What’s at Whitsett

The nice part about living in a small town is that when you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does!  ~ anon

Whitsett, population 150,  is best known as being the setting for the 2008 horror film The Wild Man of the Navidad.

If you’re not from Texas, mostly likely you’ve never heard of Whitsett, TX. If you are from Texas, most likely you’ve never heard of Whitsett, TX .

So, what’s at Whitsett? Well we are, along with 5 other gate guards and a whole bunch of service wagons, waiting for assignments.

Below is the view from the front door. We only have one door and it’s on the side, but I think, in an RV, that’s still considered the front door?

But there’s more to Whitsett than GGS. We took a trip to town today to find the post office and took a few pictures of the town along the way.

The lady at the post office, whose name I’m sorry to have forgotten, couldn’t have been nicer.

She said she used to read books and fall asleep until someone came in ringing the bell and waking her up.  That was before Eagle Ford Shale. She hasn’t read a book in a year!

I loved it that they have anonymous mail. What is anonymous mail do you suppose? They have signs for it and bins of it. Maybe all post offices do, I don’t know. I didn’t ask because I thought it might be a government secret or something.

A small town is a place where there’s no place to go where you shouldn’t go. ~ Burt Bacharack

To read the papers and to listen to the news… one would think the country is in terrible trouble. You do not get that impression when you travel the back roads and the small towns. They do care about their country and wish it well.  ~Charles Kuralt

We couldn’t resist. We split a brisket sandwich and Heidi got a giant pickle, all for under $5. The decor in the tiny gas station/ convenience store/ deli was what we’ve become accustomed to down here.

Possibly should have clarified that it was, indeed, beef brisket since I took this photo just across the street…

We couldn’t really find any town or J & B TACOS.

So just in case the question of what’s in Whitestt has been weighing on your mind, now you know!

Do You Hear Dualing Banjos?

When ye proffer the pigge, open the poke. ~ Fraser’s Magazine, 1858

Pig in a poke is an idiom as in ‘Don’t buy a pig in a poke’. If you don’t know, a poke is a sack or bag. While I’m unfamiliar with it, apparently the term poke is still in use a lot in Scotland and in certain parts of the US to describe just the sort of bag that would be useful for carrying a piglet.

Which begs the question, what sort of person would be inclined to carry a piglet around in their bag? This is how the story goes: In the Middle Ages when meat was scarce, folks would go to the market to buy a pig (piglet) in poke (bag), take it home unopened, only to discover they’d been tricked with a dog or cat instead (thus the expression: Don’t let the cat out of the bag – really).  A pig that’s in a poke might turn out to be no pig at all.

After 13 months in Texas, I’ve seen a whole lot of  pigs, including some pretty scary pigs on a poke! I’ve seen javalinas (which actually are a peccary, not pig), feral pigs (wild boars, wild hogs), pig cookies, pigs in a blanket, and pigs in a pig. The only pigs we haven’t see are regular domesticated farm pigs.

Now a days, whenever I think about pigs, I think about the wild guys of Lantern 16 and our very unusual jungle-like gate between Nixon and Smiley.

For weeks and weeks the topic was pigs.

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I would guess most of you have had pigs in a blanket. They’re usually hot dogs or little sausages wrapped in croissant dough (unless you’re at Denny’s, where they’re wrapped in  pancakes). Pigs in a blanket are kind of a church potluck hors d’oeuvres.

You might think a pig in a pig is an expectant sow, but that would be lots of pigs in a pig.  At least in Texas, a singular pig in a pig is a sausage or hot dog wrapped in bacon, which is still a lot of pig. They do love their meat down here!

There are several million feral pigs in Texas and a very large, noisy herd of them lived right behind our RV at our second jungly gate. They proved to be a daily conversation starter.

Having  them running around behind the RV was one thing. Taking the back roads to the post office in Smiley was a little like a scene from Deliverance.

I asked the guys why there were so many pigs on a poke (fence posts). They didn’t seem to know. In all fairness, many of them were from Louisiana and some from Mississippi, where it’s likely things other than pigs are placed on pokes.

Below you’ll find a few of their answers:

Don’t know, why do they put  pigs on a poke?

I got this a lot. Everyone thought it was a riddle.

Other answers:

Probably was just catfish. They grow ‘em real big down here.

Well, shoot, it’s just a time honored Texas tradition: pure sun-dried hide tannin’!

Y’all aren’t from around here, are ya? That’s just plain ‘ole bored rednecks for ya.

I leave you with these inspirational words from John Heywood:

 I will neuer bye the pyge in the poke: Thers many a foule pyge in a feyre cloke.

To that I would add my own rendition:

I will neuer go to Smiley bye the pyges on the poke: for fear the foule pyge ther maint give me a stroke.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood as we continue to wait for a gate.  The neighborhood is ever growing. Our already full lot is now overflowing with RV’s hooked to electric only, out in the middle of the yard, and along the fence line.

I think we’ve managed to catch up on all the things gate guards never quite have enough time for while working. We’ve done the massive mandatory Walmart restock, serious grocery shopping, and gotten overdue haircuts. We’ve gone to the lumber yard twice (what joy!).

The first lumber yard outing was to replace the boards that bounced off the service trailer when Junior was making serious time on the Farm to Market Road. I spent most of  that one in the parking lot visiting with the turkeys. They didn’t fair well at the fair, but they were very conversational in the lumber lot.

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The second lumber yard trip was to buy a lock for the tool box that sits on top of the ever handy 52 gallons of diesel in the back of the pickup. It has a built-in lock, but since we don’t have a key, Heidi thought she’d add a lock of  her own.

This was a grand idea, in theory, but a bit harder to implement than she’d hoped. We’re a little stymied when it comes to muscle. The neighbors two doors down, John and Linley, are from New Zealand. I think they get the prize for traveling the farthest to work a gate!  John kindly installed the lock.

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Lin entertained us with tales of the most isolated gate I’ve heard of yet. It was so remote that Larry, their FS, had to get their grocery list via email and deliver their groceries. They washed their clothes in a bucket with a plunger. Hmm… Nope. I’m not that hardy.

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 They’re much better sports than we are. The flower pot potty probably stretched the outer limits of our roughing it! I love the job, but not that much.

Our next door neighbors, Joyce and Bobby D are true Texans. Bobby by birth and Joyce, I believe the saying down here is, Texan by the grace of God. I don’t really get it either, but anyway, they’re waiting for their first assignment. Such a sweet couple!

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Those of you who are gate guards know the extensive training program we all go through for our first job. It’s like the line from It’s a Wonderful Life: Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry.

Except at your first gate it’s: Here’s your vest and clipboard, gotta go, I’m in a hurry.

I spent a couple of  hours with them the other night. They had a lot of questions and I tried to cheerfully give them an idea of some of the more routine things to expect. I don’t think it went as well as I’d hoped since Joyce said she had to take an anxiety pill after I left so she could sleep…

And I didn’t even mention the real interesting things like the crock pot full of tarantulas or the pig’s heads on the fence posts.

I’ve re-written my story of the fence post pigs but Heidi says this is already too long so I’ll save it for tomorrow.

Travel Lodge(ing)

Do you remember the old Travel Lodges billboards with cute sleep walking bear?

For the best rest -  East or West

I’m looking for that right now. Just a little rest.

GGS let us know on Sunday that the gate guards we were subbing for would be back Monday instead of Wednesday. This wasn’t a big deal except Heidi had already called all of the  RV parks within 60 miles and everyone was full.

The gate guard lot in Gonzales was full (unlike when we were there 2 months ago).

And the gate guard lot in Whitsett was full and overflowing.  We had already contacted Hidden Valley RV park in Von Ormy (just south of San Antonio) and Teri had room for us but not until Tuesday. She said that if it didn’t rain we could boondock in her field for $10.

Scott  (our FS) said to be ready to leave at 9:30, so of course the new gate guards were there at 8 a.m. and Scott was there at 8:45. We were sure glad we’d gotten the hitching up over with the night before. You know how it is when you already feel a little awkward or unsure and then you add an audience. We left Westhoff/Lindenau at 9 and headed north by northwest.

Teri was gracious and accommodating. We parked at the far end of the RV park in the open field.

This is a lovely side shot of $7000 worth of damage I inflicted on the new RV when I tangled with the tiny palm tree – repairs next month – hopefully.

Unlike many of our gate guarding friends, we aren’t really boondockers at heart. In 4 years of full-time RVing, we used the generator in the Motorhome once. When we bought the 5th Wheel, we didn’t want to spend the extra $5000 for a generator (we also didn’t want that much more weight and opted for storage instead).

Monday, if we’d had one, we would have used it. It was about 80 degrees by the time we got parked. No electricity. Our phones soon ran down. We had just enough battery life, in the laptop and in us, to change all of our passwords since Zappos had been hacked that morning and that’s where we order our shoes.

We really didn’t mind boondocking. We were thankful for a quiet field. We took Henry VIII for several walks along the river and listened to cardinals and woodpeckers and mockingbirds.

We played cards. Actually, Heidi played cards and I was more of an out-of-body participant. By the time we were finishing, I’d been up for 28 hours. You night-shift folks know how the transition can be when you’re switching from nights to days. This was my 5th switch in 2 months. I didn’t care if we went east or west, I just wanted some rest. I think I was unconscious by 5:30.  Heidi made her way around in the dark with a Coleman lantern and a flashlight.

The only time boondocking was at all inconvenient was the next morning when my caffeine craving body woke up at 4 a.m. screaming: You’ve got to be kidding!  No biggie I thought and I boldly boiled coffee on the stove. I’ve haven’t done that for a while. There must be a trick to it that I’ve forgotten. There’s nothing more surprising when you’re happily drinking hot coffee in the dark and suddenly your mouth fills up with grounds. Actually even that’s still a little better than the live things I’ve swallowed in Texas like beetles and fluttering moths; or the time I looked at my bowl of Grape-nuts and saw one half of a spider trying to swim in the milk (don’t ask, I have no idea).

My Kindle cover has a book light, I had coffee and Henry had a lap so all was well with the world. I enjoyed the early morning view as I watched the sun rise. The view out my window was a little different from what I’m used to after 13 months on a gate.

The folks at Hidden Valley were very nice. The rate for Passport America members is $16 a night with full hookup which you’d be hard pressed to beat anywhere.

We were supposed to move into a regular spot after noon on Tuesday but mid morning we got a call from Laurie at GGS near Three Rivers saying a spot just opened up there and to head on down.  So, once again, we hit the road. It was an hour and a half drive which only took us 2 hours because the GPS led us to a sheet metal building in Whitsett and proudly announced that we had arrived at our destination.

Here we are in the GGS lot. Dropping the RV Unhooking went as smoothly as hitching up. No job yet, but hopefully soon.

Today we went a callin’ on our friends Jill and Rob. We’ve only met though Fork, never in person, but they’ve become dear friends. They’re in Tilden, of all places! Tilden, no kidding!

Tilden is where we got our start, 13 months ago. We couldn’t wait to take Jill to lunch at Max’s Cafe and Motel. I think I scared her with all the animal  head photos so she hadn’t been there yet!

Rob and Jill were even more delightful in person! Thank you for your kind hospitality. How fun to finally meet! It’s was like reuniting with an old friend and picking up where you left off, except we’d never started. Rob was kind enough to watch their very busy gate and we rewarded him by bringing back half of Jill’s leftover Max’s Special Nachos.

Since I likely won’t be on a gate for a bit, I may tell some stories about the wild guys from Lantern 16 or write about our amazing encounters with the Nutria and the Alligator in the bayou tomorrow.

Life is good! From what we understand after talking with Laurie yesterday, GGS currently has 365 gate guard spots, with quite a number of us waiting for an assignment. The rumor that the lots are full is true – today. You never know about tomorrow in this business. For the best rest -  East or West, I think  you have to be willing to just kick back and enjoy the ride!

The Hitching Went Without a Hitch!

This is our last night here in Lindeneau/Concrete/Westhoff/Smiley, Texas.

I’m writing this in the early hours of Monday morning. We’ve been subbing at a Petro Hawk gate since the second week in November. We had a mini Thanksgiving vacation and then came back to the same rig. That ends today.

Scott (our FS) came by yesterday morning to tell Heidi that the gig is up and the regular gate guards will be here this morning. If you’ve been following Fork for a while, you know that we’ve had a few hitching up issues with the new 5th wheel. Heidi had developed a rather serious case of HUAD (hitching up anxiety disorder).

She woke me up at 4 yesterday afternoon so we could hitch up before dark. The last thing you want to be in this business is two women who can’t even handle their own RV!  I donned my I Do All My Own Stunts shirt and I’m happy to report that it took us exactly 8 minutes!  We’re all hitched up with no place to go and ready to roll! We’re lilting to the left again tonight but at least Heidi can set her HUAD aside and get some sleep, if all the blood doesn’t rush to her head.

I will, of course, work tonight and stay up until tomorrow night and try to get back on a day schedule.  Scott also said there’s no room in the inn Gate Guard park in Gonzales so we’ll head out to an RV park until another gate opens up.

We want to stay with Jamie, which means, we may have to wait a while. You just never know in the business do you? I don’t know if we’ll have a good internet connection or not, so I’m not sure when I’ll write again.

They’re putting a pipe line in right across from our RV. It’s been interesting to watch. I thought I’d share some photos.

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The guys start arriving around 5 a.m. I’ve slept through most of the action, but Heidi kindly took some pictures for me. I may not see it, but I feel it. It’s been a lot like living on a fault line. I keep dreaming of earthquakes.

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Since I don’t have a lot fun facts about the pipe line, I’ll add a few Texas quotes.

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Texas is neither southern nor western. Texas is Texas.  ~ Senator William Blakley

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No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right an keeps on a-comin. ~ Texas Ranger Captain W. J. McDonald

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Some folks look at me and see a certain swagger, which in Texas is called ‘walking”  ~ George W Bush

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They say California’s the big burrito; Texas is the big taco and Florida is the big tamale.  ~ Dan Rather

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Texas is a state of mind. Texas is an obsession. Above all, Texas is a nation in every sense of the word.  ~ John Steinbeck

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I must say as to what I have seen of Texas, it is the garden spot of the world, the best land and the best prospects for health I ever saw, and I do believe it is a fortune to any man to come here. – Davey Crockett

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Be talkin to y’all soon. ‘Til then, Happy Trails!

The Day Company Came a Callin’

I don’t feel like myself tonight. Isn’t that an odd saying? It’s not like I feel like someone else. I’m not exactly sick or entirely well. I guess I’m just a little more off than usual, so I promise to keep this short.

We had company yesterday! I think you might have to be a gate guard in real rural Texas and have nearly all your friends and family 1200 – 2200 miles away to really appreciate how wonderful it is to get company!

On a few rare occasions, we’ve had an opportunity to meet other gate guards, which has been great fun! And we’ve had tons of company with multiple legs, which I’ll write more about, another time.

But yesterday, people who already know us, came to see us on purpose!

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We met Mike and Casey in  Oregon where we were workampers together. Mike converted our gas- only water heater to give us an electric option in the Class A. They taught us how to tie down our awning and then taught us to never put out the awning on the Oregon coast unless we wanted to go para-sailing!

We were new to RVing, new to workamping, new to the coast; which is just a nice way of saying we didn’t know anything and they taught us everything! We were so poor, they even bought us a space heater. You’ve gotta love folks who keep you warm and keep you laughing! Thank you so much, dear friends, for spending 7 hours in the car to spend 4 hours with us today!

I’m not sure what Mike and Heidi talked about while Casey and I walked Buttons and Henry, but I could tell things were different after they left.

We played cards, as we do almost every night. But it wasn’t cards as usual. Maybe that’s why I don’t quite feel like myself? We generally always (yes, that’s how they say it down here) play 2 hands of Whist, 2 hands of Gin Rummy and 1 game of Cribbage.

I usually win.

I don’t mean to, it just happens. That fact that Heidi’s only been playing cards for about 4 years and I’ve been playing cards since I was 4, may be a factor. Anyway, I think Mike must have given her a pep talk. She won tonight! In my defense, it’s hard to maintain any strategy with a gun in your face. Just sayin’.

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To celebrate her massive card annihilation, we watched Heidi’s favorite TV show: Swamp People. Ever since our trip to Louisiana  and our wild air boat ride through the Bayou, she loves to watch Swamp People and yell out Shoot him! which I’ve gotten used to but still startles Henry. The shooting is a reference to the alligator, not to a person, but that’s a story for a night when I feel more like myself.

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This 10 footer was about a foot from my foot. My toes haven’t felt quite the same since…

We’ll Weather the Weather Whatever the Weather

Living in an RV, most anywhere, presents some sort of weather issue. If you’re a gate guard on an oil rig in Texas, just like a mail-carrier, you could have this tongue twister printed on your security vest:

Whether the weather be fine, Whether the weather be not, Whether the weather be cold, Whether the weather be hot, We’ll weather the weather, Whatever the weather, Whether we like it or not.

24 hours a day, 365 days a year (unlike mail-carriers) we go out and work in all kinds of weather. For example, just yesterday in was 76 degrees here in Lindenau/Concrete/Westhoff  (or wherever my phone thinks I live – tonight it was certain I was in Smiley). It’s 28 degrees right now. It’s so cold that Henry just tried to levitate while watering the road. He couldn’t decide which paw to lift and which to use as a prop.

The moon is full and the wind has finally died. So has the bell, which I guess has decided to wait for warmer weather to ring. The bell has tolled for no one tonight (although many have come and gone). I just took it apart a gave it a good blowing into. Sometimes that helps.

Those of you who’ve followed Fork for a while have known me to mention the weather more than a time or two. We we went from our flower pot potty and frozen pipes in Feb to temps in the 90′s in March.  It was one long hot summer. I promised then that I would never complain about the cold.

It’s  pretty cold, but  I’m not complaining. I actually like it. Here are some of the reasons why.

I like the feel of a sweatshirt. It’s soft and forgiving and if I dribble ketchup mustard on the front, I can just turn it inside out.

I love coffee, but not iced, which made for some extra hot caffeinated nights in July.

I’m 55  (if you don’t know why that makes me prefer cool to hot weather, then, never mind). I border on heat stroke when it hits 70 degrees, That is, of course, unless I’m freezing.

I’m particularity enjoying the cold because a lap full of yarn is warm.

As some of you know, to help stay awake all night and to keep myself from eating continually, I taught myself how to knit last winter. This has been only a semi-successful new hobby.

I made a few mistakes at the start.

The 1st was trying to learn from a 10 minute Walmart video with no back arrow.

The 2nd was not fastening the Velcro strips on my Gate Guard vest.

The 3rd was not counting the rows while I knitted away while watching Good Morning  America at 11 p.m.

The 4th was not turning on more lights.

The 5th was being a tense knitter. I pulled every stitch so tight that I had blisters on my thumb and index finger for a month. Above is the last remaining photo of my first attempt. Amazingly, this foot-long project was the product of an entire skein of yarn.

Although I’ve remained unmotivated to learn anything but knit and pearl, I continue to knit. That’s another reason I’m glad it’s cold.

Henry won’t wear his scarf and my grand daughters were less than enthusiastic at Christmas. I only know how to knit long rows. As a bit of an afterthought, I decided to sew some together (I don’t know how to knit them together) and make Heidi a lap blanket for Christmas. It’s a really big, lopsided lap blanket, which she says will be perfect for the care center someday.

We’ll weather the weather, whatever the weather and have a yarn or two to tell about it!

Why Frost and Fork?

Last March I tried to answer the burning question Why Fork in the Road?

I’m having a mountain of technical difficulties tonight, so I’m going to try to re-post this for those of you who are new to Fork since then. If the video doesn’t come through, I apologize. We’ve ordered a new internet card, so hope to have better connectivity soon! No longer have the Class A and the Jeep but rest still fits.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. ~Robert Frost

That was the concept behind the name of the blog. Did we chose a road less traveled by?  Well, judging from the double takes we get when folks see a woman driving a Motorhome, towing a Jeep,  the answer must be Yes. This is pretty funny since driving a Class A  is so easy. If you want a driving challenge, drive carpool in a mini-van.

If the question is Why a road less traveled?  The answer is I have absolutely no idea.  I’ve always thought of myself as blandly conventional, so I’m possibly the most surprised by a less traveled path.

I think my best answer to either question comes from one of  my favorite philosophers, Elwood P Dowd.

My very favorite movie is Harvey.

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I love Jimmy Stewart who plays Elwood P Dowd.

I love his best friend, a 6 foot 3 1/2 inch Pooka named Harvey.

And I like his life philosophies:

Well, I’ve wrestled with reality for 35 years, Doctor, and I’m happy to state I finally won out over it.

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Years ago, my mother used to say to me, she’d say “In this world, Elwood, you can be oh so so smart, or oh so pleasant.” Well, for years I was smart… I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.

And I do, often (quote him). I recommend pleasant.

The  often forgotten portion of Frost’s poem is:

Though as for that, the passing there had worn them really about the same.

I especially like that part. We may have more in common than you think: me here in  Texas, writing at 2 in the morning, in an RV, guarding a gate at an oil rig; and you, wherever you are, reading this right now.

At heart, most of us are just looking for ways to love and live and celebrate the joys of the every day. We do it in different places and in different ways, but the path of tenderness and compassion and treating others with kind regard wears well, wherever, whatever your journey.

I always have a wonderful time, wherever I am, whomever I’m with. ~Elwood P. Dowd.

It’s The Bee’s Knees!

Do you remember the expression, It’s the bee’s knees? Me, neither!

OK, I know it from old movies, but I’ve never actually heard anyone use it, until yesterday.

I’ve done a bit of research on the bee’s knees. The Phrase Finder seems to have come up with the best explanation:

Bees carry pollen back to the hive in sacs on their legs. It is tempting to explain this phrase as alluding to the concentrated goodness to be found around a bee’s knee, but there’s no evidence to support this explanation.

There’s no profound reason to relate bees and knees other than the jaunty-sounding rhyme. In the 1920s it was fashionable to use nonsense terms to denote excellence – ‘the snake’s hips’, ‘the kipper’s knickers’, ‘the cat’s pajamas/whiskers’, ‘the monkey’s eyebrows’ and so on. Of these, the bee’s knees and the cat’s whiskers are the only ones to have stood the test of time.

The nonsense expression ‘the bee’s knees’ was taken up by the socialites of Roaring 20s America and added to the list of ‘excellent’ phrases.

Yesterday was a day of ‘excellent phrases’ here in Lindenau (which is where my phone thinks I am, even though I keep telling it I’m in Westhoff). I’d never heard of Lindenau. There aren’t any signs that say Lindenau.

Of course I was wrong. There is a Lindenau and I am in it. There just isn’t a town. Lindenau reported a population of 60 from the mid-1920s until the late 1960s, when it decreased to 50, the exact number it maintained for the next 40 years. It’s been 12 years since the last count. I’m not sure if Lindenau is still holding steady at 50 or not, but I Google mapped myself and that’s where I am.

Anyway, yesterday, here in Lindenau, we added several new catchy sayings of our own that I think the Phrase Finder might be interested in:

It’ just like Quiche on a  carpet!

Poor Heidi was carrying it outside to cool when she lost her grip…

It’s like a moth to a coffee cup.

I’m starting to get used to it, but I am learning to check before I swallow.

And finally there was that old familiar phrase about the bees. When I woke up yesterday evening (if you’re new to Fork, I work nights), I called out to Heidi.

Hey, what’s all over the toilet?

Oh, it’s just the bee’s knees.

I thought she was being 1920′s  funny. We’ve been at this site for exactly one month today and I haven’t seen a single bee. Then I looked up…

and then I looked down…

Yes, believe it! It really was the bee’s knees! Who knew?

Just when I thought Texas was running out of surprises! Isn’t that just the kipper’s knickers!

That’s What I Like About Texas!

Texas: It’s like a Whole Other Country

This is the Texas state slogan used on the official website of the Office of Economic Development and Tourism. And they aren’t kiddin!

I became a Texas resident in November, but I’ll never be a Texan. You can’t become a Texan. You’re born a Texan.

After Shiner, we moved about half way between Smiley and Nixon.  I thinks that’s where I learned  how colloquialisms come into play when ordering fast food.

For starters, Sonic is the burger king in rural Texas. In Nixon, they were laying odds on whose well would hit first so they could buy a Sonic Burger franchise. I had my first Sonic burger the other day. It was a tight squeeze, getting the dually into the little drive up slot (like the old A&W’s back home). The girl on the intercom asked if I wanted a mayo burger or a mustard burger? I guess it threw her when I requested ketchup, because she brought me a mayo and mustard burger instead (sans the ketchup).

Dine in or take out, if you’re in a rural area, forget Chinese or pizza, it’s tacos, fajitas and beer. Wine is wimpy. Real Texans drink beer. Even though wine has approximately 3x the alcohol content of beer, it’s a sissy drink. If you insist on ordering it anyway and you don’t see it being poured, count on it coming from a box. And remember if you do have a beer, it’s illegal in Texas to take more than three sips of beer at a time while standing. Southern hospitality. They like you to take a seat when you drink.

But mostly Texan’s seem to love their DQ’s and DQ seems to really love Texans. If there’s a Starbucks on every corner in Portland, there’s a DQ in every incorporated town in Texas.

Back in late February, when it was already about 85 degrees, I was in Nixon doing the laundry when I stopped at the DQ for something to drink.

May I have a diet soda?

No, ma’am, we don’t have that here – y’all have to go across the street to the Super S.

Moving from Iowa to Oregon, I’d just transitioned from pop to soda. Thinking that I was closer to Iowa now, I decided maybe they call it pop? So I tried again.

May I have a diet pop?

No, ma’am, we don’t have that here either – y’all have to go across the street to the Super S.

For a moment it gave me pause. Maybe all they serve is water and sweet tea (in a year, I’ve never seen any unsweetened tea in Texas)? Then I took a closer look at the menu. They had diet Coke listed. Maybe they were out. I gave it one last try.

May I have a diet Coke?

Sure ma’am, what size are you wantin’?

I learned a valuable lesson that day back February. All soft drinks in Texas are called Coke. I have no idea why. I guess it’s like calling all tissues, Kleenex?

So I got to wondering how would one order something else, like a 7-Up? I posed this question on Fork and John kindly provided this answer:

OK…how to order a 7-Up in Texas…
1.) Sit down at the booth or table.
2.) When the act of sitting is complete, remove your hat, use it to dust off your pants, half say/sigh “shooooey, it’s hot out yonder.”
3.) When your waitress/waiter comes up and asks, “How are ya?” You say “Fine ma’am, and you?”
4.) His/her response will likely be something like, “perty good” or “finer n’ frogs hair.”
5.) He/she will then ask you “What kind of Coke do you want to drink today?”
6.) This is where you tell her/him that you would like a 7-Up.

Thanks, John! That’s a perty good answer!

There are more DQs in Texas (600+) than in any other state. Towns that don’t even have a grocery store have a DQ. Texans have a special relationship with Dairy Queen. And the feeling is mutual. There’s a special Texas motto: DQ, That’s What I Like About Texas!

There’s an entire separate That’s What I Like About Texas menu. On it you’ll find things like: TexaSize your soft drink or fries and Texas DQ Add-Ons like Jalapenos and Chili. There’s a special sandwich called Dude – Chick’n Fried Steak. There are Texas T-Brand Tacos, 3 for $3.69.

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There are also the special Country Baskets. You can order Steak Fingers or Chick’n Fingers. Both come with Texas Toast and Crispy Fries and a uniquely Texas dipping sauce: Gravy! No kidding! Not honey mustard or sweet and sour or even BBQ – gravy!

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There are 550 Dairy Queens outside of the United States and Canada. There are DQ’s in 19 countries including 145 in China and 219 in Thailand. I don’t know how they’ve customized their menus, but in the US, nobody has branded DQ like TX.

Next time you’re in the Lone Star State, you might want to say it loud and proud: add a little Texas style eatin’ to my soft serve!

In this post, as in all my Texas themed posts, my observations are limited to very rural Texas. They don’t necessarily apply to life in say, Dallas or San Antonio or Houston. My experiences are all small southern town Texas.

I do know a little bit about life in Houston. It’s illegal to sell Limburger cheese on Sunday. And this is an interesting Houston law – maybe John can explain this one, too: you aren’t allowed to buy beer on Sunday after midnight but it can be purchased on Monday!? Hmm…

Clearly, even after a year, there’s still a lot I don’t get. I’ll end this post with the ever popular bumper sticker: “Everything is more Texan in Texas”.

I don’t really get that either, but then, I’m still mostly a Yankee.