Since our weekend "Whereizzit" Contest lasted about an hour, let's try again on a snowy Monday. Guess who is doing what and where in the above photo. The first to guess correctly wins a free, autographed, postage-paid, hardcover first edition copy of our best seller, South Dakota Photographed. We'll give you the year it was taken: 1967.

This will be a tough one so we will allow cheating and bribing.

South Dakota is truly becoming an energy-producing state, thanks to biofuels and a few wind energy pioneers. Now, a Canadian corporation wants to explore the potential for uranium mining in western South Dakota and apparently the Canadians have already been able to change some state regulations to accommodate "in situ" leach mining, which involves the injection of chemicals into the ground to dissolve the uranium.

The South Dakota Water Management Board will meet in Rapid City this week to discuss rule changes that would further enhance such mining.

So prepare for controversy, and be ready to educate yourself to the benefits and pitfalls. Uranium mining has been controversial throughout the West, and for that matter throughout the world.

In the 1970s, I was publishing The Observer, a weekly paper in Yankton County. Some farmers stopped by my office to ask if we'd heard anything about some strangers from Colorado who were drilling test holes in ditches around the area. We drove out to talk to the drillers — polite young fellows who admitted without too much questioning that they worked for Anaconda Copper.

So we started calling Anaconda Copper company's headquarters, pretending to be state regulators, and asking exactly what they were doing and where. Finally, some big wig gave us the exact story: they were testing for uranium.

You'd think they might have had the courtesy of informing the landowners and county officials before drilling in our ditches. They said they didn't want their competitors to know about Yankton County. We shared that in common with Anaconda ... but little else. A few public meetings were held (the photo above was taken at a meeting in Irene), and Anaconda disappeared. Either we didn't have much uranium underground, or they didn't like Yankton County's political environment.

Still, ever since those days I've followed uranium explorations with a personal interest. As I understand, the only uses for uranium are l) nuclear weapons and 2) nuclear power plants. We will truly be in the middle of a powerful controversy ... one that has received very little media attention in East River, South Dakota.

It's interesting to note that Anaconda Copper Company is now owned by British Petroleum, and according to Wikipedia it only exists "as an environmental liability" on BP's books.

While driving in the country today I came upon this old, old Lutheran church. Guess its name and you win an autographed copy of "South Dakota Photographed," a collection of favorite photos from the first 20 years of South Dakota Magazine.

No cheating of course, etc. etc. Here's the first tip: there will be a big, big celebration there this summer.

Submit your answer by clicking "comments." If your guess doesn't immediately appear, never fear. Some comments require our approval -- especially those containing four letter words. But your guess will be timed so we'll know.

Sixty-five years ago, two B-17 bombers crashed over Miner County. Eleven crewmen were killed. Dave Jensen of our staff wrote a lengthy article about the disaster for our July/August 2007 issue.

Local farmers and kids rushed to the crash site. One man estimated that a thousand people soon showed up. "We got right up to the wreck," said Chuck Lewis, who as 17 back then. "There were bullets (from the turreted machine guns) going off from the fire." Lewis still lives on the same farm near Fedora, and he can see the crash site from his kitchen window.

For months, local landowners recovered parts of the aircraft. Frank Hart found aircraft parts and used the steel to make knives in his machine shed. Farm families near the crash site took in the Army guards who came to protect the site, giving them home-cooked meals. Lifelong friendships were formed between the farm farmers and the soldiers.

Betty Weidler of the Miner County Pioneer recently sent us this photo, along with information about a memorial sign that has been erected along Highway 34 in Fedora to commemorate the tragedy. Sadly, the crash wasn't unusual in the 1940s. Almost 15,000 young men died in 6,000 plane crashes within the continental U.S. during WWII. Most of the accidents occurred during training missions like the incident in Miner County.

Yes, we get a little cocky about our weather in Yankton. It's always fun to brag about our tulips and dandelions when friends in Roberts County are still waiting for the ice to leave the lakes. Our farmers are sometimes planting corn when their Day County counterparts are still wearing parkas.

I remember the day when a pretty young lady came to town with a bag of bananas in March to promote Rapid City as the "banana belt" of the region, promising that if a local group would hold their convention in Rapid they could expect very balmy spring weather. She was wearing a sweater and boots ... and she awoke in Yankton to a 70 degree day. She was a good sport, and we got the bananas anyway.

But we got caught white-faced today. Our first tournament of the season was scheduled at Fox Run Golf Course. They briefly considered using orange balls and continuing as planned, but you might say cooler heads prevailed.

Maybe next week. How're things in Roberts County?

A few years ago I was poking around Philip, the county seat of Haakon County. It is midway between Pierre and Rapid City, and it has warm water springs similar to those at Evans Plunge near Hot Springs. Someone came up with the cool idea of growing tilapia in a big greenhouse, using the warm (90 degree) water to keep the fish happy in the cold West River winters.

It was there that I saw the happiest cat in the world. The fish farmers kept him in the greenhouse to chase away the mice, who also wanted some warmth in January and February. He did so gladly, but he spent most of his time lying along the pools, waiting for a juicy little tilapia to swim close enough for him to catch. So there he was, lying on green grass in February, the fattest and happiest cat in the universe. Ever since, I've known that if I'm told I have to come back to Earth as an animal — and I get a choice — I want to be a cat at a South Dakota tilapia farm.

But I don't know if the Philip fish farm is still operating. I also came upon another in Victor (way up in the northeast corner of South Dakota). But they are scarce in South Dakota. Last fall, Min-Kota Fisheries was trying to locate a fish farm in Hughes County near Pierre, but there was opposition from neighbors. The total project would be $22 million, plus cat costs.

I was at the veterinary office the other day with Pennington, our office cat, when a man came in with his cat. When the doc prescribed some expensive medicine, the man said, "We ought to just shoot it but the wife won't let me." I could tell from the vet's face that he'd heard that a thousand times from customers.

We all think we're such original wits. But I wonder what cliches our storekeepers and professionals have to endure with a smile every day? I started to listen more closely, and here are some more I quickly heard:

At the paint store: "Will you brush it on for the same price?"

At the dentist's: "Can I bite on a bullet?"

At McDonald's: "Is it hot enough so I can sue you?"

At the pharmacy: "I wonder how much it would cost me to drive to Canada?"

At the post office: "What are you using these days, pony express?"

At the radio station: "Who's to blame for the snow?"

Here at South Dakota Magazine, readers constantly stop by and ask if they can renew their prescription. But they're not trying to be funny, and it's always music to our ears.

What wisecracks do you have to endure in your profession?

Two young Stavig brothers lived in Norway. Lars came to America. Knut stayed home. They mailed letters across the Atlantic for the rest of their days, and thanks to Vermillion arts dean Wayne Knutson those letters have now become the fodder for a Readers Theater production known as the Stavig Letters.

The narrator for the hour-plus performance is Lars' great-granddaughter Jane Torness Rasmussen. Her husband, John, reads the part of Knut and Wayne plays Lars.

They've performed it 40 times now; the next scheduled reading is June 19 at the Emmanuel Lutheran Church at Groton, beginning at 7 p.m.

We'll write more about the Stavig Letters in our next issue. Meanwhile, take advantage of any opportunity you may have to see the performance. Wayne Knutson is a talented fellow, and his story of the Stavigs is both interesting and important. His material came from the brothers' letters, which were tracked down in the 1960s by Jane's dad, Sisseton banker Harold Torness.

Lars' grandson Lawrence, incidentally, became the longtime president of Augsutana College in Sioux Falls.