Just Keep Drilling

My first wife, Gail, was the youngest of a very large south Louisiana family, two brothers and five sisters. This meant I had many brothers and sister-in-laws. Bobby, one of my brother-in-laws, was a drilling contractor at the time, and owned drilling rigs. I’ve known many drilling contractors since then, many whom I count as best friends. They all have several things in common: intelligence, strong opinions, and egos the size of Dallas.

Bobby was the only drilling contractor I knew in those days and seemed very stand-offish to me. I took this to mean that he disliked me, but found out later this wasn’t true. I learned as much as a young geologist working for the now defunct Cities Service Oil Company.

I was an exploration geologist, looking for wildcat deposits of oil and gas in Kansas. The company had just drilled my first well, a dry hole, and I was devastated. I barely talked as Gail and I drove to New Orleans to celebrate some holiday or other, but it was apparent she knew something was wrong. Knowing me pretty well, she also had a good idea what was eating at my gut.

Our first night in Chalmette, Bobby and Mertye asked us to their house for a crawfish boil. Mertye, like her mother Lily, was a wonderful cook, and she and Bobby loved to entertain. They were building a swimming pool in their backyard. Everyone apparently feeling my pain, they somehow contrived to leave me alone, outside by the pool. As stars and a gorgeous moon lighted the south Louisiana sky, Bobby wandered outside and joined me.

“How’s work going?” he asked.

“Okay,” I answered.

“Gail told Mertye you just got your first well drilled.”

“Yeah, well it didn’t turn out too well.”

It was dark in the backyard, Bobby illuminated only by the light of moon and stars. Still, I could see he had a somber expression on his face.

“You know,” he said. “I been in the oil business a long time. Let me tell you a little story. Not long ago, we staked a well for an oil company. When we went to move in the rig, the stake was out in the middle of a bayou. We had orders from the oil company to drill that exact location because that’s where the company geologist said the oil was. Know what I did?”

I shook my head.

“I told the boys to close their eyes, and waded into shallow water, pulled up that stake and moved it to high ground, not more than a hundred feet or so from the original location. Know why?”

I shook my head again.

“Because, if a hundred feet makes that much difference, the prospect ain’t worth drilling in the first place. Hell, Eric, we barely know what to expect a hundred feet below the earth’s surface. There damn sure ain’t a road map 10,000 feet down. What I’m trying to tell you is there’s not a geologist alive, at least one that’s drilled an oil well, that hasn’t drilled a dry hole. If they tell you different, they’re lying.”

Bobby was silent for a moment, and then touched my shoulder. He said, “The world can’t survive without people like you. You’re just a kid and are gonna find lots of oil and gas before you die. Keep your head up and go drill another well.”

We wandered back into the house, back to the party, my spirits uplifted by sage advice from a person I admired and respected. When Gail and I returned to Oklahoma, I took his advice, working up a new prospect and drilling yet a second dry hole. This time, I took a deep breath, remembered his words, and just kept drilling.

Years have passed and I’ve drilled hundreds of wells, far more producers than dry holes. We all have angels in our lives from time to time. That night, so long ago in south Louisiana, Bobby taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. And yes, that night, he was an angel—my angel.

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Pedernales River Chili

I found this recipe in an old cookbook. It was submitted by Lady Bird Johnson, former First Lady and wife of President Lyndon B. Johnson. In case you haven’t read about her, Lady Bird was a most interesting person. She was the first, First Lady to become a millionaire in her own right, but her biggest claim to fame was the beautification of our Nation’s highways, ridding them of billboards and planting Texas wildflowers along the way. Don’t know if this will win any chili cookoff contests, but it is quick to prepare and mighty tasty.

Pedernales River Chili

Ingredients

• 4 lbs chili meat

• 1 onion, large, chopped

• 2 cloves garlic, chopped

• 1 tsp oregano, ground

• 1 tsp comino seed

• 2 tbsp chili powder

• 2 cans Ro-tel tomatoes

• Salt to taste

• 2 c hot water

Directions

Put chili meat, onions, and garlic in large heavy boiler or skillet. Sear until light colored. Add oregano, comino, chili powder, tomatoes and hot water. Bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer about 1 hour. Skim away fat as it cooks off.

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Shannon's Logan County Venison Chili - a weekend recipe

My stepdaughter Shannon lives on a ten-acre farm west of Guthrie in Logan County, Oklahoma. She has nine horses and far too many cats, dogs, chickens, peacocks and other assorted animals. Like her Grandmother Joy and Mother Marilyn, she is a wonderful cook. When Scotty, her significant other, returns from a hunt during deer season, she often prepares her own version of venison chili. Take it from me, it’s wonderful!


Ingredients
• 2 T vegetable oil

• 1 onion, large, chopped

• 1 green pepper, chopped

• 2 garlic cloves, large, minced

• 2 ½ T chili powder

• 1 ½ lbs venison, well trimmed, cubed

• ¾ lbs venison, well trimmed, ground

• 1 28 oz can tomatoes, crushed

• 1 c red wine

• 2 T cumin, ground

• 2 T Worcestershire Sauce

• ½ t red pepper

• ½ t salt

• 1 t black pepper

• 2 t Massa powder

Directions
Heat oil in large skillet. Stir in onion, green pepper, garlic and chili powder. Sauté until tender. Add venison and stir with a wooden spoon until brown. Drain off fat. Add remaining ingredients and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer 30 minutes or long enough for chili to thicken. Serve in festive bowls topped with shredded cheddar cheese.

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Happy New Year 2011

Here's hoping 2011 will be our best year ever.

Happy New Year!!

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Big Billy's Catfish Gumbo - a weekend recipe

Here is a quick and easy dish Big Billy used to whip up when he entertained, which was often. Big Billy was so big and athletic that he could have made a career in pro football. Ironically, he was more into talking politics than watching sports on television. Still, his catfish gumbo is a perfect winter dish for watching college bowl games and the Super Bowl. This recipe serves eight.

Ingredients

• 2 lbs catfish filets, bite-sized

• 10 oz okra, sliced

• 1 c celery, chopped

• 1 c onion, chopped

• 1 c green pepper, chopped

• 2 cloves garlic, minced

• 3 T cooking oil

• 4 c beef broth

• 16 oz tomatoes, diced

• 1 bay leaf

• 1 t salt

• ½ t thyme, dried

• ½ t red pepper, ground

• ½ t oregano, dried, crushed

• 4 c rice, cooked, hot

Directions

In a large Dutch oven, cook celery, onion, green pepper and garlic in hot oil until tender. Stir in beef broth, tomatoes, bay leaf, salt, thyme, red pepper and oregano and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes.

Add catfish bites and okra, uncover and return to a boil. Cover and simmer for about 15 minutes or until fish flakes easily. Remove and discard bay leaf. Serve in bowls over rice.

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Total Eclipse of the Moon

Thanksgiving circa 1980s,
from left to right: Mavis,
Anne, Jack, Grandma Dale, Isey

When I went outside very early this morning to watch the lunar eclipse, I realized I was in for a mystical treat. A golden moon brightened hazy sky, back dropped by luminous Christmas lights decorating neighbors’ houses. My big tomcat Goldie joined me as I watched the unfolding event.

I had no telescope and only gazed up at the lunar phenomenon with my naked eyes. The realization that I was witnessing a total lunar eclipse the same day as the Winter Solstice, two events that occur on the same day only once every four hundred years, or so, caused me to recall another story recounted many years ago by my Grandmother Dale O’Rear Rood. Grandmother Dale was born October 27, 1891. She was nineteen when she witnessed Halley’s Comet in 1910.

“Halley’s is the only naked-eye comet that a human can witness twice in a lifetime. Mark Twain saw it twice and so did Papa Pink. I’m going to live until it passes one more time.”

Grandmother Dale didn’t quite make it, dying February 27, 1985 at the age of 93, less than a year from the date (February 9, 1986) Halley’s Comet last passed close enough to Earth to be seen with the naked eye. She actually came closer than Papa Pink; despite his boasts to the contrary, John Pickney O’Rear was born September 9, 1837, almost two years after the comet’s passing November 16, 1835.

I thought about Grandma Rood’s story as I watched the moon disappear into darkness, and then reappear the color of burnished bronze. Goldie didn’t seem to care, but shared my moment like a spiritual being that somehow understood the importance of the celestial event.

Marilyn usually leaves the radio in our living room on all the time. I’m not a religious person, but I couldn’t help but reflect on the Christmas song, Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, playing as I opened the front door and cast one last glance at the sky. It caused me to reflect on my own existence. I won’t be around in 2061 when Halley’s Comet appears again, much less in four hundred years.

Giving Goldie, my big tom a last scratch behind the ears, I grinned, deciding not to ponder the thought further as I plodded off to bed.

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Morning Mist of Blood and the Supernatural

The rattlesnake tattoo on the cover of my new mystery novel Morning Mist of Blood is from a shell gorget found in a Mississippian mound  that dates back to around 1,300 BC. There are many similar gorgets that feature supernatural beasts like strange-headed rattlesnakes, spiders and the underwater panther.

Beaks, talons, claws and fangs were favorite "metaphorical expressions" of power, hunting skill, etc.  I'm not an archaeologist but it seems like there are many similarities with symbols from Mexico, Central America and other parts of the world, especially the all-seeing eye in the center of the human palm.

Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice and the park at Spiro, Oklahoma conducts a winter's solstice walk. The last guided tour (hike) starts at around 2pm and ends at the main Spiro Mound at sunset of the year's longest day. I was hoping to make it but it doesn't look like I will. So many interesting things to do and see and so little time. Oh well, maybe next year.

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