Charlotte and I drove down to East Texas, the Piney Woods, to stay at a fish camp on Lake Fork. Lake Fork is known as a major bass fishing lake. I spent time talking with a guide who knows the lake…the places where the bass and rich guys from Dallas congregate or where you can find all the croppies you could eat that evening even though 18 people were living in your house. Times are hard. Families have to double up.
Janice, mother of Halie (Tom’s wife), turned 60. From Washington, Halie orchestrated a surprise party for her mother…over 40 (almost all local folk) attended…Halie and Tom flew in from DC…Halie’s brother Drew and wife Stephanie from Chicago, Roger's brother Willey was up from Houston with a huge amount of fresh seafood…and we drove down. Held at the Lake Fork Marina. We held the party in the upper balcony of the maria’s dining room and dance floor. Karioke (like really, really good singers) pros sang country songs; people showed their pleasure by getting up and dancing (the two step).
And East Texas, well, kind of hard to figure out. Flat…piney woods… it has its own culture…like the more well-known Cajun culture of southern Louisian. In some ways, the piney woods represents an extension of that Lousiana west-ward movement. It is a place of small houses, lots of trailers, and, then, every once in a while, you see a castle, a huge private residence, down a long, dirt driveway. But mostly it is low-lying pine scrub land...good for some patch farming...and lakes for fishing.
Like popular Cajun culture, much of life is enjoyed in the company of food. Mostly fried. Breaded oysters…OMG…just the right amount of spice to make you reach for a glass of brew… Breaded fish. Breaded mushrooms. Breaded bread. All good. Lots of peppers on the side (grilled peppers). Red skinned potatoes, yellow corn on the cob, small onions. And cooking. Timing is critical in the art of the boil…timing when you put the potatoes, the shrimp, the onions into the boil. And sensing when it all is ready. And having the tools to make it all come together.
On the way home, back onto 287 that stretches from Port Arthur, Texas to some obscure town in Montana, the landscape is elemental. As you head north toward Oklahoma, though, the flat plains (pancakes) give way to canyonlands where seasonal streams have cut deep canyons. Small low hills appear…scattered at first…sometimes in the form of a spire, sometimes a long tableland…then it breaks up even further. Underneath lies one of the earth’s largest fields of natural gas …first exploited in 1917.
So the landscape exists on parallel lines…the scape that we see and then the one underneath where the geologists map out hidden ridges and pools. Then a long patch of dry (but not quite desert) lands before hitting I-70, 79, 52,I-25 and the more populated higher plains. Small low hills appear…scattered at first…sometimes in the form of a spire, sometimes a long tableland…then it breaks up even further. Underneath lies one of the earth’s largest fields of natural gas …first exploited in 1917. So the landscape exists on parallel lines…the scape that we see and then the one underneath where the geologists map out hidden ridges and pools.
And then 2149 miles later, home.
