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When you step inside a restaurant in eastern Idaho, it’s no secret which menu item is a favorite one."I don’t know what other kind of potatoes we would have if we didn’t have Idaho potatoes," said FaDale Fisher, who works at Big Jud's in Ashton, Idaho.The restaurant is feeling life again in a state that produces more potatoes than any other.“Now, we’re almost back to full force, even though we are still limited on tables, business is still really well," she said.Idaho potatoes are also an important ingredient at Grandpa's Southern BBQ in Idaho Falls.Owner Lloyd Westbrook says take-out orders have helped his restaurant thrive this year. He's been in business since 1995.“You will find hospitality in restaurants out West, but it’s just not quite southern hospitality," he said.While the sight of spirited kitchens could give hope the food industry is beginning to rebound, for some of the potato farmers who work close by in this state, that hope feels very far away.“It’s unclear if we’re even going to be able to stay in business," said Doug Hess.Hess' family has farmed his land since the 1800s.“When you look around, you realize you’re actually farming with not your equity but your grandfather's, your father's equity," Hess said.Hess’ specialty is seed potatoes. They are grown free of virus and genetic defects.He sells to commercial farmers, who use the seed potatoes to grow the ones you eventually eat.Hess says the pandemic caused a food-chain reaction that hurt his business. When restaurants closed, the distributors that deliver potatoes to kitchens pulled back on buying from commercial growers, and those growers bought less of his already grown crop."We were anticipating a bag of a potatoes," Hess said. "Click of a switch if you could get rid of it for ."He was left with a pile of potatoes, and he donated about a quarter of his crop.He's now planted significantly less as COVID-19 cases rise.The federal government has stepped in to help the potato industry, but Hess says the struggles of he and his fellow farmers could last long after the pandemic."It could be three or four years out before this thing stabilizes," he said.For this lifelong farmer, it's a generational pressure.“Every time I sit at the table and I look at my sons thinking, ‘Will I be able to pass this on as my father passed on to me?’” Hess said. 2361

With a mask covering his face and his fingers playing a disinfected piano, musician Purnell Steen and his band, Le Jazz Machine, are back to doing what they love: playing music in front of a live audience, but now from a regulated distance.“It is a new learning experience for all us,” Steen said.After being shut down for months due to coronavirus concerns, Steen is back on his home stage at Dazzle in downtown Denver, one of the top 100 jazz bars in the world.“For the entire month of June, we did as much as much revenue as we used to do on a good Saturday,” said Matt Ruff, Dazzle general manager.Ruff says new safety guidelines that allow live music venues like his to operate are impacting his bottom line.“Capacity went from 50 to 100 people,” he said. “But it’s still 6-foot distancing between tables and the closest table to the stage has to be 25 feet away from the stage.”Though he’s thankful to reopen, Ruff is also questioning some of those safety measures, like no longer allowing wind instruments to be played on stage.“I think that’s based on faulty information,” he said. "People think that horns project something, but the science is just not there.”Some scientists, however, believe those brass instruments could hit a sour note when it comes to health.“You’re blowing from the lungs, so they are respiratory droplets and that’s the primary means by which this virus is transmitted,” said Sheryl Zajdowicz, Ph.D., a biology professor at Metropolitan State University of Denver.This infectious disease specialist says while live music could be good for the soul, social distancing could be even better for one’s health.“When you’re at a music venue, you’re kind of up against each other,” she said. “It’s going to be very challenging to limit that from happening.”That’s where Live Nation comes in.This entertainment group is now promoting “Live from the Drive-In,” a new live music experience where people can watch and listen to top artists from their own individual tailgate zones at outdoor concerts across the country.Back at Dazzle, fans say live music is what they need during this pandemic.And while the new normal on stage could be confining for artists, they believe live music will help calm emotions as the virus moves towards a crescendo.“If we can bring a few moments of joy to somebody than we have performed our mission,” Steen said. 2376

When Nolan Davis called his community to march for Black Lives Matter, hundreds turned up for the cause. On Saturday, he led demonstrators from a park in his hometown of Kirkwood, Missouri to the town's city center, leading chants along the way.But Nolan's protest looked a bit different than others that have taken place across the country in recent weeks — because almost all the participants were children.Nolan, 8, helped organize the protest along with his mother, Kristin Davis. According to CNN, he was inspired to lead his own protest after the two attended a few other rallies in the St. Louis area.Nolan and his mother designed a flyer to get the word out about the protest and shared it on Facebook. Nolan told CNN that he believed that about 50 people would show up to his event. But when he arrived at the park on Saturday morning, there were about 700 people ready to support his movement.According to CNN, Kristin Davis, who is white, adopted Nolan and his 5-year-old sister, Caroline, who are both Black. Their mother says that while she could never understand what her children go through, she's tried to have regular conversations about racism with them to keep them safe."We're preparing them for when they're older and taller and bigger. When they're not going to be perceived as cute little kids anymore," Kristin Davis told CNN.During the protest, Nolan held a sign that read "Kids Can Make a Change," according to photos from St. Louis-Post Dispatch. 1481

When Missy Owen heard that the non-profit National Safety Council was putting together a memorial for opioid victims called "Prescribed to Death" and was, in effect, looking for personal stories to help put a human face on the crisis, she was excited. “I was like, 'oh yes, this is a great idea,'” Owen said, “This is an awesome project, yes I’ll do that!”The project would be another way to try and keep the memory of her son Davis alive. Not only that, but it could potentially help make an impact on others in the hopes of one day ending the epidemic that takes 22,000 lives a year.“I knew that it would help other people,” she said.But months went by.“I procrastinated, and I procrastinated," she said.Owen said bringing herself to fill out the paperwork — to spell out, in detail, the pain she suffered when she lost her 20-year-old son, an honor student and class president — was so painful that she waited until the very last day the organization would accept submissions.But in the end, she said she knew this memorial would be something people would remember.“You look at all this, and you go up to it, and you see it, and you see those faces so close,” she said.With this exhibit, being close is the only way to experience it because it consists of 22,000 pills, one for each opioid death that occurs in the U.S. each year.Owen said when she sees the enormity of it, she thinks of 22,000 families that learned to “live differently,” as she had to.“(These families) learned their new normal, and learned to live without someone that they loved and cared for deeply,” she said.But there’s one more layer to the exhibit — each of the 22,000 pills has a likeness carved into it by a 3D printer. The faces are modeled after actual victims of the crisis. Among the 22,000 pills is Davis Owen.“I haven’t found him,” Missy Owen said, staring closely at the rows and columns of tiny white pills. “But I know he’s here.”Owen has seen it several times now. But it’s still an emotional experience. She recalls how Davis fell down the path of addiction.Davis was gifted, Missy said, but his brain had trouble “shutting off.” He had trouble sleeping when he was stressed, and one night he took a seemingly innocuous trip to the family medicine cabinet. “I’m supposing he was looking for something like Advil PM or Tylenol PM, something like that,” she said.He grabbed an old, leftover Vicodin prescription that Missy estimates may have had 30 pills in it. Its label: ‘May cause drowsiness.’“And he was one of those one in 10 people that have that euphoric experience when taking an opioid medication. And he continued to use that bottle until it was gone. By that time he was completely addicted,” she said.It soon turned into a need for the recreational opioid heroin, and that, in turn, led to his overdose in 2014.She and her family have since started the Davis Direction Foundation and The Zone, which helps former addicts to stay sober, to stay “in the zone,” as she put it.One of the hardest aspects for Missy Owen come to terms with is that his death, and those of so many others whose faces are now etched onto that wall, was preventable.“Davis’s story is so sad,” Owen said, “and so awful.”“But it’s not uncommon,” she said.She said she hopes the memorial can help to humanize the epidemic for people who haven’t had to suffer the loss of a loved one, in the hopes that we can stem the epidemic.Maureen Vogel, spokesperson for the National Safety Council, said people have walked away visibly moved.“(People say) ‘it’s encouraging me to change. It's encouraging me to talk to my doctor,’ and ‘it's encouraging me to talk to my own family,'” Vogel said.The exhibit premiered in Chicago late last year, and it goes on display outside the White House this month. Vogel says 14 other cities have expressed interest in hosting the memorial so far. “Data only tells part of the story,” Vogel said. “You have to put a face on the statistic for people to really relate to it,” she said.Missy Owen said she hopes this year is the year the epidemic turns a corner.“We are losing a whole generation of people. It has to be a turning point," she said.  4228

While fall brings about vibrant leaves and cooler weather, it can also cause a seasonal affective disorder. It’s a condition that tends to come and go with the seasons. With COVID-19 still a major concern, some experts say SAD may be more noticeable due to the stresses of the pandemic. Social distancing may pose a risk in the coming months as a result of less physical contact.Child and adult psychiatrist, Judith Joseph, know the signs. Symptoms may include oversleeping, change of appetite, weight gain, and feeling tired. It’s a condition that affects about 5 percent of adults in the U.S., and typically lasts about 40 percent of the year. It's also a lot more common in women than men, according to the American Psychiatric Association.With schools now in session and reports of an uptick in coronavirus cases in several NYC Neighborhoods, Dr. Joseph said the combination could lead to even more anxiety.Light therapy may be a good alternative to make up for the loss of daylight. However, she warns patients to only use them under the supervision of a trained medical professional.Dr. Josephs said you can overcome that feeling of worry by continuing to follow COVID-19 safety guidelines while making self-care a top priority.You can start by developing a workout routine and sticking with it. Also, boost your melatonin levels by eating foods such as cherries and walnuts to getting a good night of sleep.The bottom line: don't brush off that sluggish feeling as simply a case of the "blues" or a seasonal funk. When in doubt, contact a mental health physician for advice.This story was first reported by Stacy-Ann Gooden at PIX11 in New York, New York. 1670

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