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There’s a good chance you’re reading this at a kitchen table. I hope so. The coffee gone a little cold, the house quiet for one rare minute, this paper in your hands instead of a screen lighting up your face. That’s the picture I kept in my mind the whole time we were building this. So pull up a chair, and let me tell you how we got here. My family has been in Southeast Indiana for a very long time. The Platts put down roots in Dearborn County in the early 1800s, and somewhere along the way the roots just took, generation after generation, none of us ever finding a desire to leave. Today I live in Greendale, close enough to walk to my parents, my brother, my grandmother, my closest friends. I am raising my own family on the same ground my great-great-grandparents once worked. When I tell you this place is home, I don’t mean it lightly. And as it happens, this first issue is a celebration of exactly that — two hundred and fifty years of a country, and the small, stubborn, beautiful corner of it we get to call our home. A few years back, I became a co-owner of another local publication. I’m grateful for every bit of it; it taught me more than I knew I was learning at the time. But it wasn’t the right fit, and I stepped away. What I couldn’t leave behind was a quiet conviction that had been growing in me the entire time… that this community deserves to be truly seen, and that the thing I cared about most, real human connection, was slipping further out of reach with every passing year. I spend my days in marketing, in consulting, in data, and more and more in artificial intelligence. I know how the modern machine of information is built, because I help build it. And it has worn me thin. I am tired of the clickbait. Tired of the outrage dressed up as news, the breaking-this and breaking-that, the endless chase of the next alarming headline. Tired of a world so loud with content that you can scroll for an hour, learn a hundred things, and somehow walk away feeling emptier than when you started. Sometimes you must make peace with being only human. I would rather have three good books handed to me by someone who actually read them, and loved them, and stayed up too late finishing one, than thirty titles spit out by an algorithm that has never felt a thing. The thirty just bury me. I read none of them. And they are always missing the one ingredient that can’t be faked: a real person, with a real life, telling me why it mattered to them. That kind of care, that human fingerprint, is still out there in the world. It’s just gotten so hard to find beneath all the noise. So I decided, simply, to make the thing I was hungry for. The thing I wanted for myself, and for the people sitting around my own table. When you spend most of your waking hours tethered to a screen just to earn a living, you start aching for a way to unplug without unplugging from each other. The SEI Times is my answer to that ache. And I figured if I was craving it this badly, I probably wasn’t the only one. I’m not in this alone, and I wouldn’t want to be. My co-founder, Justin, is one of the sharpest leaders I know and a partner of mine across 39 North Marketing and Waypoint Consulting, both rooted right here in Southeast. He believes in this with the same stubborn faith I do, that a place is worth tending, that a community is worth the work, that something built with care can still cut through a world built for speed. It means everything to make this with him, Emily, and the rest of the team I have supporting my wildest dreams. Here is what we believe a community publication can be. Not breaking news, we will gladly leave that to the others. Instead: curation. The patient work of listening to what Southeast Indiana actually wants, and then building it, piece by piece. What really happened at the council meeting down the road from you. Profiles of the people and places and ideas worth passing along, the kind you turn over in your mind and carry into your own life. The events worth leaving the house for. And woven through all of it, the lifestyle and the advice and the small, tender, human things that quietly draw us closer. I picture a digital home for the days you need it, and a monthly print issue for the days you don’t — for when you want to settle into a chair, away from the glow, and feel informed and connected and a little delighted for a while. And I’ll confess to you a soft spot I’m not the least bit sorry for: I want to bring back the simple joys. Comics (illustrated and authored by real people) worth the careful cut of a scissor. A student spotlight bound for the refrigerator door. A coloring page to slide across to the toddler so you can finish your paragraph in peace. Recipes to clip and splatter and keep. Giveaways and friendly little contests. A return to gentler, simpler times — made for the way we actually live now. That is the whole heart of it: curated content, community connection, shared learning, small pieces of joy, togetherness, simplicity, and meaning that lasts longer than a scroll. We aren’t setting out to fix the world. We just want to make it a little kinder, a little happier, one small and seemingly insignificant step at a time, right here on the ground my family has loved for two hundred years. Which brings me, at last, to you — because none of this works unless it’s truly yours. So tell us what you want to see. Send us the story leads: the non-profit doing amazing work no one is noticing, the quiet hero everybody knows but no one’s written down, the little place the whole town adores. Tell us who deserves a profile and which events deserve a spotlight. The form is waiting on our website, and I promise you this — I read every word that comes through it myself. The chair’s pulled out. The coffee’s on. We’re so glad you’re here. Best, Megan

Photo courtesy of Dearborn County.org Stand anywhere in Dearborn, Ohio, Switzerland, Ripley, or Franklin County and you are standing on a piece of ground with an identity crisis for the ages. There is a wedge of land here, bounded by the Ohio River, three state lines, and an old treaty boundary, that the history books nicknamed “The Gore.” “The Greenville Treaty of 1795 was signed with the Indians which included all land in the following area: land north of the Ohio River and west of the present Indiana-Ohio state line, and east of a line running north-northeast from the mouth of the Kentucky River (now the site of Carrollton, Kentucky) to Fort Recovery, Ohio. This area formed an elongated triangle which in sewing parlance is called a "gore." Thus, Dearborn County was within the area in the Greenville Treaty that was called the Gore.In the year 1800, the Indiana Territory was created. On March 7, 1803, William Henry Harrison proclaimed all land in the Gore to be called "Dearborn County." The name derived from Major General Henry Dearborn, Secretary of War under President Jefferson. Israel Ludlow began surveying from the first meridian line (Indiana-Ohio state line), and soon after William Ludlow and Benjamin Chambers were assisting in the surveys.” https://townofversailles.com/about-us/history And it has the strangest distinction in the state: an early settler here could have lived in the Northwest Territory, then in Ohio, then in the Indiana Territory, and finally in the State of Indiana — without ever once moving from his own front porch. The world rearranged itself around him while he stood still. Honestly, in 2026, that feels relatable. So in honor of the country’s 250th birthday, let us imagine an ordinary Tuesday on this land, then and now. Morning Then: You woke when the light did, because the light was the alarm clock and there was no second option. The fire had gone out overnight and someone had to coax it back before anyone ate. Breakfast was whatever the season and the larder allowed. The day’s work announced itself by simply existing: the animals were hungry, the garden watered, and the morning chores began. Now: You wake when a small rectangle vibrates on the nightstand, having already been awake in spirit since it buzzed at 2 a.m. with a notification from Facebook. The coffee is at your fingertips, with a simple press of a button. Breakfast is a frozen breakfast sandwich, quick pre-made oatmeal packets, or boxed cereal.. The day’s work announces itself in a glowing list of notifications, which are also, somehow, hungry for response. The commute Then: There wasn’t one. Work was where you stood. The longest journey most people made was to the county seat at Lawrenceburg — a genuine expedition, planned for days, undertaken on roads that were dirt, at best. Now: You can be in Cincinnati in under an hour, in three states before lunch, and on a video call with someone in another time zone before your coffee cools. The roads are paved. The expedition sometimes being from your bed to your desk, sometimes being an hour trip in traffic to Cincinnati to work. News and gossip Then: News traveled at the speed of a horse and the volume of a tavern. You learned what happened when someone who was there told someone who told you. By the time word of a faraway event reached the Gore, the event was old, digested, and probably improved in the retelling. Crucially, you knew the person doing the telling and how trustworthy they were. Now: News travels at the speed of light and the volume of a scream. You can learn about something on the other side of the planet before the people next to it do. And yet — and here is the part that ought to give us pause — many of us could not tell you what happened at last week’s council meeting one mile from our homes. We are drowning in news from everywhere and starving for news from here. Plus, it’s hard to know what’s trustworthy. You don’t know the character of faraway corporate office heads that are deciding what can be told as fact. Evening Then: When the sun went down, the day was genuinely over. There was firelight and there were the people in the room with you, and that was the entertainment, the company, and the closing ceremony of the day all at once. You talked. You went to bed early because there was nothing else to do and tomorrow started at dawn. Now: The sun goes down and our second day begins, lit blue, scrolled through alone-together on the same couch. We have conquered the darkness so thoroughly that we have nearly abolished the evening itself. So who had the better Tuesday? It would be easy, and dishonest, to say they did. Their Tuesday included diseases we have cured, labor we have mechanized, and a child-mortality rate that should make any honest romantic sit down quietly. Nobody should want to actually go back. The dishwasher is a miracle and the antibiotic is a bigger one. But notice what the settler on his unmoving porch had, that we have to work to recover. His attention was undivided because nothing was competing for it. His news was local because local was the only thing that could reach him. His evenings belonged to the people in the room. He knew, intimately, the few square miles he called home, while we can name a hundred faraway places and not the road behind our own house. Two hundred and fifty years moved the whole world around us while, in some ways, we have been standing on the same porch as that settler — watching the jurisdictions of our attention get redrawn by forces we did not vote for. The good news is the same as it was for him: the land is still here. The neighbors are still here. The council still meets a mile away. We can simply choose, any ordinary Tuesday, to look up and notice it.

June marks another session of Leadership in Law, a program that has been operating for over 16 years under the direction of Judge McLaughlin. This year, 11 students from local high schools are participating in the initiative, which aims to give young people interested in legal careers direct exposure to how the criminal justice system actually works. Photo courtesy of Prosecutor Lynn Deddens. A Week Inside the Criminal Justice System For 11 high school students from local schools, this week has been far more than a classroom lesson. Through the Leadership in Law program, now in its 17th year under Judge McLaughlin's direction, these young people are getting an intimate look at how the criminal justice system actually operates. The week began with an immersive introduction to the courts themselves. Students observed initial hearings with judges McLaughlin and Cleary, then heard from a lineup of professionals explaining their roles. Prosecutor Deddens outlined how charges move through the system. State Representative Garrett Bascom discussed the legislative process that shapes the laws being enforced. Detectives Gena Allen and Derek Stevens shared what investigative work really involves, while Crime Scene Investigator Charlie Olsen explained forensic analysis. The day concluded with a K-9 demonstration that brought the reality of law enforcement home in a tangible way. As the week progressed, students gained exposure to corners of the criminal justice system most people never see. They toured the dispatch center with 911 Director Kris Heitmeyer, watching the complex coordination that happens when emergencies are called in. They heard from Coroner Cameron McCreary about his role in both routine and suspicious deaths. A roundtable with law enforcement officers from agencies ranging from the Indiana Gaming Commission to small-town police departments gave students candid conversations about what drew these professionals to their work and what their daily responsibilities look like. The education extended beyond the courthouse. A field trip to the Hamilton County Coroner and Crime Lab in Cincinnati gave students a behind-the-scenes look at autopsies and forensic analysis, demonstrating just how critical this work is to criminal investigations. Wednesday brought theory into practice. Students were divided into two groups and tasked with investigating a mock crime scene. Some worked as crime scene technicians, photographing evidence and dusting for fingerprints. Others played detectives, conducting witness interviews and gathering investigative information. The experience is laying groundwork for what comes Friday: a full mock trial where students will present opening arguments, examine witnesses, introduce evidence, and make closing arguments. Thursday brings another full day of preparation and instruction before the students finally get their chance to put it all together. For many, the week may spark a genuine interest in legal careers. For all of them, it's an opportunity to see that the system protecting their community runs on the dedication of real people doing serious work.