August
RDC Masthead Photography – New This Week!
Dear readers,
We’re pleased to announce a weekly rotation on our blog masthead beginning today. We’ll change the photo out every Sunday morning to start our week anew.
Our photographer is Rachel Roberts of Norman, Oklahoma. The images have been cropped from her portfolio especially for the Red Dirt Chronicles (RDC) and will encompass seasons, events, and impressions of the culture about which we write.
They will be saved in “Categories” on our right hand screen navigation under “RDC Mastheads.” We hope you enjoy this addition to the site.
Have a happy August evening.
Sincerely,
Kelly Roberts, RDC Editor
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Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch: He’s Home
Yesterday, I couldn’t wait to get home. But as eager as I was to see my own home on a Friday afternoon, I was looking forward to an evening away from home on Saturday night…with someone who really knows how to appreciate coming home.
I met Bryan Hayes about five years ago. I had just started teaching at the school where he worked as PE coach. He did not appear to fit into the coach role. He had long hair and looked like he really hadn’t done a push up in awhile.
As a couple of school years came and went, however, I learned more and more about my friend. He could play the guitar and willingly brought it along with his mellow voice and beautiful wife to many late night functions.
He didn’t just play the guitar. He had a BAND: Bryan Hayes and the Retrievers… not so odd of a name when you know that Bryan is an animal advocate. He has a home full of rescued Labs of all shapes and sizes.
One day Bryan came to school without the rest of his hair. I thought that maybe he had gotten into trouble somehow, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Bryan had joined the Army National Guard. This spring while most of us were living somewhat normal lives, Bryan was in Iraq. This son, husband, uncle, friend, singer, and teacher was busy making sure we had a safe place to call home.
Tonight Bryan and his band stood on a stage and humbly entertained friends and family. Wait. No. He entertained family. Bryan Hayes, our brother, is home.
(Click the picture to watch Bryan and the Retrievers play “Lonesome Soldier.”)
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Beyond Red
by The Howard
*Disclaimer: All facts reported in this article may only be facts to me and could have nothing at all to do with actual history.
You could say that I grew up in the red hills of northwest Oklahoma between Buffalo and May. I never actually lived there, but have spent a lot of time in the area and have occasional, random opportunities to go back. Not as often as in the past, but on occasion I get, or take, the opportunity to go.
Take last Memorial Day for instance. My brother and I took off the Thursday prior and ran the gauntlet of Waynoka, Buffalo and Laverne leaving silk petals behind as we went. We had a great time – took along my tattered Atlas & Gazetteer in an effort to get from place to place and back home again without straying onto a highway.
We weren’t completely successful missing the highways but we sure killed a lot of time!
My latest northwestern jaunt was for business to an area south of Gate, Oklahoma. I’m assuming Gate is so-named because it is just inside the Oklahoma Panhandle, serving as the gate to “No Man’s Land.”
You have to love a place called “No Man’s Land.” Texas didn’t want this 38-mile wide, narrow strip of land. Kansas was restricted by geography and treaty from claiming it. So, it was pinned onto the collective of unassigned lands fated to become Oklahoma.
What I found south of Gate was surprising and a little irritating. At least for a while.
You see, for at least 120 feet below the ground surface there is nothing red. No “redbed” as the old-timers like to call the red shales and sandstones. No red silts or sands such as what comprises the red hills outside Buffalo. No red clays like those that cover much of the state. Just light brown sand, gravel and a little bit of gray clay.
This geological footprint makes for an interesting drive; it’s like the undiscovered Little Sahara. There are what appear to be hills but on closer inspection are discovered to be sand dunes rolling right into the Beaver River. And the visage of these sage covered sand dunes…I couldn’t help but be reminded of Teletubby Land. My son loves it when I sing the Teletubby song. He’s now twelve years old, and was never as big a fan of the Tubbies as I.
I didn’t actually see a child’s face in the blazing hot sun (as in Teletubby Land), but after prolonged exposure I’m sure I heard giggling!
By the way, if you ever go through Gate, stop for a cheeseburger at the local café. They’re pretty good; I’ve had several over the course of two weeks. And the special on Thursdays is fried chicken. It must be good because it’s the only building within, say, thirty miles that has more than four people in it. Every table is filled on Thursdays!
Driving home from these sage-covered dunes, I began to ponder red dirt and the Red Dirt Chronicles. Oklahoma isn’t all red dirt but red dirt is a common bond. It is a bond that’s unites us in this geopolitical jigsaw puzzle called Oklahoma.
I think about all the eco-diversity in Oklahoma…I believe we have six distinct eco-regions, depending upon which source you read. Beyond red, we are a diverse mixture of urban and rural cultures and backgrounds. But we are united by the wind and the red dirt carried upon it.
It’s good to explore Oklahoma!
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Day 40 in the UK Brings Me Home
Day 40 was 30 hours long. At least it felt as if there had been 24 hours + the 6 hours time difference between Oklahoma and England. And that’s putting things mildly.
On Sunday morning I left a city 75 minutes northeast of London and by Sunday evening landed on a very familiar Will Rogers World airport tarmac, right in the heart of Oklahoma. The time in-between those two events is a bit of a blur. Here are a few things I remember…
As I sit and write this entry my shoulders tell me this:
1) Suitcase = 61 pounds. The service person at the desk “…let it slide. After all, it’s not THAT much over 50 pounds.” [Really? Cool!]
2) Laptop = 6 pounds. I know. Please, no lectures. I realize there are sleaker models.
3) New bag = 7 pounds, crammed full. If the top had included a magnet clasp, the prospect of carrying that much clutter scooped in the last minute from my dorm room vanity would have been dismal. A zipper top is a thing of beauty.
4) Casebook, statues and handbook = 9 pounds, stacked neatly in a paper bag with handles. In the morning the bag had gleamed in its spotless, wrinkle free state. In the evening, the bag was hardly recognizable. Smudges, rips, one handle barely fastened. However, I got my books back. Good thing – they were 300 dollars. Young parents attending college must weigh this decision frequently: “Books? Or that child we wanted to have?”
Total poundage drug through three airports? 83 pounds. Sometimes at a dead run. Other times as a slow crawl. Never gracefully.
And as I wrote those words, “dead run” another thing came to mind. The magical beauty of an Express Connection bright orange sticker.
This little adhesive label allows the bearer to bypass thousands of people standing in line to get through customs and check-in counters because you happen to have been on a plane that arrived dangerously near the departure time of your connecting flight. Amazing – – leave one plane, go through customs, retrieve 61 pound suitcase, re-check it into another counter, ride the train to a different terminal, run like anything (with no regard for how you look to others at this point), and get to the connecting flight with 11 minutes to spare. Never mind that it needed repairs and didn’t leave for another hour or more. The magic of the orange badge had already been experienced.
When I got home and started emptying 83 pounds onto the middle of the living room floor, a small white card fluttered down from my laptop bag and underneath the coffee table. I stooped to pick it up, flipped it over, and saw that it was Brasenose College Library Card.
I’m not a big “souvenir” person. I don’t appreciate clutter for all the nostalgia it might contain, and I don’t do scrapbooks. For those of you who know Kelsey Sweger, she can attest to the fact that after a four-hour tutelage (and she IS a scrapbooking master), I have given up the notion of ever embracing the hobby. As I instinctively raised my arm to toss it into the trash pile, however, I hesitated.
I couldn’t do it. Maybe I’ll keep it. I guess I can have two souvenirs…my handbag AND my Library Card. And my memories. And this travel journal I’ve been keeping for 40 days.
Yep, that should do it. I completed my 40th day by sitting in the living room, way past my bedtime, talking to my husband, daughters and their boyfriends. I passed out travel gifts, listened to their stories about “how to jailbreak the iPhone 4,” what the girls did in Ecuador, and how Mick managed three yards at once while two sets of neighbors and I were gone. It was a perfect finish to my 40th day.
But as I composed this post one day past day 40, I didn’t have closure. One more thing needed to be done.
I lifted the top of my flatbed scanner, took the Library Card, and walked across my office floor. I looked around and decided it needed to be protected. Lifting the glass front to my antique 4-stack barrister shelves, I put it on the top row in the center, leaning against the back of the shelf.
I closed the lid and I was done. Tomorrow I return to work with my handbag in tow.
My fingers found the light switch as I continued to study the placement of the card on the shelf. “Well Done,” I thought to myself. And I turned off the light.