The PR Blog

By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Investigative Laundrologist

Dusty Gulch, 2025 – In a world where truth is hung out to dry and speech is tumble-dried into compliance, the Dusty Gulch branch of the Country Women’s Association has had enough. Armed with pegs, petticoats, and an encrypted washboard, they’ve launched a daring resistance movement -  one laundry tip at a time.

Leading the charge is none other than Dorothy “Dot” Snellgrove, president of the Dusty Gulch CWA and former codebreaker for the local Bingo Association. “If you can’t say it outright,” she says, “embroider it on a tea towel.”

Dusty Gulch Tavern regular until he was caught with an air trumpet in his left boot, Benedict “Bruiser” Arnold  (local roo shooter and enemy of Mayor Dusty McFookit ) claims he was only “documenting local sock sorting techniques for the Pentagon and helping out with hearing aids.” CWA sources allege he was attempting to livestream Doris McLintock’s sheet folding strategy. Local Cop Bushie McBush said investigations were ongoing and local emus were helping with enquiries. 

They say history repeats. But sometimes, it just whispers.

In an age where speech is filtered, flagged, and fact-checked into oblivion, it’s tempting to believe that coded language and satire are inventions of the digital era - tools for cheeky rebels with clever usernames. But those tools are old. Very old.

So old, in fact, that George Washington used them.

Before America had a constitution, it had a codebook. And when words were dangerous, the wise didn’t shout - they signaled.

Let’s set the scene: 1778. New York is crawling with British troops, spies, and snitches. The city is a redcoat stronghold, and every letter, tavern whisper, and knock at the door could bring trouble.

In steps George Washington, not just general, but the architect of America’s first covert intelligence network, the Culper Ring.

When I tell people I’m a beek, inevitably the first thing they say is, “Yes, we need to save the bees! They’re very important!”. While totally true, it is a noble statement that I cannot claim. I was dragged into beekeeping, kicking and screaming… well almost. 

When people say, “We need to save the bees,” they usually imagine someone passionate, fearless, and purpose-driven in a white veil suit.

That wasn’t me. I didn’t plan to become a beekeeper—in fact, I was dragged into it by necessity, not nature.

What began as a practical solution to a tax issue soon turned into something much more: a lesson in courage, humility, and the quiet brilliance of life inside the hive.

When we look back at history, we often speak of "the old wise men" who shaped nations, led armies, or wrote the words that defined generations. But dig deeper, and you'll find something remarkable: many of those wise men weren't old at all.

Because wisdom, it turns out, doesn’t wear a watch.

It doesn’t follow birthdays or wait for retirement.

It comes to those willing to seek it, to shoulder its burden, and to speak its truth.... even if their voice shakes, or cracks, or hasn’t broken yet.

Wisdom isn’t born with age:  it’s forged through experience, reflection, conviction, and humility. And passion.