Cabbages and Kings

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. Which road do I take? She asked. Where do you want to go? was his response. I don’t know, Alice answered. Then, said the cat, it doesn’t matter.  ~ Lewis Carroll

It’s time for me to take a different fork with Fork. I think the time really came months ago, but I’ve put off making the change. Over the past 16 months, according to Word Press, I’ve written 277 posts and I’ve made 471 comments.

You’ve graced me with almost 73,000 views and have left an astounding 2,348 comments! Thank you!

I’ve loved writing The Fork in the Road, but I find I’m loving it less as times goes on. I think this is mostly because I’ve tried to relate almost all of my posts to Gate Guarding. When I started Fork, gate guarding, blogging, and Texas were all new to me so I had a bit of that wide-eyed wonder going on.

Almost a year and a half  later, I struggle to find interesting new things to say about caliche and gate guarding and RV living, so I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s time to quit.

The time has come, my little friends
To talk of other things
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax
Of cabbages and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings, ha ha
Come, run away
With cabbages and kings! ~ Lewis Carroll (Disneyfied)

For some time now, I’ve been planning on putting Fork to rest. I’ve decided, instead, to experiment a little and try to expand it into other realms – mostly likely whatever odd thing that snags my attention.

I expect to be a full-time RVer indefinitely and a full-time gate guard for years to come, so I’m sure both will be topics from time to time. I just don’t plan on trying to anchor all my posts to oil rigs and mud trucks.

There are so many gate guard blogs and RVing blogs that those of you who’ve been reading here just for that will have no trouble finding many others to take my place.

For those of you who stick around, we’ll just take it a post at a time and see where the path leads. I’m not informed enough to write political posts and I already have  Two Minutes of Grace that addresses my spiritual interests, so those two topics won’t be my focus.

If this is the last post you read here, I can’t tell you how privileged I feel to have had your time and your advice and your comments. Thank you, thank you!

I expect to write shorter posts with a little more frequency. I think my next post will be about why I’m upset that they’re messing with Larry, I’m not sure yet. In any case, it’s been fun – mostly because of you! Thank you! As the ever quotable Yogi Berra said:

When you come to a fork in the road, take it!

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

This is our last week with Lantern 16.  Jimbo, our Company Man, told us on his way out on Wednesday.  He said goodbye and shook our hands and said it had been a pleasure. And it has.

Jimbo and Heidi, a hundred yeas ago back in January

The rig is heading ‘home’ to Louisiana. Jimbo said he’d sure like to keep us but they don’t use gate guards down there (not where they’re going, at least).

Jimbo was our first CM and we were his first gate guards and it showed, on both accounts.

We looked each other over, and I’m not sure who was less certain it would work . There was a lot of  chewing and spitting (him) and second guessing and praying (us).

We grew on each other.

The news of the move to Louisiana was the best thing most of our guys could hear. Many of them live only an hour or so from the new site. Even  the guys that are driving 11 hours now, will only have to drive 5 1/2. They were celebrating!

On Thursday, word came down from headquarters that they had changed the plan and 16 was staying here.

Our momentary elation over still having a job and staying with this crew was squashed by the utter dejection of the men who were so disappointed not to be going home.

There was no joy in Mudville for us since they were so sad. Heidi baked consolation cookies for them, which Little John said turned the tide.

Friday the move was back on and we began days of goodbyes.

It’s been amazingly hard.

I’ll be honest, any reservations I had after meeting Jimbo, tripled when I first met our crew.

They didn’t seem real excited to meet me, either. You know how sometimes you just have that instant connection? We didn’t.

Heidi grew up spending  her summers running in the farm fields, barefooted in galoshes, stomping mice.

I cried the first time I hit a squirrel with my car when I was 32.

This city girl took a look at these men, covered with attitudes and tattoos; who talked through a wad of chew, spit in cups and cans and just about anywhere; wore t-shirts with Confederate flags and skulls; and I wondered if I could possibly be any more out of my element?

Not only could I not understand them around the chew, but I couldn’t hear them over the constant roar of their diesels and I didn’t speak southern.

Clearly, they didn’t know what to make of me.

These good old red-necked southern boys (their words, not mine) weren’t used to having a gate guard they had to report to period, let alone two women old enough to be their mama’s (or much old sisters).

But for six months we’ve lived together, in a manner of speaking – usually never more than a tenth of a mile a part. We’re always close enough that they wave to us from the derrick and we wave back.

Actually, I wave just in case. I can’t really see that far.

We’ve grown on each other.

We’ve give them bags of chips and fruit and candy for the drive home to help keep them awake.

We’ve given them Easter eggs and May Day baskets and brownies and Father’s Day treats.

They’ve given me material night after night to write about here at Fork.

They’ve snared wild hogs right beside the RV in the middle of the night.

They’ve brought us snakes – alive and dead,  jars and crock pots of tarantulas and shared their scorpions.

They’ve baked Mexican casseroles and wild hogs to share with us.

They’ve showered us with ice cream bars and peach pies and Juicy Fruit and Dentine.

I know about their daughters and their wives and their land and their guard donkeys and their dogs and their dreams.

I know them by their trucks and by their smiles, by their tales and by their troubles.

The past two nights,  Jimmy, Little John and Bradley have brought us dinner from the new Subway in town. We didn’t even know there was a new Subway in town.

Today is the 4th of  July.

It’s also Heidi’s birthday – sooo appropriate!  We saved last night’s gift for tonight’s birthday dinner!

Every day, almost every single guy asks if he can get something for us from town or WalMart or the DQ.

Every day, we say no, but thanks so much. They just keep asking anyway.

We’ve given each other a lot of things these past 6 months. Mostly we’ve given friendship.

It’s kind of unconventional and certainly unlikely, as friendships go, but rock solid – just like our crew. If you can’t read this tattoo, it says RIG 16 at the top and Lantern at the bottom. Seems appropriate for men who place so much value in loyalty.

The guys have told us over and over that if anybody ever messes with us, they’ll have to answer to them.

I’ve seen what they do to wild hogs. These are guys you don’t want to mess with.

They’re a band of  brothers and for the past 6 months, we’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of the family.

And they aren’t just fierce, they’re funny:

Justin: Hey Lady! (who’s going to call me Hey Lady now that you’re gone, Justin?)

Me: Hey Justin! How are you doing tonight?

Justin: Just Lovely!

Justin - lovely as ever!

We’re going to miss all you lovely  guys so much!

Knock me over with  feather.

You’ve won my heart. How could I resist?

Texas won’t be the same without you!

Be safe and God speed.