My youngest daughter is living in Oklahoma for the next couple of years as she finishes up a graduate degree. I remind her frequently that her time there is temporary. I’m hopeful that if I say it out loud often enough it’ll become a fact. We miss her here in Alabama but I’m not sure she misses us quite as much. I hope I’m wrong, but just in case, I take every opportunity to remind her of what she’s not getting to enjoy.
I’m usually pretty confident with throwing the weather thing her way. It might be hotter than Georgia asphalt here, with blanket humidity that puts the moisture wicking in our tank tops to the serious stress test, but at least I don’t have to check the wind speed and direction when I leave the house to determine the path of least resistance in which I should plan my day. Instead, unless one of those pesky tornadoes is bearing down, we have no wind to walk into at all. That’s right, no wind at all. And that’s a good thing, I tell her. A good thing. Zero wind speed and 90% humidity is a good thing. I just know she’s missing it.
I don’t have to waste money on any of that spray-on de-icer for the car locks in winter and I don’t know when was the last time I wondered where I left the ice scraper. Best of all, the average winter temperature here is a bit higher than Oklahoma’s negative 38.
She’s also missing the barn fun we’ve been having this summer. Well, barn chores are usually my alone time so I guess it’s really my own private paradise. With three horses housed in the barn, none of which I can claim, but that’s neither here nor there, stalls can get a bit challenging. Still, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of accomplishment when every stall is clean and every water bucket filled. Then I can retire to my open-air office behind the barn in my low-slung beach chair and enjoy the blue sky and stagnant—no, calm, maybe even refreshing—air. And I’m sure to send her a snapchat at that point of my leisurely morning. I just know she’s missing it.
I usually also include a snap of her 25-year-old mare that I’m meticulously caring for in her absence. A little guilt in the mix is never a bad thing. If you’re a skilled Southern mom, you can throw that guilt without saying a word. And I’m a skilled Southern mom. I don’t mind at all medicating the rain rot on her horse’s back. In fact, I rather enjoy the one-on-one bonding time with her horse, so there’s absolutely no reason to rush home. See how easy that is?
We have colorful and creative people here that I think Oklahoma is sadly missing. Just this week, I read an arrest report of a guy in Limestone County who had been making meth in his home and loitering around known drug establishments. What actually got him noticed by law enforcement, though, was the meth-crazed attack squirrel he was prone to unleash on intruders. Arresting deputies called in local animal control and also involved the Fisheries and Wildlife government people, who collectively determined that the squirrel should be released into the wild, as it was against the law to keep a wild animal as a pet. I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it, but at any rate, the druggie squirrel was returned to the wild to rehabilitate, I suppose. Match that, Oklahoma.
And she’ll be happy to know that the crazy guy from what we always called Crazy Corner, the little blue house in the curve of the road, is back from jail. He was arrested about five years ago—for what, I don’t know—but he was often found on the Nanceford Road bridge lecturing passing drivers and occasionally lunging from the rail in the path of oncoming cars. I have a suspicion drugs were involved and may still be, but he’s back, and the community is none too happy about it. And she’s missing it. I know she wishes she were here to once again play Dodge the Crazy.
I could be wrong, but I don’t think her area of Oklahoma has anything to compare to Blount County’s hayfield water park. It takes skill to create a water park in a hayfield, but just give us a challenge and see what you get. From the road, the water park seems to spring up like Dorothy’s Emerald City, only this one has sparkling water flumes and zip funnels, and toilet-bowl-style whooshing water tracks that hurtle screaming yoga mat riders to the final flush. Never mind that there is no creek or river within miles. Who needs one when you can just build your own? I don’t think Oklahoma can do that. They have no idea what a river actually is if they can in good conscience give that suffix to the Cimarron. And build a water park on dry land? Please. We’d like to see you try.
Predictability is not our strong suit, and I’m sure she also misses that, what with the stale Midwesterners she deals with daily. Take the plumbing supplies salesman who helped us choose new sink fixtures today. Well groomed, with shirt tucked in and belted, and little round glasses, he had a definite mild-mannered Walter Mitty vibe. We learned that the plumbing company has a pleasant Christian atmosphere, with fair and honest treatment expected, and even required, for every transaction. As we finalized payment, the discussion turned to the dishonesty of some private contractors. Walter Mitty recalled a contractor who had taken money for a job he promised to do, but then vanished with the money before even beginning the project. Sympathizing, I asked if he ever got his money back. “No,” replied Walter, “but he don’t walk the same anymore.” Oh. Well alright then. I think I slightly underestimated Walter. My check will definitely clear.
Having recently visited her in Oklahoma, I’m well aware that the OSU mascot is a “Poke,” and that the rival university is proud to be a “Sooner.” Whatever happened to naming sports teams for large and/or ferocious animals, or at least understandable entities? Were she at home, she could cheer for the Tigers, Lions, Bulldogs, or even the visually overwhelming Crimson Tide. Admittedly, Ole Miss is an island to itself intellectually, as only they understand exactly what a Landshark is. I’m glad they do, as the rest of us are happy to remain in the dark I suppose. But with that one exception, we typically are pretty upfront with team names. But a Sooner? Personally, I think that any mascot with a human face should not be allowed. And that includes cowpokes.
She will likely argue with my claim to all the fun people, those who are the most unpredictable and freeform. She will describe the Ag instructor at OSU who is determined to earn a place on the U.S. Agriculture rolls as the only pineapple farmer in Oklahoma. He who grows pineapples in his office and claims to be a farmer could be an exception to my rule, but I’m pretty sure he is not an Oklahoma native so we won’t count that one.
I really can’t throw shade on Oklahoma’s food, as we certainly didn’t go hungry during our recent visit. But what I can say is that it’s pretty generic. If you want anything beef, be it hamburgers or steak or anything in between, then you’ll be in the right place there. Cowpokes like beef. But you can’t drop by the Dixie Queen for a fried chocolate-covered Oreo or a cone of orange-pineapple ice cream. I think sweet tea is a possibility, so that’s good, but otherwise the choices are just a bit more inhibited, I think, as if somebody might be offended by variety. It’s clear that nobody’s Aunt Dee is rattling around barefoot in the kitchen frying things.
It would be unrealistic to claim everything good. Oklahoma might not enjoy our weather, creative people, hayfield water parks, or unpredictability. They might be stuck with ho hum food and boring wide open spaces, but I’ll give them a pass on the gorgeous sunsets, tallgrass prairie, buffalo, and the Pioneer Woman. Their ranchers’ clubs top ours, I’m sure, and the cowpoke is sort of cute. Even so, those passes aren’t enough to tip the scale in that state’s favor so I’m sure she’ll be back soon. I know she wants to take over the care and feeding of her horse, not that I’d ever ask. I just know she misses us.
