The View from Rural Missouri by Jess Piper

I am a hillbilly. No, really. My high school mascot was a Hillbilly. I graduated from Ozark, Arkansas, in 1993 — Home of the Hillbillies. To my knowledge, it is the only school in the country with that mascot. The West Virginia Mountaineer is a wink and a nod to the hillbilly spirit, but while the WV mascot wears a buckskin outfit and coonskin hat and carries a musket, more of a frontiersman, the Ozark Hillbilly of my alma mater wore torn denim overalls and a worn felt hat and carried a shotgun.

I have two Facebook accounts. The one I log into most days is my Piper for Missouri account, where I post political content and essays and news articles. I have around 100k friends on that page, and it is where many folks keep up with me and my commentary on Missouri. It’s also where my ugliest trolls pop up. I still have my old Facebook page that I opened about 15 years back.

I’m not one to show much emotion in public. I mean, I show a lot of love and enthusiasm, but when it comes to sadness, or god forbid, crying, I am not participating. I was raised with a strict “no crying” policy, and I have not been able to shake my stoic inheritance, no matter the occasion. The problem is the embarrassment I feel at crying in public. I definitely don’t think it makes me any better than anyone who cries in public…it may make me worse.

I sent my husband a screenshot from my Dexcom app a few days ago — my blood sugar was spiking over 200 and still rising. I install a new Dexcom device on the back of my arm every fifteen days so I can better track my diabetes and my sugar levels. The app has been helpful in tracking what makes my blood sugar spike, and things I should stay away from.

Rural Democrats Article voiceover 0:00 -6:30 Audio playback is not supported on your browser. Please upgrade. “I don’t think Republican lawmakers know how angry the people are, or they would be acting and voting differently.” I heard that from someone in rural Nebraska a few months back, and though I can see where the sentiment is coming from, I have to disagree.

I have said, “There is no perfect candidate,” on several occasions, and I am starting to think I may have to eat those words. Or chew on them anyhow. Usually, my statement is in response to someone asking me what makes the best or perfect candidate…especially in a rural space. I have always said the best candidate is the one who is from their community and the one who knows their community.

“You are pulling down heaven and raising up a whore.” Arthur Miller, The Crucible I am positive you are familiar with The Crucible and likely read the play in high school. I taught it in American Literature. We always read it in the first semester. Within weeks of the beginning of each year. Before I started each school day, I read ahead in the play and wrote the name of each character on the board.

I was in Moberly, Missouri several months ago to speak to a group of rural Democrats. Moberly is about 3.5 hours away from home, so I arrived not long before the event, but I could tell it was going to be a packed house by the cars in the parking lot.

Yesterday, I drove an hour south to St. Joseph, MO to return a pair of tennis shoes and to speak at a town hall meeting on AI data centers. The tennis shoes were cute, but for some reason, they dragged my socks down and by the time I walked across the room, my heel was bare, and my arch had half my sock bunched up uncomfortably in the middle of my shoe. I loved the way the shoes looked, but I felt like a toddler with a crumpled sock.

I am just back from four days in Cambridge, and I loved it so much that I feel like I left a piece of myself in that town. It turns out I just left my wallet on the plane, which promptly departed for Boston after I deplaned in Kansas City. If someone is planning to steal my identity, I hope they can raise my credit score… The Harry Elkins Widener Memorial Library is the largest library at Harvard University.