If I’m going to end my year in review by the end of the year, I better mosey on down the road.
Out of curiosity, I tried to find the origin of this saying (mosey on down the road) but no one seems to know. Some scholars think it comes from the word vamoose from the Spanish vamos . That may be but vamos meant to get going pretty darn quickly and mosey mean something more akin to take you own sweet time.
Anyway, we closed the gate in Tilden, with the typical hour and a half notice and settled into a little spot in town that Larry (our FS) had arranged, to wait for our next assignment. We spent a day in Pleasanton doing laundry and stocking up on groceries. We were having breakfast at Max’s Motel and Cafe (great food – see animal heads on previous posts), planning an exciting adventure to Freer to see the world’s largest rattlesnake (which sits front of the Freer Chamber of Commerce) when Larry said Jamie wanted us to go to Hallettsville, a lovely little town, made famous as the location for the movie The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.
So, after one day off, moseyed in the rain, 150 miles NE and spent the night just outside Hallettsville, ready to set up first thing the next morning. It wasn’t meant to be. Jamie called and said some fellow was having a fit over by Shiner because he didn’t like the pad they’d made for him and he refused to stay so would we please swap sites. Apparently, that was what was meant to be, and so began our 11 month wild ride with this oil co and drilling company.
We arrived a couple of hours after the first couple took off. We had a new FS, George, and for the first time, we had a Company Man, Jimbo. By the time we arrived, Jimbo was already unhappy with our company over the gate-rejecting guards. I don’t think he thought things could get a lot worse until that good ole’ Louisiana boy saw two women and a pretend dog pull up. We couldn’t understand him real well at first. That’s probably a good thing.
Another theory for the origin of mosey on down the road is that it’s a reference to Moses, wandering around for 40 years in the wilderness. Although less likely, that may be a better word picture for us since we spent exactly 40 days and 40 nights at our site in-between Shiner and Gonzales. We claimed Shiner as our home since they let us have library cards and Gonzales wouldn’t.
We learned tons at this site, but probably the experiences that make for the best stories all have to do with liquids. They’re too long to tell tonight, since it’s starting to storm and my internet is popping on and off. I’ll close this post with an observation about names. I had no idea how many southern guys have names ending on vowels. Why is that, I wonder?
We worked for Jimbo on a ranch owned by Bubba. I’d never met anyone named Bubba before although I’ve met several since, and a Bobbo. We had Johnny, Willy, Billy, and Jimmy; we had a Bo, Bobby Jo, Billy Jo and our first true friend in Texas, JoJo (we miss you JoJo!) By the time I met Kevin, our mud engineer, I thought he was giving me an alias.
Most days, I felt like an anthropologist living among a foreign peoples in a foreign land. Believe me, they thought they same thing about me, too, although they might have phrased it differently, something more along the lines of : You plant a tater, you get a tater and then they’d probably just grin at each other like that just about sums it up.
Tomorrow more on our odyssey into the world of southern sittin’, southern spelling and southern spittin’, if the Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.