Tales From Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

I drove over Polecat and Crooked Creeks. I traveled through Alfalfa County to get to a job in Oklahoma about 125 miles northeast of Oklahoma City.

I sang in the key of off, “Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain. And the wavin’ wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain.”

People lined the border of the Oklahoma Territory during the Land Rush of 1889. When the signal was given, they raced into the territory to claim land. Some entered early. They became known as Sooners and Oklahoma gained the nickname “The Sooner State.”

Years ago, I read a riveting book titled, “The Worst Hard Times: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived The Great American Dust Bowl.” The title would have been longer, but they ran out of room on the cover. Wonderfully written, it told the story of the suffering of people from Texas to Nebraska during the 1930s (The Dirty Thirties) as they experienced drought, erosion and dust storm clouds. John Steinbeck’s great novel, “The Grapes of Wrath,” told the tale in another way. Changes in regional weather, farm economics, cultural factors and the firm belief that rain followed the plow led to a perfect storm that affected 125 million acres. On April 14, 1935 (yet another Black Sunday), an estimated 3 million tons of topsoil blew off the Great Plains. If something didn’t move, it was buried in blow sand. More than 250,000 Oklahoma migrants moved to California. Called “Okies,” as a term of disdain, they encountered discrimination, menial jobs and low wages.

I was in Woodward, which lies in an oil and natural-gas area on the shelf of Anadarko Basin. In addition to the hydrocarbons, portions of Woodward County are underlain by one of the world’s largest deposits of iodine. There is substantial production of electricity generated from wind turbines near town. The temperature varied from 24 to 104 degrees while I was there. That’s just not right. The winds were so strong that when I tried to whistle, it blew my pucker inside out. No surprise. Tornadoes move across the country looking for Oklahoma. According to the Oklahoma Department of Emergency Management, Oklahoma gets 54 tornadoes per year. The reason is a combination of topography, meteorology, geography and timing. Yet, it’s difficult to find a basement in Oklahoma. The clay soil is too moist and the water table too high. Oklahoma basements would be prone to mold, odors, flooding and cracking. Building codes are another limiting factor.

St. Patrick, credited with banishing the snakes from Ireland, never visited Oklahoma. There are 46 species of snakes native to Oklahoma, including the copperhead, cottonmouth and five species of rattlesnake — diamondback, timber, western pygmy, western massasauga and prairie. I saw rattlesnakes. Snakes give some people the heebie jeebies. I watched where I put my heebies, jeebies, hands and feet.

The snakes gave me no problems, but I did receive a severe smack to the head from a wind-driven plastic bag advertising Walmart.

High winds, low humidity and a spark from an unidentifiable source created a wildfire. It could have been a cigarette tossed from a car, a chain dragging under a truck or intentionally set. In a drought area, readily combustible materials were available. The result was over 350,000 acres of grass, sagebrush and buildings burned. Winds of up to 50 miles per hour encouraged the flames. There were 1,447 firefighters battling the fires. Some ranches used their own firefighting equipment. Wind turbines were damaged severely, likely destroyed. I’ve been to three different state fairs and a goat roping, but I’d never experienced anything like that inferno.

The hotel I stayed in filled with firefighters and evacuees.

Everyone is fighting a battle. I was impressed with the resiliency and optimism of the folks who had lost nearly everything they owned. Our society needs people who overcome things. It wouldn’t survive without them.

I stopped at the Honk N Holler convenience store in Woodward and a fly got into my car. It refused to leave, no matter how much I shooed. I fixed its wagon. I drove it home to a snowstorm in Minnesota.

When I opened the car’s door, the fly flew out.

It’s true that it wasn’t much as trials and tribulations go, but it had bugged me all the way home. The fly was irritating, but I got over it.

We overcome a little to learn how to overcome a lot.

That’s a good thing, because that fly is waiting for me somewhere.

Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Saturday.