hear them at times. Those horrible bombs.” “Nana.” His voice sounded more distant to her now, whistling in her ears, a second voice growing louder,
“Dieu…” The older woman shuddered, screaming filling her head.
“Nana…”
“Dieu…!”
“Nana…”
The older woman closed her eyes tightly, the man’s voice fading entirely, “Please… enough.” The sounds of the bombs grew louder, making her ears ring.
“DIEU!!!” The young woman opened her eyes, holding a uniformed man on the ground, another woman pulling on her sleeve. “Dieu! Dieu! We have to leave at once! The boat to America is leaving in an hour!” The young woman, Dieu, looked at the uniformed man before getting up and running with the woman, his blood coating her hands. At that moment she decided, she WOULD live to see her 100th birthday. She WILL see her kids, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren. She ran to the ship. She would live. She had to.
Grand Falls is the largest continuous flowing waterfall in Missouri. I never tire of viewing its majestic and varied moods. Olympus E-600, 27mm lens, Shutter 1/1 sec., f/13, ISO 100
Sylvan Lake
David Zacharias Pittsburg, Kan. Community Silver Color Photography
Zacharias transitions seamlessly between film and digital photography, embracing a variety of genres. His work spans landscapes, portraits, macro shots, abstract compositions, and occasional street photography. This versatility reflects his creative vision and adaptability across different styles and mediums.
An Evening on Table Rock Lake
December Wiley Carl Junction High School Honorable Mention Color Photography
Wiley is in 10th grade. She has been creating art for most of her life and would like to continue pursuing an art-related career.
Since I was young I’ve always been going to Table Rock Lake my family owns a house down there so I’m able to visit them frequently and on not-so-rare occasions, I get stunning pictures like these. I used a Samsung 20, no editing
Located in Custer State Park, this view of Sylvan Lake is the photographic gem of the park. I was fortunate to get this one early in the morning, when the wind was down, providing a great reflection. Nikon D610, Aperture Priority Mode, 18-35mm lens, ISO 400
James Jones Neosho Crowder Gold Nonfiction Essay
Jones serves as Associate Pastor of Pentecostal Life Center of Joplin and Monett. Together with his wife, Miranda, and two daughters, Jubilee Ryan and Jenevieve Eden, they serve in multiple areas of ministry. James has a passion for reading and writing.
TAFTER THE WEDDING
he day had been long, and we had been served a smorgasbord of emotions. I couldn’t count the number of times my emotions changed that day. I had started the day nervous, after all I was getting married. The nerves turned to stress when we started to get dressed, five groomsmen and myself, all getting ready at the same time. A photographer in the room taking photos and initiating poses; I have a near disdain for photo shoots.
The horseplay with friends was joyful; fumbling with the boutonniere was frustrating; having my mother help me pin it to my lapel, that is a memory I will cherish for the remainder of my time here. Certainly, the ceremony itself was wonderful, and seeing my bride march down the aisle brought more emotions than one could elaborate upon. But now it was over, and we were moving swiftly down the interstate, destination: the mountains of Tennessee. Music blasting, we
blissfully planned our trip. Deciding that I would drive as far as I could that night and then get a room and finish the trek in the morning, we then planned our excursions for the week. I have never been the planning type; therefore, I conceded the itinerary and nodded my head to the incoming suggestions saying, “Yes ma’am, sounds great.” I didn’t care about the details; I was just excited for the new adventure.
Completely unbothered by the unknown struggles that were hidden in the pages of our new chapter, we set our eyes on the passing landscape. Singing songs and spitting sunflower seeds, we were ready to take on the world. Looking back, I see the naivety and innocence of our mind set. We were thoroughly prepared for the road trip but equally unprepared for the longer journey and yet learning along the way has made for the best memories.
I wrote this short essay for an assignment. A brief glimpse into the emotions of newly married glee, with a quick glance at the unknown struggles that soon awaited such a union
Dogwood Canyon
Chantel Smith Joplin Community Honorable Mention Color Photography
Smith is a retired USPS employee who loves to stay busy taking photos and working part time at The Joplin Regional Airport.
I love to take landscape photos, I love the outdoors. The day this was taken was a beautiful day! Nikon D7200, 50mm, Shutter 1/125 sec., f/4.5, ISO 100
THE TIME CAPSULES
Who knew in just one blink of an eye, your whole life could change. Everything was going so well, but just like that, my whole world has flipped upside down. My name is Tanya, and this is my story of how it all started…
It’s the third day of 6th grade. The playground is filled with my whole class. We’re playing this huge game of hide and seek, while most of the boys are playing four square. My best friend Charlotte and I start running to the field when we hear this kid Campbell start counting down. The fresh spring air is hitting our faces as we sprint to the trees near the field. I give Charlotte a lift into the maple tree and she pulls me up with her. We thought, there’s no way he’ll find us. “3, 2, 1, here I come!” Campbell yells. Minutes go by and we begin to hear rustling in the leaves below us. Charlotte whispers, “Oh my gosh, he’s already about to find us!” I peek down and see one of the kids that were originally playing four square. “Hey! Go back to playing four square with the boys, you’re gonna get us caught!” I say. He looks up frightened and says, “Sorry I joined at the last minute and I’m trying to find a spot.” I sigh. Charlotte helps give him a lift up to our tree. He promised he would be quiet. “So what’s your name?” I said curiously. “Noah,” he replied. Charlotte quickly shakes his hand and says, “Well, Noah, welcome to the friend group!” I didn’t mind her saying that, since she and I usually saw him sitting alone at lunch, and he did seem nice and all…
“FOUND YOU!” Campbell yells. We all three look at each other in disappointment since we were being a bit too loud… it’s okay though because at least we made a new friend! A couple rounds of hide and seek go by and everyone gets called in for dismissal. Parents begin picking up their kids from school since it is time to go home. I go on the bus.
As I’m waiting and see my bus pull into the pick up area, I notice Noah is going towards my bus! I didn’t know he went on mine. I never really paid any
attention to who was on my bus. Charlotte was my only friend. I walked up to him and said, “You ride bus 8?” “Yeah, I noticed your bus pass number in your backpack near the four square area on our way inside, but I was too afraid to ask if you wanted to sit together.”
“Of course I would, we’re friends now!” Noah and I chatted the whole bus ride. It felt like I could go on forever, but eventually my stop came by and we had to say goodbye. When I got home I told my mom all about him and how school went. I was so happy to make a new friend.
The next morning...
“Tanya! Tanya get up!”I wake up to mom yelling my name in the kitchen as she makes my breakfast. I check the clock and it’s 9:12 am! School starts at 8:00 am! I quickly rush to get ready. Mom drives me to school and when I get inside my classroom, Mrs. Gage tells me everyone is outside making time capsules in the field. I’ve always wanted to make one! I rush outside and see Charlotte and Noah writing letters to their future self. I join them. We all write scary and funny things that could
[Continued to 40]
Trista Nikole Tautkus
Webb City High School Gold
Fiction
Magical Realism
I wrote this to catch the beautiful moments and power in friendship and love and also send out a reminder that sometimes fate is written in the simplest of moments.
Tautkus loves the concept of sounder and deeply values hearing and sharing stories. She dreams of success, travel, and blending her passion for storytelling with exploring the world.
* Scholarship recipient
The Treeee
Kayley Drake
East Newton
High School
Bronze
Color Photography
I love this picture of a pine tree. I captured the beautiful lines of the branches. iPhone 7, 28mm, Shutter 1/90 sec., f/2.8, ISO 30
Drake is a multimedia student.
Two Sides of a Rainbow
Zhoi Jagger
Cassville High School
Silver
Color Photography
I was amazed by the sight, but the meaning is even greater. As a Christian, I see the rainbow as God’s promise, making the view deeply meaningful to me. iPhone 15+
Jagger is highly determined and always strives to maintain a positive outlook on life while keeping her faith in God for the world.
happen to us, put them in our box, and bury it. Soon the end of the day came and once again, me and Noah chatted the whole bus ride until our stop came. Soon the end of 6th grade comes. Soon enough, I’m in high school. Soon enough, I graduated and am onto my adult life. Time goes by faster and faster as I grow up.
5 years later...
I’m 23 now. At this point, I thought my life was set, besides me recently getting diagnosed with cancer. Other than that, I have my own place and ready to begin a family, but then this happens… My phone rings as it’s an unknown number calling. I answer it. A deep voice says, “Is this Tanya?”
“Yes, who is this? How did you get my number?”
“It’s Noah, from 6th grade, remember? I found you on facebook and I know this might sound weird and shocking, but… meet me at Cornerstone Coffeehouse. 2:00 sharp. It’s urgent.” The phone hangs up. I have so many questions like: Is this really Noah from 6th grade? How does he know I live by the coffee shop, and why is he contacting me after 12 years? We were literally friends at 11 years old; nothing special. This is creeping me out. An hour goes by as I’m pondering every situation that could possibly happen. 2:00 is in 12 minutes. I get in my car and drive to the coffee shop. As I sit in the parking lot
I’m looking everywhere for this man. I get a strange text saying, “To your right” and there he is. This is the most gorgeous man I’ve seen. Besides that, we walk inside, and talk on and on trying to catch up. It feels like we’re still 11 having never ending conversations, but then once our coffee gets served he gets serious. He goes on telling me these crazy things that have happened in his life. He says, “Do those sound familiar?” It was things he wrote inside our childhood time capsules. I’m astonished, because then all that comes to mind is what I wrote which was, “I get a house at 20”, “I break my wrist at 21” and “Swim with sharks.” Those things happened, besides swimming with sharks. We obviously did not take those stupid time capsules seriously. At first I thought it was a funny coincidence but then he let me know he wrote one that said “Die at 25 from cancer.” I couldn’t believe this was really happening. Why did I get cancer if he wrote that? That’s only 2 years away. We talked on and on about how to solve this and then came to the conclusion that we were going to go to our old school, and dig the time capsules up. Here comes a fun little road trip I guess.
That night...
I’m still creeped out by this guy since I still really wouldn’t know if this is all lies, but how could it? I broke my wrist and got a place at those same ages. I’m comfortable enough to where I slept the whole time he drove us there. We arrived the next morning
at the school. It’s abandoned now. Everything creeps me out at this point. We go over to the old field with these heavy duty shovels he had in his trunk. This man could quite literally kill me, but I go along with the plan. We spend hours digging up every spot that the time capsules could have been. We still couldn’t find them and lost hope at one point. We walk back to the car to take a break, but as we walk to the car, I drop my shovel and hear a hollow thump. We looked at each other in disbelief and started digging where I dropped the shovel. It’s the time capsules. We opened and dumped them out. Notes came flying out. We even found Charlotte’s capsule! We look in our boxes and find no clues, so then we move onto Charlotte’s, and that’s when Noah goes, “No way.” I read the note he was looking at and I saw the words spell, “Tanya and Noah’s notes come true.” Little does she know we weren’t writing cute little future goals like her, we were simply just messing around. “What do we do?” I say. Noah goes to his car and comes back with a lighter. “I’m gonna burn them.” He puts all the notes in a pile and sets them on fire. We watch the fire blaze up in its hot heat and sparks. All that comes to my mind is that there’s just no way that burning them would fix the problems or my future ahead. We talk about it as all the notes and capsules burn, but then something comes to mind. ”I know what we need to do,” I say. “We need to cancel out the negative predictions we wrote on our notes, and make new ones with positive future goals.”
“You are one smart girl,” he replies. We try to figure out how we can get paper. He leads me inside the abandoned school to find some for us. Everything was just left behind in this place, I wondered why. As soon as I’m thinking that, he points to this paper on top of an old teachers desk that explains how multiple people have died recently from an unknown coincidence of just going to this school. Charlotte was on the list. She got mauled by sharks scuba diving in Florida. That was on my note… Me and Noah look at each other as he says, “We’re connected.”
We ran back out to the field with our papers and pens we picked up in the school. We write down future goals that will cancel out our old time capsules. All we had to do was have hope afterwards.
3 years later…
I’m 26 now. A lot has happened. Noah and I are a married couple and have 1 baby boy on the way. I feel fear free since last year was the age I was supposed to be dead, but now I’m living my best life. We bought a new house where the scenery is beautiful, Noah is pursuing his dream as a neurosurgeon, our families live in our town and know about our story, and we have 1 cat named Charlotte and 2 dogs. Now we can live our lives peacefully as I am on my way to succeed my dreams of starting a family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But did Noah and Tanya misread the age for her death on the note?
Double Rainbow
Marina Garrett
Neosho
Quill Staff
Digital Art
Sometimes we have gloomy days, and seeing this double rainbow is a reminder to just stay positive. I used Photoshop and only made minor adjustments
Garrett is a mother who is majoring in General Studies and is currently in Digital Marketing classes.
Mia Ingram Rogers, Ark. Crowder Honorable Mention Poetry
Rhymed verse
I was inspired to write this poem after seeing someone I thought I knew as a better version of themselves.
Ingram is enrolled in the Webb City Occupational Therapy Assistant Program.
THE IRIDESCENT LIMELIGHT OF YOU
Today your eyes are gray, Tomorrow they’ll be blue. It feels like yesterday, Just a little more askew.
I saw you in one way, I dared to think I knew. Be that as it may, I’ve found a different view.
A front row seat, Staring in dismay. A kaleidoscope of you, At this special matinee.
In the sunlight And the moonlight, Still your garage light, Hits just right.
Summer Time Vibes
Every year we take the kids to Hawthorn Bluff in Oologah, Okla., for camping, swimming and s’mores. This image was taken in the morning while drinking my first cup of coffee. Canon Rebel EOS T7
Hill is a full-time mother who decided to go back to college to get a Photography and Digital Marketing Certificate.
Cheyenne Hill | Joplin | Quill Staff | Color Photography
Badlands2
David Zacharias
Pittsburg, Kan.
Community Gold
Digital Art
The rolling multi-hued mounds against the rugged formations in the background, I thought were a good balance. However, the lighting with a cobalt-blue sky lacked the drama to set off the foreground. I decided to do a sky replacement and put in some dodge and burn effects to give a more 3D representation.
Nikon D610, 18-35mm lens, Aperture Priority Mode, ISO 200
Zacharias transitions seamlessly between film and digital photography, embracing a variety of genres. His work spans landscapes , portraits, macro shots, abstract compositions, and occasional street photography. This versatility reflects his creative vision and adaptability across different styles and media.
LEG BREAKER 5000
Mfiction
B. Ryan McDonald County High School Bronze Non
Personal Narrative
I wrote this after I broke my leg freshman year. The experience was probably the most chaotic thing I’ve ever experienced, and thought it would make a good story.
Ryan aspires to make at least one person chuckle with their submissions.
arch first, 2023. As I rode on the utility task vehicle, or UTV with no seat belts, the wind hit my face as I flew down the smooth asphalt onto the rough and uneven grass. The trees that outlined our property line served as almost a fence, telling me where to turn. There were no trees spread around where I rode, only the ones that made up the forest behind our property line. As I approached the edge of the grass, it would slant down. The UTV was ridden in two-wheel drive, back onto the asphalt and back on the grass, always making sure to hit the drift where it would slant down. After doing this for a while, I remember wanting to go to the garage and roller skate down the asphalt. “One more lap,” I kept telling myself. As the last lap was near, the slanted drift approached, and my front wheel caught a hole.
Looking at the ground to my left, as it rapidly approached. I closed my eyes and saw the familiar eigengrau. I didn’t open my eyes until I was sure I was flung out on my side. I don’t remember even feeling the ground, or the pain that being flung out would ensue. As I opened my eyes, I saw the roll cage seemingly barreling down towards my neck. “This is where I die,” I thought as I shut my eyes. When I opened my eyes again, I remember lying towards the stars. A stark contrast to the forest I was looking into when I was thrown on my side previously. Rather it was the adrenaline or if I instinctively rolled myself
The Golden Light
Caden Thompson
Seneca High School Gold
Color Photography
I captured this beautiful sunset walking along my pond one evening while searching for a calm and peaceful place. iPhone 12 auto
Thompson, a senior, wants to explore his education in trades and become an electrician.
* Scholarship recipient
on my back, I couldn’t tell. I felt no immediate pain. As I pushed my arms under me to support my upper half to sit up, I saw my left leg in a state of disarray. The shorts I was wearing were black and had a sliver of red at the side, but they were short enough that they only went to my knee. There it was, a bloody hole in my leg, with a dent intermingled with grass and blood. The adrenaline let me feel no pain, and I planted my heel on the ground and moved it left and right. I could still move it; it must not be broken.
I started shaking, I didn’t quite know why. I was shaken when I became too nervous about something. When I first drove, when I was in trouble in eighth grade in a JCPenny’s, I chalked it up to a nervous shake. The next few seconds were dreadful. I felt a little pain seeping through my body, concentrated in my left hip. I pulled my knees in and used my arms to slowly try to stand. As I was standing on my tiptoes close to the ground, the higher I was, the more I could feel something in my leg wobble. It felt like it was a hummingbird wing, moving so fast from left to right as I stood. I sat down halfway into my stand. I figured maybe It was fractured. “I can still stand and move my leg; it must not be broken.”
As I laid back into the grass, and let it coddle me, I turned the left and saw the upside-down UTV. The headlights were still shining, and way farther down than I was. Eventually, I started calling out for help. For anyone to hear me, the neighbors that had
come home as I had just taken the UTV out, or my parents probably inside watching TV. But no one came. I contemplated, laying there, or crawling my way up our 5 acres back to the house. I don’t know when, but sometime I started crying. Long ago, my mother had told me a story about her mom. When Grandma was in a car wreck around February in a blizzard; she lay in a ditch for hours, and used her one good limb; her arm, to crawl back onto the interstate and receive help. I gathered, “If she can do it, so can I”. Two arms behind me at a time, and a good leg planted to make a triangle to help push, I made my way back onto the asphalt.
I don’t know how much time had passed between these events, but after what felt like an eternity, I passed a pillar marking the start of our driveway, and onto the asphalt. I had an acre to go. The farther I went, the more my bones seemed to ache, the more blood dripped, and the more tired I became. To keep myself going, I started counting the stars. I don’t know what I counted to, or when I stopped counting them, but eventually, my tears dried and I started thinking about how the stars came to be, why they were there, and if they were burnt out and we just didn’t know it because the light was still traveling to us. I finally made it to the edge of where we parked our cars, and close to the front porch, but I still faced a problem. The porch had stairs, I was by where we parked but it was still a five-minute crawl to the cars, and the porch was probably an extra three minutes. I laid there for a little, to rest. Let the aching settle, and my leg stop shaking. I started moving again not too long after since I was so close. Soon, I heard an angel descend from the heavens, or perhaps Moses came to part the Red Sea, but the familiar screech of the back
gate was all I could hear. I had yelled a simple cry for help with all I had left in me. My throat itched and hurt because of my fruitless attempts earlier. My brother only responded with a simple, “Hold on.” I couldn’t decipher his tone, he had to yell it for me to hear it, and I couldn’t see it. “No, no, no, don’t go inside, help me!” I shouted as I heard the gate close and him go inside.
I started bawling. I thought Isaiah never came to part the Red Sea, and the angel was just a ghost that looked like it had a halo. I thought he had just gone inside and had to do something. After a while of trying desperately to reach the porch stairs, Isaiah came running down the stairs, making sure to tumble along the way. Soon after, my parents came running out and shuffled me to the van for a swift but rough ride to the hospital. The ride was painful, I was in the back seat, with my busted leg elevated on the passenger back seat. Every bump would bring back that shaking feeling in my leg.
When I arrived at the hospital, it wasn’t an immediate emergency. The nurse didn’t believe it was broken and had to see it broken in half on the x-ray to even get me pain medicine. The nurse even bumped my broken leg against a cold wood cabinet. I had to have an emergency surgery to clean out my leg and put a metal plate in to hold it together. The morning after, my body felt 70 pounds heavier, and I thought it was amputated when I first awoke. Much to my dismay, the pain after a couple of minutes of waking was a lot worse than losing it I would think. But even after having 1500 pounds on my leg, standing on the leg, a bumpy ride, having surgery, and a metal rod inserted, my leg wouldn’t be as good as new, but it would eventually work as well as it should in time.
DEL HOLMANʼS STORY
Most people go back and forth on what they want in life. For Del Lorene Holman, it was simple. At the age of five Del loved to play doctor with her dolls. She would name them after known nurses at the time. Del had set goals for her life and was determined to reach them. Just after her twelfth birthday, Del headed to the bus station, leaving the stability of her home and family behind. She had to adapt to being on her own.
Soon she was enrolled into School of the Ozarks in 1945. Her very first phone hung on the wall. Her family never had one, so she didn’t get to speak with them much. She was responsible for cleaning, grades, and work. Every day she would go to school then right after she would go to the hospital and help in any way. Usually this meant bathing patients.
[Continued to 46]
Cassville High School | Gold Nonfiction Biography
I was asked to write about an influential person’s life. I chose my 92-year-old great grandmother Del Holman because of her inspiring life story.
Holman is a senior who aspires to teach English abroad.
* Scholarship recipient
Saige Holman
Child Wish
Samantha Cafferty Neosho Crowder Gold Digital Art
This photo captures the innocence of a child with the raw beauty of nature behind him.
Lowered exposure and used Photoshop to achieve silhouette
Cafferty is a mom who went back to college after 10 years to pursue her new career.
[Continued from 45]
Del worked sixteen hours a week in order to pay for her tuition and boarding. She couldn’t go home over the summer. She worked 540 hours to put towards her education. She learned communication skills, religion, work ethic, and how to be self-sufficient. Independence and determination kept her going along with the need to help others. Del once said, “If you don’t love people, there is something wrong with you.”
On the day of Del’s graduation in 1949 at School of the Ozarks, she put on her neverbefore-worn white shoes. She was walking down the hall when the director of nurses told her, “Mrs. Perme, your shoes need polished”. Del gave her a slight smile. The four years Del spent in School of the Ozarks was the best experience.
Because of her age, Del would have to hold off on beginning university. She enrolled in a semester of college at Flat River. Rumors of kidnappings had Del on alert at all times. So, when she traveled by taxi for the first time she was skeptical. Del kept thinking that the driver was going to drive her away and kill her.
At the end of her semester at Flat River, January of 1950, Dr. R.M. Good helped her to get into Saint Luke’s Hospital. She was given $300, a uniform, and three pairs of shoes. This would be enough to last her the three years until she earned her diploma. For Del, the hardest part of becoming a nurse was the school work. Learning chemistry and medicine
was tedious work. One time, a patient Del knew passed away after receiving a shot from a fellow nurse. During Del’s time at Saint Luke’s, Del helped to deliver babies, assist surgeries, and worked in recovery. Above it all, surgery intrigued her the most. It gave her a thrill to just be in the room rinsing tools.
Working in the mental hospital kept her busy. The patients were curious and did not understand personal space. Once Del shared a small enclosed elevator ride with a few patients. They spit on her as they talked. Even with how uncomfortable the mental hospital made her feel, the children’s hospital was almost unbearable. The troubled and weak look of the children melted her heart. “You just want to take each one of them and love em’,” said Del, “I love children, and I just love all ages.”
After Del’s graduation she stayed and worked at Saint Lukes for a year before moving away. She got a job in Kansas City at the VA Hospital. On December 31, 1954, she was dining with a man named Calvin Rodney Holman. Then the unexpected happened and he asked Del to marry him. “When?” Del said
“Now,” Calvin replied
“But, I gotta go to work.”
They began to make arrangements Del called and called until someone finally told her, “If someone wants to get married this badly we’ll get it worked out.” Relieved, Del and Calvin drove to Cassville, Mo. They talked with Calvin’s family and they found a
BROKEN THINGS
All the sayings
About broken things
But what about people
Do broken dreamer s still dream?
Do broken hearts still beat
The way the used to
Do broken spirits still sore
Amongst the great blue
The world shapes us It molds us
And if we deny it It will make a fuss
If we were pieces of a puzzle
The world would smooth our edges
If we were roses bushes
They would make us unifor med hedges
They want us to be the same And will do whatever it takes Fracture and shatter They cause us to break
They broke me I will admit Smothered me in lies I was going to call it quits
They made me think I will never be enough
place for the two to get “hitched.” Del took this time to catch up on sleep, then she and Calvin drove hours down icy roads until they reached Oklahoma. Del’s dress was not your typical white gown. She wore a fairly new blue dress, simple yet beautiful. Calvin and Del got married the same day of the year as Del’s parents on Jan. 1, 1955.
The newly married couple shared a home in Kansas City. Their first child was born the same year, Calla Holman on October 28. Their second daughter was born in 1957, Terri Holman. Their first boy was Rod Holman in 1959, followed by Audy Holman in 1960. Del has always been a hard-working and determined woman, she worked at the VA
That I was unwanted, unloved They had me in cuffs
Then I realized Who gave them the power? They may have broke me But I gave them the hammer
I let them define me
Gave them the pen I had surrendered myself
And i won’t do it again
When I am told to kneel I instead will stand With defiance in my eyes
And my sword in hand
I will embrace myself
Let my personality ring true I will not fit the mold
And inspire others too
They will try to dull my blade I‘ll guard it with my shield
And when they try to burn me out Still I will not yield
I may be broken But I will rise on wings I will raise my voice loud For I am a broken thing
Hospital in between having babies.
Calvin and Del moved their family to Cassville, Mo., in the same year of 1960 where the couple had their final two children: Jill Holman in 1965, and finally Steart Holman in 1967. Del got a job working in Monett for two years. When she left Monett she went to her final place of work in southwest Barry County now known as Mercy in Cassville. She worked there for 28 years until she officially retired at the age of 63 in 1996. Although she never stopped caring for children, bathing, dressing, changing, and loving them. Soon she was watching her grandchildren grow up to have babies of their own.
Lillyann Bell Webb City High School Silver Poetry
There was a time where I would have done anything to fit in, even take away the best parts of me. Then I came to realize that I don’t need to fit in.
Bell is a sophomore, enthusiastic reader, writer, poet, actress, and over all lover of the arts who plans on teaching drama.
How Blue
Stacy Kern Stotts City Community Bronze Digital Art
Kern has always had a passion for rough stock events and nature, turning every day life into beautiful captured memories.
Reding’s Mill Pool
Marina Garrett Neosho Quill Staff Color Photography
Garrett is an inspiring mom who picked up a camera one day and decided to go back to college to study digital marketing.
I took the photo at a Legends of Rough Stock Bull riding event in Oklahoma for my husband while waiting to compete. Canon T 100 DSLR, 70-300mm lens, f/4.5, Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Illustrator
I’ve always been inspired by making connections between video games and real life. Nikon D3100; 55-200mm lens; Shutter 1/500 sec., f/3.5, ISO 100
16 GOING ON 4
Iwas born on Leap Day. As a leap baby, I’ve heard all the jokes and remarks. “So you’re only like three years old right?” Or the “So, next year you don’t get to celebrate your birthday right?” or my doctor’s favorite, “You’re the biggest three-year-old I’ve ever seen!” The same jokes get tiring year after year. I’ve become slightly reluctant to tell people what my birthday actually is, and sometimes I just say the 28th instead. Mainly because it saves me from having to explain the purpose of leap day because I don’t even know what it’s actually for. Although it is nice to be born on such a unique day, it’s part of who I am.
I still celebrate my birthday every year, but instead of the 29th of February, which only exists every four years, we celebrate on the 28th. When it is a leap year though, my mother loves to do something special for me. Sometimes it’s just throwing a party where I am allowed to invite more people, or I get to go out and eat somewhere fancy.
Last school year was a leap year, and I went to school on my big birthday. It was my sixteenth birthday, but also my fourth. I endured all the jokes throughout the day and was very thankful for all the birthday wishes of course. I was invited to an author talk in the library that day, which was a decorated event with food and an 80’s theme, and most people had to pay to get in. Luckily, it was my birthday because I got in for free. I got to skip maybe three periods, and then my day was back to normal.
In my sixth hour, I was in chemistry when I got called to the office. I walked up there and opened the door and as I expected, I saw my mom sitting in the chair in front of the desk. Next to her was a cluster of bright red and purple metallic balloons, and one large cupcake in her hands. Gratefully, I took the cupcake but refused to carry around the large balloons for the remainder of the day. For the rest of that class period, I was eating the cupcake and waiting for soccer practice after school.
After the bell rang, I walked across the hall to my art class, where John greeted me and wished me a happy birthday. The class went by normally until I got called up into the
office for a second time. Yet again, I walked up to the office to see my mom standing by the counter with a large smile on her face, emptyhanded. Slightly annoyed, I had to walk up to the office again, I opened the door.
Mrs. Brewer waltzed in from her office behind the counter and said, “How would you like the entire school to sing you happy birthday?” With a sly smirk plastered on her face.
“I’m alright. Thank you, though.” I laughed, ready to get back to my art class.
“Well, we’re gonna do it anyway,” she said as she picked up the phone and I heard her voice echo through the entire school.
I felt my cheeks burn and my throat dry up. At that moment, I was embarrassed and wanted to curl up in a blanket and disappear. I hated attention being brought to me more than it needed to be. I strongly disliked people who just boasted about themselves, and I felt like it was now happening to me involuntarily. Thoughts were shooting through my mind. Waiting for the moment to pass, I played out in my head what would happen if I had just jumped over the counter and snatched the phone from her hand to make her stop singing throughout the school.
After she was finally done, I tried my hardest to be appreciative although I absolutely was not, then hugged my mom and left the office. I walked as slowly as I could back to my art class because I did not want to face my class after the principal just told everyone to sing for me. Although she had good intentions, I did not feel it and was filled with unease and discomfort.
Unfortunately, I made it to the door, knocked, and was welcomed by a standing applause from my classmates. My face was going red as a beetroot, but this time I was more accepting and grateful. This is mainly because I am closer to them than I am to the principal. I said my thank you’s and sat down. I expressed to my friends how I did not want that to happen at all and how it should not have even happened.
Looking back at the event now, I am not nearly as abashed as I was then. I definitely will never forget my 16th birthday, ever.
Harley Collins McDonald County High School
Honorable Mention Nonfiction
Personal Narrative
While I was writing about this instance, I realized some things I hadn’t noticed before.
Collins is in Advanced Placement Language and Composition.
Alyson Massardo Monett Community Silver Nonfiction
Personal Narrative
Massardo is a junior in college and is double majoring in psychology and communication studies.
KHER SMILE
indergarten, five years old:
Despite not being religious, we occasionally took Easter pictures growing up. Family pictures where we were all dressed up in light or pastel colors, either outside in front of flowers or in the house in front of an old worn spring blanket.
My mom always did my hair before pictures and helped me pick an outfit. Sitting on a kitchen stool in her bathroom as she brushes and straightens my hair, going slow so she doesn’t burn me as I wiggle around. My back straight, holding my head up and as still as possible, as my legs swing and dangle from the stool. She finally finishes straightening my hair and tells me to close my eyes and mouth so she can use the hair spray. I look in the mirror, smiling. With my hair straightened,
I look just like my mom. She covers my eyes with her hand and covers my hair with hair spray. Despite my mouth being closed, I still end up with hair spray on my tongue, the taste lingers in the air.
Seventh grade, twelve years old:
Family pictures were often an entire production. It took a lot of work to get six people, four of whom were under eighteen, all dressed up and ready to go. Somehow, my mom managed to get all of us looking our best. She doesn’t use the flat iron this time, but rather she undoes the braids from last night, and helps me brush out and tame the soft waves. I’m again sitting in one of our kitchen chairs, but this time it’s because I am taller than her now, and not because I’m too short. I watch her in the mirror until she covers
Live to Make an Impact
Weems Neosho Crowder
Honorable Mention 2D Art
This is Maddie, a friend from high school. I made this to represent the impact of her growth after her mom lost her battle to cancer.
Prismacolor and Crayola colored pencils
Weems has always been an artist for as long as they could hold a crayon and is pursuing an art degree.
The Letters
Emma Hensley
Monett High School
Honorable Mention
2D Art
I wanted to show the emotional difference between feeling dull while receiving my sisters letters from college, compared to when we were little. This is an acrylic painting made by first sketching out the idea.
Hensley is a senior who plans to study Art and Theatre in college.
my eyes, spraying hair spray in the hopes to keep my hair from getting frizzy. I look in the mirror, a half-smile on my face, my stomach in knots. All I can see are flaws, not my mom. My mouth is sour with the lingering taste of hair spray.
Freshman year, fourteen years old: Band dominated my life from sixth grade to senior year, but nothing was as nervewracking as my first high school concert as a little freshman. Standing in my mom’s bathroom, anxiety coursing through my veins as my mom softly brushes my hair and attempts to straighten it. It’s gotten much more difficult to manage and tame over the years. I’m fidgeting with the soft fringes of the black shawl I’m wearing, another piece of clothing borrowed from my mom, matching the black dress pants she gave me. She is trying to relax me, reminding me that I’ve done concerts before. The floor is cold under my feet, sharply contrasted by the heat of the flat iron. I avoid looking in the mirror now.
I remember family members telling me how much I look like my mom, but I can’t see it. I cover my own eyes when she sprays the hair spray. The taste barely registers anymore.
Senior year, eighteen years old: Prom night. I planned and prepared for months in advance. Dress found, plans finalized, tickets bought. Hair appointment made and gone to and make up done. Standing in my mom’s bathroom as we learn how to re-curl my hair before I leave. There’s music playing faintly as we laugh about how difficult it is to work the new curling iron. We share the same laugh. I watch her through the mirror, as she continues to try to fix my hair. When she finishes, she covers my hair in spray, hoping to get it to hold for at least a couple of hours. The hair spray tastes like memories. I change into my dress; she helps me zip it. I meet her eyes in the mirror, and smile with her. We have the same smile. I marvel at how pretty I look in the mirror. I wear her smile like my most prized accessory.
This work was written for one of my communication classes. The focus was to create a personal narrative on my view of gender in relation to one of my parents.
Samuel Moore Neosho Crowder Bronze Nonfiction Personal Narrative
My purpose for this essay is to explain the grueling consequences of standardized testing and how to resolve these issues.
Moore, a current Crowder student, is wanting to be a teacher, but that is subject to change.
SCAUSE AND EFFECT
tandardized testing in public schools affects the lives of students and teachers, leading to unfathomable stress and results in budget cuts in schools. The government uses these standardized tests to determine the funding for school districts, which is based on the scores. If the results look promising, the school receives more money as part of their budget. If students have performed poor on the tests, then funding will be reduced. This causes issues for both students and teachers alike.
For students, standardized testing will make school dull and induce anxiety. Teachers will stress onto the students the stakes of these exams and cram an abundance of knowledge into their heads as humanly possible. This will have a negative impact on their motivation and desire to learn, because they are learning to achieve better scores instead of learning meaningful material. To further elaborate, students also learn less material in their classes due to it not being useful in the tests. As a result, students will have less desire to learn if their education is being limited to make results as opposed to learning.
An extreme case could be made about teachers and schools separate students and treating them differently based on their test results or current grades. Teachers may be harsher and more critical to struggling students instead of the gifted ones. This ties back to the point of students having low motivation. Another causation that occurs is students attending school less, thus resulting in a larger decrease in school budget because of the government basing it on attendance. In addition, teachers suffer from standardized testing. Educators are stressed because they feel like their jobs are on the line if the school under performs during the exams. If the scores are terrible, teachers may receive a deduction in their salary or not a renewal of their contract for another year. However, this is not applicable to tenured teachers; first and second year teachers do not receive the same grace. Another undesirable consequence is teachers have less attention on the well-being of students and focus more on teaching them the topics being covered in the tests. With them not helping students who are
feeling pressured, it will hurt the chances of successful scoring on the exams.
A way to improve student and teacher morale is to introduce stress management activities to take the weight off of their shoulders. Students and teachers can not be effective in their roles when they are stressed, hence why it is important. It could be anything stress-reducing, just as long as it is school appropriate. An example could be making time for students to focus on their health and needs to clear their minds and take the stress away. It can even be part of the curriculum depending on the courses, and help improve student grades. Not to mention it would increase their morale by giving them a fun assignment to complete while also preparing for the exams at the end of the year.
Another consideration schools can do to prepare students for the tests is to space out the material required to be taught for the exams throughout the year. Instead of dedicating a month to learn the topics on the test, they could include a portion of it in every unit starting from the first or second week of school all to the final weeks of the school year. This will expose students to the content on the standardized tests and give them time to prepare for the incoming exam. A much desired plan that both students and educators would prefer than a repeating cycle of poor scores and reduced funds.
Standardized testing in schools has resulted in poor scores and decreased funding, which is a bad combo that will continue to repeat until something gets better. Students will be less inclined to learn and study for the tests, and teachers suffer from extreme stress and not be effective in their positions as educators. There are several ways to improve and better schools in preparing students for the exams, such as spacing out their required material and including stress management assignments to reduce the chances of them under performing during the testing period. If schools do not try adopting these methods, their consequence is budget cuts and not having the adequate funds for the next school year. Addressing these methods would be a step in the right direction and improve school funding, thus creating more successful and educated students.
Catching Air
Kayley Drake
East Newton High School
Silver
Digital Art
I love that I was able to capture one of the boy “catching air” to score some points for the Patriots. I used Canva. Layering the photo I used a B&W foyer for the back ground. I cut the model out and color corrected it and used the grain and clarity to make the middle look to have texture.
Drake is a student at East Newton High School.
Jessi Hilton Compass Classroom Gold Poetry
I wrote this to express my thoughts and feelings and express myself. This helped me put my feelings into words.
Hilton wants to earn a degree in psychology and is currently majoring in general studies. She loves to read and learn new things, including knitting, reading, and climbing.
* Scholarship recipient
Wounded Knee
Venita Henson Neosho Community Gold
3D Art
Henson has enjoyed sculpture for several years, and since retirement, has become a long time, life time learner at Crowder. She especially enjoys the sculpture and ceramic classes offered and finds inspiration and energy from the young people.
SHADOWS OF SOLITUDE
In the depths of my despair, I wander in a world unfair, Lost in shadows, consumed by gloom, The light it does consume, These tears that fall like autumn rain, Echoing in my pain, In the silence I’m left to brood, In the shadows of my solitude, A melancholic melody plays, As memories haunt these empty days, The weight of sorrow, heavy and deep, An endless ache that refuses to sleep, I long for comfort, a loving embrace, But darkness lingers, leaving no trace, The echos of hope are distant and few, In this desolate world, I’m lost without you, In the depths of my despair, I find my release, Through the melodies of sorrow I find my peace, Though the sadness remains, I’ll carry on, In the shadows of solitude, I’ll find my song.
The story of Wounded Knee is a constant reminder of man’s inhumanity to man. I created this piece during one long night of working, when I was inspired by the need to express my sadness at the great losses suffered at that time.
SWEET LIKE GRAPEFRUIT
They say no one is perfect
Have they met you?
Your eyes are kind like stormy skies
Your voice was soft like blades
Your hands gentle like sandpaper
Your mind modest as a peacock
Your heart as warm as spring springs
Your words sweet like grapefruit
You have a heart of sweet grapefruit
Your thoughts are like lemons
Your love like Ares
They say no one is perfect
Definitely not you.
Deathly Whispers
Ntsiab-Liaj Jolisa Moua Granby Crowder Gold
2D Art
I have loved art for so long, but could never figure out what I quite liked. So, I experimented a lot and finally found some peace with drawing horror
Moua is a full-time student. She has done many pen works and there are some who say her style reminds them of Tim Burton’s art.
Emily Woods
Aurora High School
Honorable Mention Poetry
The inspiration was how we put people on a pedestal, even when they’re cruel
Woods, a freshman, is involved in color guard, FBLA, and wrestling. She competed in archery for two years and was a state competitor.
Cassandra Jordan Neosho Community Gold Poetry
Death is a continuation of life, just another chapter in the story of the Ozark mountains.
Jordan is a free lance writer who has written from the age of six. She loves creating images.
HIS HOMECOMING
The white mist drifts in, As the night retreats and dawn prepares to arrive Today is a homecoming, One of their sons was coming back To the land he once knew so well. Nearby is his grandparents’ farm Where he tended the juicy tomatoes And tongue tingling peppers. Excitement swirls as the fog lifts And the front loader bites into the earth
Creating a bed for the simple coffin.
Butterflies dance and dragon flies hum through the air, Here they come, the solemn hearse, The flag draped house of the soul coming home, His daughter plays Amazing Grace on her violin
And the birds hush their song, listening to the purity of the notes, Joining in again as taps wafts through the air
Standing at attention generations of unseen soldiers stand erect, They salute their brother, respecting all he gave, all he suffered. The family mourns saying goodbye to their husband and father one last time.
As night closes in there is a stirring in the churchyard.
Everyone rises to welcome home the weary traveler, His mother, his cousin so like his brother, hugs of joy
It’s an Ozark family reunion, a time of rejoicing, a child of the hills has come home.
Deep Dive
Kadence Mestas Purdy Crowder Silver 2D Art
I knew I wanted to draw a skull. I was also inspired by how light shines in the water which inspired me to create this piece
Mestas is majoring in Art & Design. She wants to become a freelance artist or be an art teacher.
NUMB
In the depths of her soul, she longs to hide, Emotions swirling like a turbulent tide. The weight of feeling, too heavy to bear, She dreams of a place where she doesn’t care.
A fortress she builds around her heart, To shield it from pain, to keep it apart.
From love’s sweet whispers and sorrow’s cry, She seeks refuge beneath a stoic sky.
With each heartbeat, she builds the walls higher,
To quell the flames of passion’s fire.
No tears shall fall, no laughter ring, In this realm where emotions take no wing.
But deep within, a whisper persists, A longing to feel, to exist.
For emotions, though they bring pain and strife, Are the essence of what gives meaning to life.
So she wrestles with the urge to numb, To silence the cries that make her numb.
But in the end, she knows it’s true, To shut off her heart would be to lose.
For even in darkness, a flicker of light, Reminds her of the beauty in feeling despite. So she’ll embrace the highs and lows alike, And let her emotions take flight.
Covered Face
Aubree Chisam Crane Community Honorable Mention 2D Art
I drew this for my drawing two class based off a still life photo with charcoal.
Chisam is a Crowder alum and graduated with an Associate’s in General Studies and a certificate in Digital Media Marketing. She’s currently at Missouri State University working on her bachelor’s in Graphic Design and Photography.
Cecilia Cummings Lighthouse Christian Academy Bronze Poetry
Turning off your feelings like a light switch isn’t the answer. No matter how hard you try you will always feel something even when you try the hardest.
Cummings is 15, a freshman who goes to a Christian school. Next year she starts dual credit so she can have her associate by the time she graduates high school.
Winnie C. Jakaitis Joplin Crowder Gold Poetry
I wrote this piece to capture the deep, transformative connection between nature and its admirers. I’ve felt this awe and contentment in the world around me as if nature itself sought me out and shared its secrets.
Jakaitis is studying psychology and journalism. She uses writing as a tool for self-expression, healing, and exploring the world around her.
SUNG BY ROSES, ROOTED IN WEEDS
I went for a walk to find nature and share a scene, But instead, she found me and whispered her dreams. I went for a walk to admire her grace but instead she beheld- me. I wandered out to seek her wind, the breeze, her wings, Her gentle breathBut instead, she sought meMurmuring secrets from every tree.
And like eyes in the sky, she lent me her sight, Painting the world in soft colors and of spoken motionsA view so vast and profound, I dared not look away For she was the boldest I had found.
She did not shy away from my gaze as she laid herself bare, Inviting the dreamy eye. She beckoned my soul And sang to my spirit; her beauty- wild, untamed, A measureless ecstasy none could claim.
She sung of the rose and of the weeds, The wasteland, its glory and need. I imprinted the hills and traced the valleys; Kissed the light, embraced the darkness. She spoke of balance, a truth my heart could not ignore: Harmony, chaos, her peace in every storm. And in her song, the world was made anew, and IHer witness and lover too.
A Sunset Stroll In Cromer
Bobbi Gober Carthage Quill Staff Digital Art
While vacationing in Cromer, England, I captured a breathtaking photo of the coastal sunset that completely captivated me. Inspired by its beauty, I felt it would make a wonderful piece to transform into digital art.
Adobe Illustrator
Gober is pursuing her Digital Media Marketing Certificate.
TO THE MOON AND BACK
“I love you to the moon and back.”
That’s what you said right before you left
Since you’ve been gone,
I’ve had many sleepless nights
Constantly thinking about you
“I love you to the moon and back,”
Something you said before you left
One of the last times I ever saw you
I just didn’t know it yet
“I love you to the moon and back.”
I wish I said it more often
All I do is think of you
Not a single day you are forgotten
“I love you to the moon and back.”
Every sleepless night is spent thinking of you
The moon is the brightest in the sky
Lighting up the entire room
Makes me remember what you said
“I love you to the moon and back.”
My grandma and I were very close and talked to each other almost every day. We would text “Goodnight and I love you” every night before going to bed. My grandma passed away last November, and ever since then, I wake up almost every night, by the moon lighting up my room.
Vanessa Maize Miller Community Bronze Poetry
Maize is a student at Pittsburg State University, studying business management. She enjoys writing and wants to hopefully write novels in the future.
Lover’s Kiss
Weems Neosho Crowder Bronze Digital Art
Inspired by the stunning painting by Gustav Klimt, the Kiss brought so much emotion that I found inspiration to create. Using myself and my partner as the subjects, this piece represents our love and admiration for one another. PaintX Weems is pursuing an art degree and has always been an artist for as long as they could hold a crayon.
Endless Wonder
Ialani Yang Neosho Crowder Silver Digital Art
The inspiration for this piece was based on a dream I had. I walked up a large spiral staircase that seemingly led to nowhere, and yet I had this feeling of wonder and excitement on where this path would take me.
Procreate. custom brush
Yang is an art and design major and plans on continuing her education in art.
The Witches They Could Not Burn
Eden Stewart Neosho Community Silver Digital Art
This digital art represents the women who could not be burned during the witch trials.
Procreate program on iPad Layers of brush work with overlay of filters to create contracting images
Stewart is a lifetime art lover and creator. She earned her bachelors in science at Illinois State University where she majored in ceramics.
TOUCHING THE SKY
Matt felt his tears running down his face; he could taste the saltiness. Beneath him his black pony Eagle raced the wind. His hoofs were a blur. Matt clung to the mane. He preferred to ride bareback, feeling the power of his pony. Matt unleashed his anger, his sadness and frustration through that power.
Matt hated his four big brothers. They were tall, and strong as bulls. They called him “mama’s box boy.” Mocking him because he had come early, and his mama kept him in a box covered in hot towels for several weeks, until he gained a proper weight.
His four sisters snickered as he struggled to reach the nesting boxes and gather the eggs. Matt was short and of a slight build. They laughed when Sam, the big red rooster chased him. His legs bore the scars from that beasts’ spurs.
Matt longed to touch the sky; he wanted to fly like a bird. To escape this hated life would be so wonderful. His mama had books; in one was a winged horse. If Eagle only had wings and could soar into the sky. Those books were his only joy. Eagle offered him an escape. Matt did not belong in this big place where everything dwarfed him.
A great drone filled the air; looking upward, he saw an airplane. It became bigger and bigger. He dreamed of seeing an airplane up close. He envied these men who flew crosscountry. He knew a great race across the ocean was in the works. Was this one of those daring men?
The plane appeared to be circling, coming closer and closer. Would it land? The flat Kansas fields around him were perfect for a plane to use as a landing strip. Taking off would be no problem. It came closer, its wheels appeared, it touched ground. It bounced and lifted up again a few feet before coming down and sliding in a half circle to a stop. The motor was shut down and a door opened. A man in a brown leather jacket and brown pants emerged. Matt stared in wonder as a nervous Eagle danced beneath him. This man looked like the grainy pictures of Lindbergh. Was he dreaming? Would he awaken to find himself on the cold floor where he tumbled to nearly every night. His brothers thought nothing of edging him out. Occasionally he grabbed a blanket on the way down.
“Hello, Son. She is a beauty, isn’t she?
Would you like to see her up close? This is the Spirit of Saint Louis. I am getting used to her before I fly her to Paris.”
“She is beautiful.”
“You have heard about the race?”
“Yes, I would love to fly, to touch the sky like you do.”
The man lifted Matt off Eagles back. He carried him on his hip. Reaching the plane he sat him on a wing. Matt’s hand touched the smooth surface, it felt cold to his fingertips. He felt so small against the vastness of the metal bird. Matt’s dark blue eyes glowed as he looked over the plane. How could this man fly this huge bird thousands of miles? How could this thing take him all the way to Paris?
“Matthew, what are you doing?”
His father’s voice cracked like a whip. That Swedish accented voice boomed from a strong body, well-muscled and firm. He dwarfed Matthew, standing six feet five. He loomed over the flyer who tilted his head to smile at him.
“Father, this is Charles Lindbergh. This is his plane that he is flying to, Paris, The Spirit of Saint Louis.” Matt told him, his words rushing together in his excitement.
“My name is Lars.” His father extended a hand that swallowed Lindbergh’s.
“Pleased to meet you, sir. I was just about to ask Matthew if he would like to go up with me.”
“In that thing?” His father looked disdainfully at the contraption.
“It’s an airplane. She is very safe. I am sure your son would enjoy a chance to see what it’s like to fly.”
“I don’t have money for nonsense. Matthew should not have bothered you. You are free to land that thing and take off. Just stay away from the cattle, and don’t fly to close to the corn. The last thing I need is to have it blown over.”
“That is why I picked this clear ground. There is nothing to be disturbed. I respect the rights of others.”
Tears were close, Matt swallowed hard to hide his disappointment. His father hated tears. He felt shame over Matt, oh yes, he was a big sorrow to his father who was proud of his other four, fine sons. Strong trees like himself
“I tell you what Lars, I see no café around here. I need to eat lunch. If I take Matt up for a short flight as I practice my take offs, and landings…I could perhaps take payment for his
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Cassandra Jordan Neosho Community Gold Fiction
My father had the gift of meeting Charles Lindbergh on his father’s ranch in Kansas. That gave me the basis for this story.
Jordan is a free lance writer who has written from the age of six and loves creating images.
ride in a meal?” Lindbergh smiled, winking at Matt.
His father looked at Matt. Matt could not meet his ice-cold eyes. He stared at his hands clenched together to hide his emotion. He must remain in control; he could cry later.
“Matthew, look at me,” his father ordered him.
Matt looked up; he held his head high. His white, blond hair blowing into his eyes gave him an excuse for their wetness, the unshed tears.
“Would you like to fly with Mr. Lindbergh?”
Hope flared in Matt; did he dare hope? Did he dare believe he could touch the sky? Could this hard, unyielding man be nice to his shameful box boy?
“Yes father. I would love to. I won’t be afraid up there.”
“You couldn’t start bawling and make him land. That is your habit, to bawl when things are frightening.”
“I taint afraid,” Matt said boldly, ignoring the quiver of doubt in his stomach. He would show his father how brave he could be. This was less frightening than the rooster chasing him.
“Well, Mr. Lindbergh, take him up with you. You get done, land near the house. My wife will feed you. You realize it won’t be fancy and there’s eleven of us at the trough.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind a family meal. I appreciate you letting the lad come up with me.”
Lars snorted and walked away. He slapped Eagle on the withers, sending him away from the plane. With a big friendly grin, he was settled in the cockpit. “Don’t worry, my family is Swedish. I know how they behave. This is a one-seater, a monoplane. But you being small is a plus. You can sit right there and not be in my way.”
“Your father is a Senator? I mean, it mentioned him in an article about you. I have read everything I can; I even have a newspaper with your picture.” Matt knew he was talking to much, but he felt so excited. This man was his hero!
“Yes. I am the black sheep of the family. Flying mail around the country and making Trans-Atlantic flights doesn’t set well with him. I have disappointed my father, and he lets me know it. We cannot be our father’s; we must be ourselves.”
Then Linbergh explained the instruments on his console. As he lifted off, he continued to explain what he was doing and why. Matt
listened intensely to every word as he took in the miniature world below. He was touching the sky! He was flying with the birds, and the wonder filled him with unspeakable joy. He exalted in the freedom. It did not matter if he was “mama’s box boy.”
Disappointed, he watched Mr. Lindbergh prepare to land. He wanted to stay up there forever. But his friend took off again, flying in a wide loop. Four take offs and landings. Finally, on the ground he was handed down to his father. Matt’s face glowed. This experience would be with him forever. He had flown in the Spirit of Saint Louis with the greatest flyer ever born!
Hands washed, he took his place next to his sister Sarah. The child above him, two years older. Mama began serving her chicken and dumplings. His father introduced Mr. Lindbergh and explained that he was a flyer. He added that he was taking his plane to Paris. Once everyone was served, his father asked Lindbergh to bless their meal.
“Weren’t you afraid?” Sarah whispered.
“No.”
“Come on, you wet your pants in fear.” James taunted him.
Matt’s chin came up. “You might have, but I didn’t.”
“We have a guest; there will be no talking!” his father ordered.
Somewhere inside of Matt, something clicked. He could not explain it, but Mr. Lindbergh had given him something far more than a ride. One day Matt knew he would become a flyer. He would touch the sky, and his size would not matter. He would not be bound to this vast land. He would soar above it, and perhaps write articles about his experiences. After today, anything was possible.
“These are wonderful dumplings, ma’am. Could I get the recipe? My wife would like the way they are made. Also, I need your address. I want to send Matt a postcard from Paris when I win. Perhaps in the future I can stop by and take Matt for a longer flight.”
Matt had never known so much happiness. His new friend wanted Matt to be a part of his life. Of course he could be just acting polite, but it did not feel that way. There was a sincerity about this man.
It took courage to fly. A courage Matt claimed for himself. Mama’s box boy would not be afraid anymore, not even scared of Sam and his spurs.
WHISPERS IN THE DARK
I see you still in the cracked glass, a glimpse caught in my shadow’s cast. They say you left, but I know better— you linger here, like midnight weather.
Everyone insists you’re gone, but your footsteps follow, drawn to places we once dared to tread, echoes tangled in my head.
Evelyn Comstock
Neosho Crowder Silver Poetry
Your voice, like smoke, it fills the air, they say it’s grief—I say beware.
I know you’re here; I hear your breath, a life that mocks this thing called death.
Grief and unresolved emotions can feel like a haunting presence. Writing this helped me confront the blurred lines between memory and reality.
Friends say it’s guilt that makes you stay, that if I blink, you’d drift away. But I keep the blinds pulled tight at night— it’s easier to blame the light.
Comstock is currently studying literature and creative writing, aspiring to pursue a career in healthcare and combine her love of stories with a commitment to helping others.
Winged Victory, Nike of Samothrace
Jayden R. Mustain
McDonald County High School
Honorable Mention 2D Art
I’ve been wanting to get more into graphite and have adored mythology for years. When I saw “Winged Victory,” I wanted to draw her. Graphite; reference photo
A half-Navajo student and aspiring archaeologist, Mustain is inspired by storytelling and culture. Growing up, she’s learned many ways of expression and how the world looks from different perspectives.
So maybe it’s true, they all could be right, I see you not in flesh but fright, yet I’ll stay here, your ghost on my skin, for if you’re gone, where do I begin?
Sebastian
Cin Phelps Anderson Crowder
Honorable Mention Digital Art
My creepy porcelain doll that I have named Sebastian. Is it a he or she? A clown or ballerina? The world may never know. Digitally sketched and finished in Ibis Paint
Phelps is passionate about art and wishes to share that with the next generation by becoming an art teacher and inspiring young artists to go into the art field.
Ysabella Moss Seneca High School
Honorable
Mention
Nonfiction
Descriptive Essay
This essay was part of an assignment in my English 101 class. Making slime has been a long-time hobby of mine. This essay brought me the means to express my odd and creative fixation with the gooey substance.
Moss is involved in band, speech and debate, student council, NHS, and FBLA. She plans to pursue a major in biological sciences at the University of Southern California on the pre-med pathway.
TTHE SLIME OF LIFE
he soft click of the Tupperware container was equivalent to my own personal heaven. Formed by a holy combo of glue and contact solution, slime is truly a sight to see. In the heart of freshman year, the anxiety of a new world of expectations crashing into me left me empty and burnt out after every school day, so I was left to find a sticky solution.
My first time making a batch of slime would have gotten me fired from a TikTok slime shop immediately, the texture-rough, the color-dull, and the smell-too gluey. However, I was not one to let slime get the upper hand, so I continued, batch after batch, the tutorials playing in the background of my frantic mixing. Then, it was as if the stars aligned. The soft pokes and wide stretch across the kitchen counter, the lavender essential oils wafting through the air, and the vibrant blue earning a satisfied grin from myself. I had become the slime master, filming ASMR, adding slime charms, and losing my stress in the feel of slime.
The bump of the lead container stabbed my ears, the sound of tragedy filling my senses. The glorious colored slime, damaged by the sight before me. As the slime continued to swallow the gray rod of lead, I felt each fragment of my sanity leave my body. In the slime artist world, that’s the equivalent of chapped lips and screeching forks on a plate. My brows furrowed as I picked through the slime to get the lead out, my fingers digging desperately through the gooey substance, but as I picked, I felt oddly satisfied, oddly complete. I felt like I was doing something important, that the slime needed me. Without a second thought, I poured the rest of the lead into the slime, picking and prodding for hours.
I was down a rabbit hole and it was too late for anyone to stop me. I let my
imagination run wild, the lead and slime were my infected patient, the kitchen counter was my operating table, my mother’s tweezers were my surgical tools. Picking and poking turned into learning and research, the sight of lead stuck in slime lining the tectonic plates of career choices for me. I felt my heart race, my eyes sparkle as I continued my odd fixation daily. Each time, I would place a surgical video in the background, lost in a world of my own imagination.
Months passed, and slime containers filled my room, each Target run was another excuse to soothe my hyper fixation. In a world of career fairs, social media influence, and job shadowing, what brought me to my future career choice was none other than my own guilty pleasure, slime. I suppose it could be compared to picking your nails, peeling stickers off a binder, or scraping wax off a surface. The feeling of taking the lead out of the slime was like a perfect harmonic chord, refreshing and lined exquisitely. Each new slime batch was the equivalent to another medical lecture added to my YouTube ‘watch later’ playlist. I felt as though I wasn’t truly learning, willingly doing so through my own strange hobby made the process light and easy, the picture of me watching a lecture on brain surgery a gaping sight to my mother as I would pick through each new container of slime.
Now, my shelves are lined with two-dollar slime from Target, each new batch and its color, smell, and texture a new patient in my gooey operation room. It’s the craziest topic to be brought up in conversation, but how I came to be fascinated by the realm of surgery amongst my peers is something I keep close to my heart. Sometimes the interests we find are discovered in the oddest places, even as odd as glue and contact solution.
This drawing depicts my home, specifically my favorite corner of my room. I’m blessed with a space I can call my own. It’s a place where I can relax after a long day. Black and white pens
Lacour, a junior, is currently enrolled in 2-D Design. She has scribbled drawings and splashed paint since elementary school. She has won various awards for her artwork in junior high and high school, and outside of school she creates handmade cards for friends and family on special occasions. * Scholarship recipient
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Maristela Lacour | Carl Junction High School | Gold | 2D Art
Elliana Griffith Lamar High School
Honorable Mention
Nonfiction
Expository Essay
I want to be a book editor after college, but I wasn’t sure which type, so I wrote this essay to compare two different editing jobs; line and copy editors.
Griffith, a senior, participates in many clubs, and plays tennis. She has written several works that have received awards from the Language Arts Department of Missouri. In the future, she hopes to attend Ouachita Baptist University and become a book editor.
TECHNICAL VS. STYLISTIC
There is a book. Well, not quite a book, but a hopeful book-to-be. A manuscript. After being lovingly created by an author, this manuscript still has a lot of work to be done before it can be published. An agent pitches the manuscript to a publishing house to try and convince them to take it. After it is selected, the manuscript is refined by various editors. They make up an integral part of the publishing process. Two similar, but also different jobs in the editing business are line and copy editors. Both of these jobs work on making the manuscript the best it can be; the distinction lies in how. This essay will examine the education, responsibilities, and salaries of copy and line editors.
The education required to become a copy editor and line editor is essentially the same. They both require a bachelor’s degree in English, communications, or journalism. These courses give a deeper understanding of editing and look good on a resume. “Within these programs of study, you’ll learn and develop skills in research, writing, editing, and audience awareness, all of which are essential for success as an editor” (“How to Become a Copywriter”). Copy editors can also choose to have a science major and a minor in English, journalism, or writing if they want to specialize in a scientific field. During college, line editors will focus more on the readability, flow, and style of writing, while copy editors will focus more on the structure and grammatical errors of writing. “Line editors require a sharp eye for detail, an understanding of grammar and punctuation rules, knowledge of writing styles, the ability to understand context and meaning behind words, and a sense of style” (“A Beginner’s Guide to Line Editing”). Copy editors are required to have vast knowledge of style guides such as APA, Chicago, Turabian, and MLA. “Employers often expect copy editors to have a mastery of these style guides and be easily able to adjust punctuation and formatting without using a reference” (“How to Become a Copy Editor: Qualifications and Best Practices”).
While earning a degree, it is important for copy and line editors to acquire reallife learning as well. They should look for internships and relevant extracurricular activities during college. Being an editor of a college newspaper or a reporter is a good start. “Experience gained while in college through
internships, volunteering to help a nonprofit with its newsletter, or working on your college newspaper or yearbook are among the methods to gain the skills necessary for employment as an editor” (“Copy Editors”). Copy and line editors should read and write regularly to find the type of content that they want to edit, this helps them learn to find issues with readability and flow.
After education and schooling, copy and line editors must hone their newly learned skills with practical hands-on experience. A way for line and copy editors to get valuable experience and construct their resume is to work as a freelance editor or an editorial assistant. These jobs are not ideal and usually don’t pay well, but can be looked at as a stepping stone to the desired position.“These opportunities offer a chance for aspiring editors to experience working with authors and clients, hone their editing and communication skills, build their networks, and grow their editorial portfolios” (“How to Become an Editor in 2024: A Guide for Beginners”). While the education and training of line and copy editors is alike, the actual responsibilities of the jobs, as well as the editing style of manuscripts, is different.
A manuscript’s first stop on the journey to publication is a line editor. They make sure that each sentence in the manuscript is effective and flows smoothly. “A line edit is focused on the content, style, and language use within the manuscript. A professional line editor may point out sections that can be improved, parts where the style is inconsistent, issues with pacing, or overuse of certain words or phrases throughout the manuscript” (“What is Line Edit in Proofreading?”) Line editors work closely with authors in order to polish the manuscript and help the author improve their writing skills. Their responsibility is to eliminate redundancies, adjust sentence structures, and suggest word choice improvements. They edit sentence by sentence in order to check the tone, flow, clarity, and language of the manuscript. “In fact, line editors play an important part in shaping the writer’s voice by making sure that their message or story is perceived by the audience as the writer intended” (“Everything You Need To Know About Line Editing”). Line editing is often called “stylistic editing,” because it focuses on conserving the writer’s style, while
still improving it.
On the other hand, copy editors are often called “technical editors” because they focus on the technical aspects of writing, like grammar and spelling issues. Their main responsibility is to go through the manuscript with a fine-toothed comb and make sure there are no grammatical mistakes or inconsistencies. “Copy editors are responsible for proofreading different kinds of text and ensuring they meet basic standards for grammar, spelling, style, readability, voice and other factors” (“How to Become a Copy Editor: Qualifications and Best Practices”). They can be called upon to fact check the document as well. Primarily in works of nonfiction, but also prevalent in fiction, copy editors read through manuscripts to find facts and verify them. This is an essential practice to make the manuscript presentable to readers. “If it is not factually correct, those who spot its errors will not take it seriously” (“Copy Editors”). Copy editors must be very good at their jobs. They are often the last checkpoint a manuscript makes before being published. “The copy editor must be an expert in the English language, have a keen eye for detail, and know how to identify problems” (“Copy Editors”). A copy editor makes sure the manuscript is technically perfect. Since the duties of each job differ, it is
important to observe how the salaries contrast as well. “The average income for a copy editor is $72,599 per year. The lowest ten percent make about $35,000, and the highest ten percent make approximately $120,000” (“How Much Do Copy Editors Make?”). “The median pay for a line editor is $85,020, with the lowest ten percent making close to $38,790 and the highest ten percent making around $138,920” (27-3041 Editors). The level of experience and time working at a company also affects income. “When just starting out, the pay for copy editors is generally around $47,000, depending on location. After working twenty plus years, the salary can raise to $80,000 or more” (“Copy Editor Salary, Nov. 2024”). Line editors’ income starts out around $50,000, but can advance to $82,000. Along with income, it is significant to consider benefits and work environment.
Copy editors enjoy health benefits such as medical, dental, and vision. “Line editors’ benefits include sick leave, paid vacation, health insurance, and occasionally a retirement plan” (“Book Editors”). The workspace of a copy editor is commonly in an office environment with standard business hours. However, copy editors can also work from home as freelance editors. This allows them to create their own schedule and hours,
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Six Reflections
Olivia “Vi” Schultz
Carl Junction High School
Honorable Mention 2D Art
I made this piece based on a picture of my reflection in my record player. I always see myself in the music I choose to play.
Schultz is creating a series of works depicting the connection between human beings and music. She plans to attend college for a BA in Art History and Visual Culture.
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but has a lower salary. Line editors work in a business setting, typically behind a desk with a computer. “Most editors work full time, and their schedules are generally determined by production deadlines” (“27-3041 Editors”).
In conclusion, copy editors and line editors have fairly similar education requirements, but vastly different work requirements. They both start their journey with an English degree, but then their paths diverge into two unique forms of editing. Copy editing, or technical editing, focuses
on the technical aspects of the writing, like grammar and spelling issues, while line editing, or stylistic editing, focuses on preserving the writer’s style while making the manuscript run smoothly. Both of these jobs are essential to the publishing business and to writers of all subjects. These editors work to make manuscripts the best they can possibly be. Understanding the differences between line editing and copy editing can help authors and publishers choose the right type of editing to fit their needs.
Nights Like This
Noel Price | Carl Junction High School | Honorable Mention | 2D Art
I captured the look of sad and comforting but also unsettling with the sudden “abstract” shapes and lines being pulled onto the canvas. Acrylic paint using a pallet knife
Price is a junior and plans to major in psychology and minor in something art based to build her portfolio.
THE AVERAGE CUSTOMER SERVICE EXPERIENCE
“WELL, I OBVIOUSLY DON’T CARE. I’M NOT PAYING 30 DOLLARS FOR 12 TACOS!!!”
This deranged, off-the-rails, incompetent woman continues but curses at me through the Taco Bell drive-thru window on a Friday at 9 PM.
I wasn’t scheduled to be working that night, but they needed some serious help, and our average time per order was starting to hit ten minutes. I wasn’t planning on going in either; however, when our general manager screams, “HELP!” in the work group chat, it’s usually a good sign to just go in.
It sounded more like a medical emergency at the time, so I didn’t even think about putting on my work clothes and drove to work the moment I saw the text. I pulled what’s called a “general manager” and showed up in a blue George-branded t-shirt, black sweatpants, and a Taco Bell-licensed black hat. Which goes against store policy but nobody seemed to care. We were all under horrendous amounts of stress that made me not wearing the correct clothes seem unimportant.
My first instinct when looking around the store was to restock everything. Which I did in about five minutes, way faster than it usually takes me, but I was sprinting around the place like it was a sonic game course. Once I finished, I went over to the drive-thru, where we needed some serious work.
Between taking orders, making drinks, cashing people out, and handing out food, it was a constant merry-go-round. If I kept that up for more than two hours, I would have started to get dizzy. A slight nuisance to this, almost every person decided that they wanted to talk to me, which didn’t help me in the slightest when trying to take orders.
Whether it was, “Can I get some more mild sauce please?” or “How are you tonight?” or complaints that made me direct my attention to the person at the window rather than taking the order. Once, one guy realized that he was missing a few food items and everything went downhill from there.
“Sir, I think I’m missing a Cheesy Double Beef Burrito and two sides of Nacho Cheese.”
“Shoot,” I directed my speaking to the person at the menu board, “Give me just one
moment please,” they didn’t. They continued trying to order and I repeated the same phrase multiple times, “could you please give me just one moment?” leading me to give up and try to balance both.
I turned my attention to the guy at the window again, “Sorry about that, do you have your receipt with you?” He shoved it towards me and stated promptly, “Yes, look right here.”
“Alright, we’ll get that out to you in just a moment.” I let out a sigh that was more depressing than it was distressing. During this, the lady at the menu board kept attempting to place her order.
It didn’t help that the woman trying to order couldn’t speak loud enough for any of us to hear her or her husband who were in the old Chevy pickup truck she was driving. Maybe if they would’ve turned off their truck, things would’ve gone smoother.
“Could I get a Taco Party Pack with all Dorito Loco Tacos?” I had to ask her what she said five different times because she wouldn’t speak up.
“Ma’am, I really am having a difficult time hearing you, could you PLEASE speak up?” After repeating this over and over, she finally speaks loud enough to the point where everyone in the lobby can hear her.
“I SAID. I WANTED A PARTY. PACK. WITH ALL OF THEM BEING DORITO. LOCO. TACOS.” She paused in between some of the words as if I was hard of hearing. In reality, she should’ve just talked with that much emphasis in her voice to begin with; her agitation probably wouldn’t have existed to begin with.
“Thank you for speaking louder ma’am, just so you know there is about a one dollar and twenty cent upcharge for every Dorito Taco.”
“OH, THAT’S FINE!” She was still speaking excessively loud.
“Alright,” I responded, “would you like any sauce with that today? Mild, Hot, Fire, or Diablo?”
Now, there’s a saying that there is no such thing as a stupid question. Well, she responds with, “Were you talking to me?”
I stare blankly at my ordering screen. Then to my managers. I mute my headset
[Continued to 70]
Lloyd Kelley McDonald County High School Silver Nonfiction Essay
I wrote this piece to show the inside of a fast food worker’s day. This could also bring some light to the consumers who may not always realize what they are doing or saying.
Kelley works at a Taco Bell while going to school, and balancing his social life from keeping his grades up, then having the energy to go to such a stress inducing workplace is somewhat difficult for him to navigate.
and yell probably a bit too loud, “NO WOMAN, I’M SCHIZOPHRENIC AND AM CURRENTLY TALKING TO MY IMAGINATION. YES, I’M TALKING TO YOU!” I do my best to compose myself while my co-workers start to clench their stomachs and attempt to hold in laughter, “Yes ma’am, I was.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. No sauces ”
Once again, I couldn’t realistically hear her, so I sent her up to the window. It proceeded as if it was any other normal interaction until we handed out her food.
“This is everything, have a good night, and drive safe!” I smile.
She looks at the single party pack she ordered, “That’s all?” questioning me with such a contorted expression that it probably would’ve made a toddler cry.
“Uhhh,” I glanced at her order, “Yes it would appear so. Is there something wrong?”
“Well my receipt shows a party pack, and then under it, it shows my Doritos tacos. So where are my normal tacos?!”
My brain decided to stop working for a solid second, “Uhhhhhh. You only ordered that one? You never said you wanted regular tacos. The Doritos Tacos listed underneath are the upcharge for them being changed from the regular crunchy tacos.”
“Well, I am not paying thirty dollars for twelve tacos. These prices are outrageous!”
“Okay, I understand that, but you wanted all of them to be Dorito. I told you there was an upcharge, and you said you were fine with it if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, but look right here!” She stabs her receipt with her finger again as if she was proving a point, “It literally says right here, that I ordered a party pack, and then paid twelve dang dollars and something cents for twelve darn Doritos tacos! You guys are scamming me out of them!”
I started to become just ever so slightly agitated, “No, ma’am. That shows the upcharge price for the tacos because they cost more for us to purchase, therefore it costs more for you. We are not scamming you out of any tacos, I promise. It wouldn’t make any sense for the Doritos tacos to be quite literally half the price of the regular ones.”
“WELL, I OBVIOUSLY DON’T CARE, I’M NOT PAYING THIRTY DOLLARS FOR TWELVE TACOS!!!” She screams at me with kids standing at the front counter with horrified faces.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t change the prices of our menu items. You said you were okay with the upcharge, and for some reason thought that you would still get the other twelve tacos. It doesn’t work like that, and unfortunately, the prices are the prices.” I was done dealing with her at this point. Around this time, my general manager decided that helping me would be sufficient.
“Thank you.” I mouth to her right before she starts talking to her.
“Alright ma’am,” She starts, “So what’s the problem?”
“Well,” the woman at the window starts, “I paid for regular tacos and the Doritos ones, however, I only got the Doritos, and paid thirty dollars for them. Your employee is RIPPING ME OFF!!”
“I can assure you that he isn’t, you paid for the upcharge according to your receipt and order.”
“WELL, I WANT A REFUND! I have seven kids at home right now, and they need to eat!” She states as her husband is already chowing down on some of the tacos. I stare blankly at him.
There was an old man at the front counter who could hear this entire conversation and made an unnecessary joke, “Well, somebody didn’t know how to pull out of the garage.”
I stared absent-mindedly at the guy in the front, I proceeded to step back into the conversation, “Uhhh, I don’t think we can do that. Considering your husband is already eating them?”
She turns around to face her husband already eating them, “SON OF A-,” She uses the ounce of common sense she has and stops herself and faces us again, “Well, I don’t care. I’m not leaving your drive-thru until I get my other twelve tacos.”
Katt pointed out that we couldn’t because it goes against store policy since she didn’t pay for them. You could see the rage building up inside of the woman at the window and started arguing and cussing back and forth with Katt for about seventeen more minutes.
This lady then proceeds to pull out her phone and start recording us, asking for our names. We legally don’t have to give out our names to anybody, so we didn’t. But she kept recording and threatened to give it to corporate. This was two months ago and no action has been taken against anyone in the restaurant.
People had started to leave the drive-thru by this time which made keeping track of [Continued from
orders harder than ever. Our general manager just decided that by this point, it wasn’t worth anything to continue to argue with this unhinged lady.
“Can somebody please get me twelve regular tacos?!” Katt releases a sigh, and it was obvious she was done with this person.
Once we were done with that, we handed it out and it was made clear to her that she was banned from the Jane Taco Bell location. She’s
never been there since.
Fast food workers have to deal with a lot more than I thought. Working within the industry myself, I’m starting to see and realize that fast food places are more difficult, patient, and tougher to deal with as a first job or any job. I never thought that people could be insensitive to people with no regard for their time, safety, or personal values.
Piecasso
Emery Cochran
Carl Junction High School
Silver
3D Art
“Piecasso” is a piece that represents the joy and nostalgia of simple, sweet blueberry pie. Inspired by the comforting memories of baking with family, I wanted this piece to display the feeling of warmth and laughter.
White earthenware, glaze, sponge, roller, exacto knife, and assorted clay-making tools
After high school, Cochran plans to attend college to become an elementary art teacher.
Billie Holladay Skelley Joplin Community
Honorable Mention Fiction Short story
This is a “fish-out-ofwater” tale that places a modern valley girl in a biblical setting. I wrote it to juxtapose the contrasting settings and the characters’ values.
Skelley received her bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her work has appeared in various journals, magazines, and anthologies—and she has written 12 books for children and teens.
THE UNINVITED GUEST
Her long, blond hair flowing like willow boughs in a breeze, JoJo Johnson pranced around Lawrence Laboratory’s reception area in her plaid mini-skirt and pink blazer. The expensive heels on her jeweled Dior pumps tapped rhythmically against the tile floor as she sang out.
“I won. I really, really won.”
“As if,” said her friend, Barbie Astor. “How on earth did you win the California State High School Science Fair, JoJo? You don’t even like science!”
“I know, right?” said JoJo, pausing her frolicking romp. “I bet… like I bet you never thought I could win.”
“For sure. You almost flunked physics. So, how’d you do it?”
With a sly smile, JoJo completed a graceful pirouette and faced her friend.
“I paid Herman Brink two-hundred big ones to exchange our names on the exams!”
“That nerd… like he actually agreed to it?”asked Barbie.
“He did,” grinned JoJo, “and that’s why we’re here. This year’s winner receives a trip to a place and time of their choosing from Lawrence’s Chronoportation Lab.”
“Where do you want to go, JoJo?”
“I don’t know… I just thought it was a neat perk. Like… something totally different to do.”
A scientist approached the girls and asked them to follow him to the Chronoportation Lab. Once there, he rotated a few dials on the chronoportation machine, and without looking at JoJo or Barbie, continued.
“Will the winner of the fair take a seat in the machine?”
JoJo sat down in the designated chair.
“Have you selected the location and time period you wish to visit?” asked the scientist, studying a computer screen.
“Like, I’m not totally sure,” JoJo answered. Raising his bushy eyebrows, the scientist looked closely at JoJo for the first time.
“You are the winner of this year’s science fair, correct?”
JoJo nodded affirmatively and smiled.
The scientist sighed and continued.
“Well, when you decide, state your decision clearly and tap the red button in front of you. You’ll have ten minutes to spend wherever you choose.”
“Where are you going to go, JoJo?” asked Barbie.
“I don’t know,” answered JoJo, “but I’d like it to be important… and I’m hungry, too… so, like… I think it should be an important meal.”
With that declaration, JoJo clasped her hands together, but she accidently hit the red button. With a whir and a swish, she was gone. ~~~
JoJo found herself standing in a dimly lit room where thirteen men were eating at a long, wooden table. They had fruit and bread on their plates—and what looked like wine in their cups.
Whatever they’re eating, thought JoJo, it certainly doesn’t look like a Michelin three-star restaurant. I was hoping for something fancy!
The man in the center seat at the table looked like the boss. There were six men on either side of him, and they kept glancing at him like he was important.
All dudes, thought JoJo. This is messed up and misogynistic. Where are the women?
The thirteen men were dressed in white robes and some of them had a piece of cloth in a different color draped over their shoulders. Their footwear consisted of shabby, leather sandals, but it was their long, limp hair that caught JoJo’s eye.
The hair on these guys hasn’t seen any gel in years, she thought, and some of them could definitely benefit from a perm. They’re obviously not concerned about keeping up with fashion trends.
Suddenly, the man in the middle of the table stood up. He took off his outer garment, laid it on the table, and poured some water in a bowl. Then, he knelt down and washed the feet of one of the other men. After he finished, he moved on to the next man.
“Really sick,” JoJo whispered. “Washing your feet at the dinner table! Maybe that fellow is not the leader after all. He looks more like a servant or busboy now, but why does he want to wash his dinner companions’ dusty feet?”
Eventually, the man returned to his seat. He continued talking softly to the twelve men.
Suddenly, he spoke in a louder voice.
“I say to you that one of you will betray Me.”
That statement immediately generated jostling, head turning, and loud denials.
Whoa, thought JoJo. I guess he is the leader. He definitely has power…over the others, but it sounds like he doesn’t trust some of his fellow diners. Probably one of them, who he considered a friend, has been telling lies or spreading rumors about him.
It was a concept JoJo was familiar with, and she knew males could be just as talkative and caddy as females.
“Lunchroom hierarchies are such a bother,” JoJo said softly. “I wanted to go to a fancy, important place … not another food fight in a grody lunchroom. What a waste of time!”
Before she could say another word, JoJo was whisked back to the laboratory.
As soon as JoJo appeared in the chair, Barbie rushed to her side.
“Where did you go, JoJo? Did you meet a king or queen … or a movie star?”
“No, for sure no one famous or
important,” answered JoJo. “I don’t know where it was, but there were thirteen men, dressed ever so plainly, eating at a table, and they looked stressed. Their food was hardly haute cuisine, the restaurant was dingy, and there was no entertainment. Nothing posh at all.”
“Lame … so boring,” said Barbie, rolling her eyes.
“But the man in charge did have a certain magnetism … a special power.”
“Like Superman?” asked Barbie.
“No, not like a superhero … just something. I don’t know exactly what,” answered JoJo, shaking her head. “Let’s get out of here. I’m still starving.”
“Okay,” said Barbie. “But, like, I also need to buy some new shoes, okay?”
“Fine,” answered JoJo. “Just don’t get any god-awful, brown sandals like I saw on my trip!
Fruit Bowl
Shenel King Alba Staff 2D Art
I used watercolor to utilize its ability to layer and create texture and light effects.
King, a digital media marketing major, enjoys drawing and painting in her free time because of the therapeutic benefits and to practice using her creativity. She hopes to be able to incorporate art into her future career endeavors.
Kelly
Reddin Joplin Community Bronze Fiction Short Story
I wanted to capture a special moment and the nervous feelings leading up to it in a short story. I wanted an ending with a twist, so the reader is surprised, but happy.
Reddin is an author of children’s books and is trying to stretch into other genres.
HTHE RING
Forbidden Fruit
Libby Bergen
Carl Junction High School
Honorable Mention 3D Art
The sculpture was based off the Bible story of Adam and Eve. The apple is detachable from the hand.
Bergen loves to practice and experiment with different 3D art forms.
e couldn’t sleep. He just lay there thinking. Had he done the right thing? Was he stupid? What was he thinking? Could he do what had been asked? Why is this so difficult? You know you love each other! His stomach hurt. He was too hot. Can’t get comfortable! The images kept repeating –like a video looping endlessly. How could he face her? Tossing and turning, he didn’t feel like he had slept when the alarm rang. He got up and looked in the mirror. Worse than he expected. He pulled on clothes, scraped his face, and tried to tame his hair. Better, he thought, but not much. This is supposed to be a special day! He arrived and quickly glanced around the room. Dang, she had beat him there. She was reading and thankfully did not notice him sneak in. He ordered coffee and rolls. He sat for a long time in an area that she couldn’t see trying to choke down some caffeine and sugar. Finally, he got his courage up and started toward her table. She looked up and they made eye contact. She gave him a look that he had seen so many times. He was turning to rubber as he finished the final steps.
He fumbled and mumbled and then took out the box and put it on the table. She looked at it, not surprised, perhaps a bit expectant. He saw her look at it and then put it back into his pocket. He wasn’t ready. He looked around.
“Uhhh, maybe we could take a walk in the park?” he stammered. She reached for his hand and he took it. They left the coffee shop and walked hand-in-hand for a couple of blocks until they took a seat on a park bench under the shade of a tree. He was sweating and his shirt was sticking to him. I look even worse now. Calm down. She loves you, too!
“Hi, Jeff, rough night?” she offered with a smile. He tried to smile back, but it wasn’t coming off right. He kept his hands in his pockets and nearly knocked over the chair. What a dufus.
He felt the box in his pocket. Why is this so hard? I love her. Come on, get your act together, Jeff.
He started again. “I want this to be special for you.” She looked into his eyes. He could feel her love surround him. That bolstered him. “I wanted to get something for you that would show how much I love you. It was hard making a decision, and I am afraid you may not like it,” he choked out. She placed her hand on his arm.
He started again. “Dad tried to teach me how to do this, but I am sure I am messing it up completely.”
She shook her head. “You are just fine. You know I love you, too.”
Why did that make it more difficult? What is the matter with me?
He took the box out of his pocket again. His fingers fumbled and he dropped it. He retrieved the box and slowly opened it.
“I wanted to get something to honor you.” She saw the ring and tears filled her eyes.
“Mom wanted you to have her ring. It
was in bad shape. I had it reworked with her original stone and I added one for me and one for Dad. I love being your big brother and want you to remember Mom and Dad forever. I thought this might help.”
She crushed him with a hug. “It’s beautiful.” Tears streamed down her face. I really miss them, you know.”
He held her tight. “Me, too,” he whispered, just holding back his own tears.
They were silent for a long time, just holding each other. Finally, they parted. She slid the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.
“Thank you, Bill. This means so much to me.”
Bill answered, “I think I can walk you down the aisle to Dave, now.” Adding in his head, “to have and to hold ‘til death do thy part – just like Mom and Dad.”
Autumn Journaling
Leah Stephens | McDonald County High School | Gold | 3D Art
In my pottery class I was challenged to create a pumpkin, but I had to add something to give it character. So I formed a journal, ink pen, ink jar, and a candle stand to create a cozy journaling feel. Clay slab forming and coil work Stephens, a junior, loves to use her abilities to create art that reflects “The beauty of God’s creation.”
* Scholarship recipient
CROWDER STUDENTS’ & COMMUNITY MEMBERS’ HOMETOWNS
Alba Anderson
Aurora
Bucyrus
Butler
Carl Junction
Carterville
Carthage
Cassville
Crane
Goodman Granby Gravette
Joplin
Lamar Lanagan
Loma Linda
Miller
Monett
Neosho
Noel
Ozark
Pineville
Pittsburg
Powell Purdy
Rogers
Seneca
Southwest City
Stotts City
Webb City
2025 CROWDER QUILL CONTRIBUTORS
The magazine is a compilation of winning entries in fiction, nonfiction, poetry, photography, and art from aspiring authors, artists, and photographers. Entrants generally reside in the communities within a 100-mile radius of the ten Crowder College campuses in southwest Missouri, including Cassville, Neosho, Nevada, McDonald County, and Webb City. They may be high school students, Crowder College students, or community members. The employees of Crowder College are classified as “community” in order to avoid competition with Crowder students.
Each entry includes an artist/author statement, which is a short reflection from contributors about their goals or reasons for writing a particular piece as well as insight into the creative process, inspiration, or subject matter of their entries, as well as a biographical statement. For graphic entries, the technical process is included, if provided. There were 85 individuals published, including staff entries.
HIGH SCHOOLS
The following high schools participated:
Aurora High School
Carl Junction High School
Cassville High School
Compass Classroom
East Newton High School
Homeschool
Lamar High School
Lighthouse Christian Academy
McDonald County High School
Monett High School
Neosho High School
Seneca High School
Webb City High School
2025 TRAVELING AWARD
This special award is presented to the mostwinning high school for its entries in this issue. The award is calculated on points: gold winners count as four points, silver as three, bronze as two, and honorable mention as one.
1st Place
Carl Junction High School
2nd Place
McDonald County High School
3rd Place
Cassville High School
SCHOLARSHIP RECIPIENTS
Trista Tautkus, Fiction “The Time Capsules”
Webb City High School
Saige Holman, Nonfiction “Del Holman’s Story” Cassville High School
Jessi Hilton, Poetry “Shadows of Solitude” Compass Classroom Online
Leah Stephens, 3D Art “Autumn Journaling”
McDonald County High School
Maristela Lacour, 2D Art “Home”
Carl Junction High School
Sophie Holcomb, Digital Art “Ethereal Elegance”
Carl Junction High School
Kayley Drake, B&W Photography “Highlander Cow”
East Newton High School
Samantha Thompson, Color Photography “The Golden Light”
Seneca High School
Gold high school entrants in each category win a $500 scholarship eligible upon enrollment in a course corresponding to the winning category.
See more information on www.CrowderQuill.com.
CURRENT STAFF JUDGES AND CONTRIBUTORS
The primary task of the Crowder Quill staff is to produce the magazine from contributed contest entries, not produce the contents themselves. However, staff members are required to submit entries as a class assignment to demonstrate expertise in their field of judging. Winning entries are honorarily published but do not receive awards. The staff entries published in this issue were judged by the following honorary judges:
• Art entries: Art instructors Joshua Knott and Josh Novak
• Photography and digital art: Graphic design instructor Diane Vasilis
Staff members publicize the contest, select winning entries, and design the magazine. A variety of majors are represented on the staff. See the winning entries for additional author/artist statements as well as biographical information from each contributor to the magazine.
Charles Jennings, Neosho Shenel King, Alba Latonia Bailey, Neosho, Adviser
CONTEST CATEGORIES
The magazine is a compilation of winning entries in the following literary and art categories. Various forms of each genre are welcome as publication submissions. The following are common terms and explanations within each category. For more detailed contest guidelines, see www.CrowderQuill.com.
2D Art
Original two-dimensional art may be black and white or color. Entries may be scanned and uploaded online, hand-delivered, or mailed. Art should be created based on real life (still life, landscape, or live model), memory, or imagination rather than copied from published materials. If a source is referenced, credit must be given. Model consent required.
3D Art
Qualifying art must include a relief that protrudes at least 1/8 inch off the surface. Photographs of the art (front and side view required) may be uploaded online instead of bringing the art for judging.
Digital Art
This graphic art category includes computer-generated art or extensively manipulated photographs in order to create special effects. Photography with only minor adjustments should be entered in one of the photography categories. Digital art, photography, and literature entries should be uploaded online. Photo manipulations include using layers and filters for creative effects.
B&W Photography
Black and white entries may be reproduced from film or digital files with only minor corrections and adjustments.
Color Photography
We seek film or digital files that emphasize vibrant color. Files should be uploaded online. All photography is judged on originality, contrast, composition, and artistic merit.
Nonfiction
Essays, character sketches and other trueto-life writings should be limited to 1,800 words.
Fiction
Clear plot development and well-defined characters are expected; also limit of 1,800 words.
Poetry
Whether free verse, blank verse, rhymed or metered verse, poetry should make a point, state emotion, or relate an experience.
Reding’s Mill Pool .................................................................48
Snow Dog Russel .....................................................................5
Summer Time Vibes .............................................................42
Sylvan Lake .............................................................................37
The Crystal Forest ................................................................79
B&W PHOTOGRAPHY
LITERATURE
FICTION
A
Biscuits
The Heavenly Hue................................................................20
The Ring.................................................................................74
The
The
The
The
Touching
NONFICTION
After
Commemorating
Del
Leg
Outside
Sixteen
Where
POETRY
Broken
The Crystal Forest
John Tipping | Bucyrus | Crowder Color Photography | Honorable Mention
Even though ice and freezing rain can be very dangerous for travelers, there is still beauty in it. The trees looked as if they had crystals on the limbs, and when the rays of the sun reached them, they glistened. iPhone 13
Tipping is a paramedic student taking online courses while living in the most rural area of Texas County, Mo. He enjoys walking out his front door and seeing nature and all of her beauty.
ABOUT THE CONTEST
Art and literary submissions are accepted at CrowderQuill.com from May 1 to Feb. 1 each year. All entries should be submitted online except by special permission; contact Quill@ Crowder.edu to make arrangements. The maximum number of entries per category per person is four. Only one award per category is allotted per person. Entries are judged by staff members. Divisions are high school, Crowder College students, and community members. All participants must live within 100 miles of a Crowder College campus.
The Crowder Quill is a literary-art magazine published with the mission statement “to encourage and showcase the creative abilities of local writers, artists, and photographers as well as provide a cultural and link between Crowder College and our surrounding communities.”
Disclaimer: Some content may be inappropriate for younger audiences.
For more details about the contest guidelines and an entry form, go to www. CrowderQuill.com.
COLOPHON
This publication is designed annually by Crowder College students enrolled in DIGM 105 Applied Graphic Design and Digital Media Campaign. Text was set in Bell MT 10 point regular. Story titles were set in Myriad Pro. Credit information was set in Arial fonts.
The Crowder Quill was produced using Adobe InDesign. The magazine was printed at Sun Graphics in Parsons, Kansas. The cover stock is Sappi Flo Gloss Digital Cover 12 x 18 80 lb. 7TP coated, and inside pages are on 11x17 60 lb. white Husky Opaque Offset Domtar.
Funding of the publication comes from the college as a means to provide a cultural link with the community and for an outlet for creativity and expression.
For the 2024-25 contest, 658 entries were received, and 110 entries were chosen for publication. Award winners were published and received certificates to be recognized as part of the 2025 annual publication.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Special thanks to the following individuals and departments for making this publication and contest possible.
Cindy Brown, Public Information Office
Jaclyn Kidd, Graphic Design
Josh Novak and Josh Knott, Art Department
Diane Vasilis, Graphic Design Instructor
Stephanie Witcher, Communications Division Chair
Saydee Wheeler, Communications Division Work Study
DEDICATED TO SUZANNE PRIOR, RETIRING COMMUNICATIONS INSTRUCTOR
We recognize and honor, Suzanne Prior, a May 2025 Crowder retiree, who has been a valuable supporter of the Crowder Quill during her tenure at Crowder. Prior served as an English/Literature Instructor, Honors Program Coordinator, and faculty adviser for Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society for 25 years. During her time at Crowder College, she encouraged her students to submit their creative works to the Quill and shared submissions with her classes. She also assisted with the on-site children’s Fine Arts Day that the Quill hosted from 2006-2011 in conjunction with the print publication. Prior was the 2015 recipient of the Excellence in Teaching award and received other outstanding service recognitions. Prior says she proudly displays copies of the Quill on her coffee table. Once retired, Prior aspires to focus on her own creative projects. Maybe there’s a Quill award in Prior’s future to add to her accolades?
Suzanne Prior
DEDICATIONS FOR THE CROWDER QUILL
Each year, the Quill recognizes outstanding service, contributions, and dedication to the Crowder Quill. Begun in 1980, the Quill has been a labor or love produced by students for the benefit of the community, area high schools, and Crowder College itself. See the opposite page for this year’s dedication to Suzanne Prior, retiring Communications Division instructor.
Past Recipients
2014 - The first Quill dedication was for James B. Tatum, who helped found the college in 1963 and served on the Board of Trustees for more than 50 years, distinguishing himself as the longestserving board president of a community college anywhere.
2015 - As Print Shop supervisor, Jon Finley printed more than 50 editions of the publication from the time he was hired in fall 1987 until 2015.
2016 - Dr. Kent Farnsworth, former president of Crowder College, was a great support to the Quill. Now a successful published author, Farnsworth serves as a model for aspiring authors, artists and photographers.
2017 - Dan Richard founded the Quill in 1980 to create an outlet for aspiring authors and artists and continued to advise the publication until 1988 when he retired. His legacy lives on.
2018 - Dennis and Charlene Bergen, retired art instructors from McDonald County High School, have been strong supporters of The Crowder Quill, helping many students through the years to enter the contests. They both were published in the Quill many times, demonstrating an example to their students.
2019 - All area high school and homeschool instructors who encourage their students to enter the contest were recognized. They inspire and influence their students in many positive, remarkable ways and foster an environment in which students gain confidence to pursue publication and awards with their creative works.
2020 - Produced during the beginning of a global pandemic, this edition was dedicated to all those affected by Covid-19. All campus activities were suspended during the last half of the spring 2020 semester, including hosting the Quill ceremony, which would have commemorated the 40th anniversary of the publication.
2021 - Nina Beaver, retiring chair of the Communications Division, has been a great support to the magazine and contest. Employed at Crowder since 1992 first as instructor of English and literature, Beaver encouraged many students to enter the contest. Due to low enrollment in the course, there was not a 2022 edition.
2023 - James Paul (J.P.) Dickey, original member of the Crowder Quill staff in 1980, retired as a Crowder employee after 23 years. Dickey served in various roles, including theatre instructor, director, division chair, and director of Admissions. Dickey helped support the Quill throughout the years, including as keynote speaker for the Quill awards ceremony.
2024 - Emma LaRose, administrative assistant for the Communications Division and nontraditional student at Crowder College, provided invaluable contributions to the production of the Crowder Quill. In fact, the Quill contest could not happen without the administrative support Emma provided. She went above and beyond, reaching out to a wider area of schools to invite them to participate in the contest, devised a more efficient process for creating award certificates, and spent countless hours sorting entries into the appropriate contest divisions, typing, and other duties.
