Nov

26

The Best Day of the Year

As Hershel Lamont drove up to the rigs, he used his arm to shield his eyes from the already blazing early morning Texas sun. The old sun visor just won't do it in this part of the country but there's nuthin' a good cowboy hat and a raised arm can't block. He parked his pickup in the usual place; behind the wide-body trailer that served as his office, so the truck's interior would stay cool most of the day. Stepping out onto the dry soil as he had for the last five years since graduating from Petroleum & Mineral School, he surveyed his small yet adequate oil exploration operations. “Wildcatting”, Hershel said out loud, “the word alone sounds like something decent folks wouldn't do, couldn't do, shouldn't do…” But Hershel knew if given the chance, he still wouldn't choose any other life. As he strode up to the trailer, he stopped for a second to knock the dirt off his boots. Chuckling he thought, “Always easier to talk to myself when none of the crew has arrived yet. Lest they think I'm nuts.”

So what was it about this business called Wildcatting that drove him to it? It was damn hard work; the hours grueling, dirty and hot most days, dangerous as hell when you least expected it. Other times were marked by hours of boredom when all ya can do is watch the equipment and wait for the pumping process to unfold for better or worse. What was it gonna be coming up the pipe this time; water or something worthy of a noble effort? “Hot damn though”, Hershel said while slapping his leg, “there is nothing like hitting a gusher, when black gold shoots 30 ft. into the sky and somehow watching it flow, it washes away all the fatigue and pain you've been carrying around in your bones seemingly forever.” Prospecting has a way of aging you fast and the elixir of a find comes at just the right time; that is most times.

Five rigs wouldn't make Hershel rich, he knew that already, but he had a knack for the business. And something about it kept him springing out of bed every morning, most days before the rooster crowed. Many guys couldn't keep their prospectin' running past the first year and Hershel had lasted five times as long. It had to count for something in the big game. Keeping his budget tight, he could get by on two rigs and with the other three producing even modest amounts, the cash flow would build up a kitty to buy a few more rigs and double his acreage in the next year. He hoped old widow Kelly would be agreeable to a similar land deal since he had been fair with her on price the last time and she had no one to leave the ranch to. Besides they both knew there were no guarantees the ground would yield anything; Boss Kelly had tried his damndest and failed. But he hadn't tried hard enough by Hershel's estimation. “…Ahh, another benefit of wildcatting! Little by little, if you stick with it long enough; what some call grit, an unshakable faith in yourself builds. Ya just get a sense that through thick and thin when the smoke clears you'll be left standing to live another day.”, Hershel surmised.

Sure it took smarts to get into this business and stay in it. He studied hard at Western Amarillo College but there were always going to be smarter fellows. That didn't mean harder working though since he had seen his fair share of sharpies who were lazy and wasted their God given talents. Some of them couldn't find water if they stepped into a bucket; they were too lazy to lift their heads from their naps. Anyway, it took him more time than he expected to adjust from broncho busting to sitting at a desk and studying chemical structures of oil, rig setups, subsurface formations and the like. Even though some days he could barely contain the ants in his pants, somehow he plowed through the required courses graduating with admirable grades. But grades did not get you far in this volatile business and it took more than a bit of luck which not everyone has. Hershel recalled that old Navajo sitting in front of the general store on the first day he arrived in the little town of Soudan. Out of the blue, the Indian gave him a cockeyed glance and said “You look like you're here to hunt oil…In a few years, you'll almost be able to smell where it is.” Hershel thought he caught a scent every once in a while and his rigs were working flat out right where he first placed them. “Boy, did I sweat those final days of studying soil samples. Thought my eyes would go bad if I looked at them any longer”, Hershel said. Still, he reckoned he had a few more years till it would come that easy to him.

“Hells Bells”, said Hershel looking at the faded Snyder Oil calendar on his desk, “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving! I have been working so hard, it crept up on me this year.” Of all the holidays, this was Hershel's favorite. New Years Day was usually spent laying in bed taking the day very slow after imbibing too much the night before in some Honky Tonk bar. Didn't really matter which one and frankly Hershel usually didn't remember the name of the place he stumbled out of. Now before you get any ideas, Hershel allowed himself one day every year to really rip it up, speak his mind and feel free from his obligations. After all, every man has to cut loose once in a while. Sure Valentine's Day was a hoot and he liked the girls plenty. But he hated hauling into town as fast as he could after work to get cleaned up, run over to the store for flowers and barely make it to the girls' homes to pick them up for a proper dinner and dancing afterwards. He always felt a bit disheveled and sheepish pulling into his chosen date's driveway. You wouldn't find him complaining about the benefits of that holiday though; the after-effects felt like walking on clouds for a week. Christmas was always special with most of the day spent in Church; the only day Hershel found the time to go, and swapping gifts with family and close friends. Mostly enjoying folks he didn't see very often.

Thanksgiving just seemed different. Yea, there was the over-eating and over-drinking of the other holidays but on Thanksgiving, Hershel always felt it was a day of gratitude. Mind you, not just the normal gratitude for what others had done for him but something deeper. A day to sit back and recognize his own accomplishments. It sounds a little selfish and luxurious to some but how often can ya take note, if only for one day, of all that you've surmounted? Most days were spent handling all the little details which put a small business on the road to becoming a big one. And Hershel knew hardship. “Yep, it has been a rough ride and the weight on one's back seems unbearable but sticking to it sometimes life just has a way of giving you a break too.” Hershel was proud of all he had done– from small town, broncho busting hick with two buffalo nickels and a folding knife in his pocket to bona fide professional oil driller with the sky's-the-limit opportunity. He was his own man; beholden to no one and didn't have to dress in fancy clothes or socialize with folks he didn't respect in order to run his outfit. His hard work and sacrifices translated into accumulating all the land he could see from his office, selling off all the petroleum he could bring up from the ground and supporting his crew of roughnecks and their families. As for the other townfolk, his supply orders brought all sorts of vendors selling their goods to the general store, his pipes and fittings needs kept the blacksmith's forge running hot, and old Doc Mackson's sleeves seemed to be permanently rolled up ready to patch up a few of his boys. Grinning, Hershel said, “I always smirk seeing Mr. Cobbs the banker hop up from his chair and greet me at the door when I walk in to make another deposit after selling my barrels.” So Thanksgiving isn't just about blessings which we should consider every day if we know what is good for us but it is also about admiring the good and decent which comes from pursuing what compels you; what drives you. Beaming with pride, Hershel said, “From one man's dream chasing and the early results of it being realized, my business touches and improves the lives of forty to fifty people I imagine. One has to give thanks for that…”


Comments

Name

Email

Website

Speak your mind

Archives

Resources & Links

Search