Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Monday, July 20, 2009

Open Roads of North Texas Beckon Me

Below I show two photographs I took along Hwy 367. Oil field pumper communication devices have begun to intrigue me. Here's what I know about them so far, and I ask that you correct me if I have wrong information: The pumper would raise the can particular to a tank to indicate it was ready to "run"; the gauger would see it as (s)he would drive by, then stop to test the oil in the tank; if the oil measured within standards, the spigot would then be opened and the oil allowed to "run" down the pipes into the domain of the purchaser; and, they used these communication devices until the 90s once trucks began to transport the oil and tele-communucations became prevalent, moves that phased out the cans and made them obsolete. The top photos shows, still, the names Stevens and Johnson (written in paint as S + K), Fred's oil company, on the light blue can.
I have another photograph at my pbase site: http://pbase.com/ebhawley/image/110207759
Interestingly, in the 80s women became involved as gaugers and truckers, hired particularly by the major service companies, such as Halliburton and Schlumberger. Within the realm of the small oil companies, women need not bother to apply for a job, same as African Americans or Hispanics. This still rings true, unfortunately.
Today I rode the 2009 BMW F 800 ST to discover that it seems perfectly adapted to the straight or winding roads traversing the vast ranch and farmlands of Texas. Include some twisties and you won't mind the heat or the grasshoppers hitting your legs.
I took the photo below in Electra. The lot remains empty, yet cared for. Some controversy surrounds the owner of the lot. It sits next to the antique shop on the corner of Main Street, and just a stone's throw from the Grand Theatre. But I like the colors of the brick and the oldness of the wall. I like, too, the pile of bricks on the grass covering an old floor.
I show below an historical marker along Hwy 25 that states that about 100 yards to the west lay an old route used before 1890 to transport buffalo hides. It mentions that Native Americans needed the bison to survive, and so the invaders from the east devoted themselves to decimating the herds: "no bison; no 'injuns.'" Anathema.
A note to motorcyclists: Drive safely. Wear protective attire. Return home.



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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.