While googling articles on Arkansas quartz, I came across a blast from the past: the website of a person that I had attended grad school with and haven’t seen in probably thirty years.
Mike went to work for the Arkansas Geologic Commission after graduating from U of A and has one of the largest collections of Arkansas minerals in the world. Mike and I made a trip to Oklahoma looking for work shortly after we finished our course work at Arkansas. I am still here, after all these years.
Seeing Mike’s website got me to thinking about other old friends that I haven’t seen in many years. After several wrong numbers, I reconnected with Joel in Colorado, a close friend that I haven’t talked with in years. We decided a reunion in Arkansas is in order. Now all we have to do is plan it, and then reconnect with all the others we haven’t seen in years.
I went even further back and tried to reconnect with old friend (a person featured in the article Summer of Bologna) Russ, doctor of geology at Nicholls State University in Louisiana. I found that he is no longer there, so I guess I will start calling wrong numbers until I find him.
These days, friends seem disposable. You can always make others. Well, maybe not. Maybe some of your old friends are the best friends you will ever have. Tonight, I began testing this theory and after talking with old friend Joel, I am convinced of it.
Gondwana
Showing posts with label arkansas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label arkansas. Show all posts
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Greatest Geological Spectacle
As a graduate student at the University of Arkansas, I quickly learned the beauty and mystery of the geology around me. My thesis advisor, Dr. K, wanted me to complete a thesis on the stibnite deposits in southwest Arkansas. Dr. K was, and is, my geologic hero, and I wanted whatever he wanted.
I began spending every weekend in Sevier County near the little town of King. The campground where Gail, my ex-wife and I stayed is a dead-ringer for the one that I describe in my novel A Gathering of Diamonds. Gail and I spent days, deep in the forests of southwest Arkansas. Although we are no longer together, I will say this for her: she was a trooper, following me into blind canyons, dark abandoned mines and musty caverns with no fear for her life.
In Gathering, Tom and Mary Ann meet two deranged hillbillies, deep in the Ouachita Mountains. I did not make this up. Gail and I were actually terrorized by two crazy-as-hell hillbillies and were both happy that we lived to tell about it.
There is a road cut near Caddo Gap that is a geologic wonder, perhaps the greatest geologic spectacle of them all. I wish I could find my old pictures, and someday I will return to duplicate them.
I began spending every weekend in Sevier County near the little town of King. The campground where Gail, my ex-wife and I stayed is a dead-ringer for the one that I describe in my novel A Gathering of Diamonds. Gail and I spent days, deep in the forests of southwest Arkansas. Although we are no longer together, I will say this for her: she was a trooper, following me into blind canyons, dark abandoned mines and musty caverns with no fear for her life.
In Gathering, Tom and Mary Ann meet two deranged hillbillies, deep in the Ouachita Mountains. I did not make this up. Gail and I were actually terrorized by two crazy-as-hell hillbillies and were both happy that we lived to tell about it.
There is a road cut near Caddo Gap that is a geologic wonder, perhaps the greatest geologic spectacle of them all. I wish I could find my old pictures, and someday I will return to duplicate them.
I want to visit three more geologic wonders, Jamaica, Iceland and the Afar Triangle before I die, but I have already seen the ultimate, and it was deep in the heart of the Ouachita Mountains.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Strange Encumbrance
I was in my last semester of graduate school at the University of Arkansas and still married to my first wife Gail. Our best friends, Toni and Terrence went with us to Chalmette to celebrate Mardi Gras. Terrence was an animal husbandry major and we spent a day and night in Ferriday, Louisiana where Gail's father was the supervisor of a large cattle ranch. We enjoyed a personal tour of the ranch and some of Ms Lili's gumbo before heading to Chalmette.
Gail had four sisters and two brothers. Each regaled us with drinks, dinners and frivolity, leading up to Mardi Gras Day. That Tuesday morning we awoke early and headed downtown. Drinking on the street was legal and we began imbibing by ten in the morning. We watched every parade we could get to, and along the way, we continued drinking.
We tried to pace ourselves, eating hot dogs and gumbo from various street vendors. All we really succeeded in doing was sobering ourselves for an awkward moment before plunging back into the depths of drunkenness. Somewhere around ten that night, we finally stumbled to the car and headed north to Fayetteville.
When we reached Jackson, Mississippi, we stopped at a Denny's for breakfast. My stomach felt like hell, but still slightly better than my head. We reached Fayetteville at six the next morning, hardly time for a shower before I had to take a final test at eight.
Do not ask me how, but I aced the test, perhaps the best score I ever had in grad school. A few months later, Gail and I moved to Oklahoma City and never saw Toni and Terrence again.
I have never really thought much about that Mardi Gras, my lost friendship and failed marriage. Maybe it is because youth is a strange encumbrance whose weight you never really feel until long after Father Time finally removes it.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
Gail had four sisters and two brothers. Each regaled us with drinks, dinners and frivolity, leading up to Mardi Gras Day. That Tuesday morning we awoke early and headed downtown. Drinking on the street was legal and we began imbibing by ten in the morning. We watched every parade we could get to, and along the way, we continued drinking.
We tried to pace ourselves, eating hot dogs and gumbo from various street vendors. All we really succeeded in doing was sobering ourselves for an awkward moment before plunging back into the depths of drunkenness. Somewhere around ten that night, we finally stumbled to the car and headed north to Fayetteville.
When we reached Jackson, Mississippi, we stopped at a Denny's for breakfast. My stomach felt like hell, but still slightly better than my head. We reached Fayetteville at six the next morning, hardly time for a shower before I had to take a final test at eight.
Do not ask me how, but I aced the test, perhaps the best score I ever had in grad school. A few months later, Gail and I moved to Oklahoma City and never saw Toni and Terrence again.
I have never really thought much about that Mardi Gras, my lost friendship and failed marriage. Maybe it is because youth is a strange encumbrance whose weight you never really feel until long after Father Time finally removes it.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Love in a Time of Angst
Most colleges and universities require that geology students complete a summer course in the elements of field geology, i.e. surface mapping, plane table and alidade and use of Brunton Compass. I was a sophomore when I took my field course at Northeast Louisiana’s camp near Batesville, Arkansas. For you NASCAR fans, Batesville is the hometown of racer Mark Martin.
I’ve already chronicled many of the adventures – or more likely misadventures – that happened during my time at field camp. This story is neither, more like a sad tale of one of those lifetime opportunities that you somehow let slip through your fingers and have regretted it ever since.
My mapping partner, Russell B. and I were working a quadrangle twenty or so miles out of Batesville. The field camp lay square atop the Ozark Uplift, a wonderfully scenic cluster of gently rolling hills topped with stunning sea green vegetation. The terrain reminded me of the Austrian Alps in the movie, Sound of Music. Russell was similarly affected one particular afternoon.
We were finished with our mapping for the day and heading down the road to where Professor D and his field assistant awaited with the vehicles. My partner threw down his mapping board, extended his arms in a Shirley Andrews imitation and began singing the hills are alive with the sound of music, his voice raised in his best basso rendition.
“Russell, you are a scream,” I said, realizing his spontaneous outburst provided us both with a momentary release from the heat, humidity and mosquitoes.
“We’ll both be screaming if we don’t make it back to the cars by three.”
“Dr. D’s never left anyone up here.”
“Not yet,” he said.
He was right. Both of us had already had an encounter with Dr. D, suffering the lecturing attack of his sharp tongue, and threat of an impending zero on this particular portion of field camp. Neither of us wanting to suffer Dr. D’s wrath again, we double-timed our way to the County blacktop – just as a green Ford Pickup truck came tooling down the road. Rather than flying past, the truck braked to a stop in front of us.
It was in the days before serial killers and mass murderers. And besides, we’d seen the truck and its driver several times before as it passed us on the blacktop. Russell and I sprinted forward in anticipation of a ride down the road to where Dr. D and the other students awaited, and meeting the driver that had also seen us a time or two as we worked our way down the road.
The driver was a pretty blonde young lady, her smile as broad and friendly as she was double gorgeous. “You boys need a ride?” she asked, her words as twangy as a Dobro played with a slide formed from the neck of a Budweiser bottle.
“You bet we do,” I said, tossing my map board in the truck bed and sliding in next to her before Russell had a chance to beat me to it.
Russell followed, his miffed expression telling me how unhappy he was about being taken advantage of. I had no time to worry about his appearance of utter hurt as I was too busy ogling the young woman sitting so close to me that I could feel the warmth of her legs.
Did I already mention that she was gorgeous? She was, with flawless skin wonderfully tanned by a friendly Arkansas sun, big flashing eyes the color of an Irish vale in springtime, and teeth that reminded me of a perfect strand of pearls.
Oh, and what a bod! A shapely pair of tanned legs protruded from cutoff blue jeans whose frayed hemline provided little more cover than a bikini bottom, and twice as sexy. My vivid imagination informed me that she was also panty-less. Maybe, but I didn’t care. Her blouse was one of those low-cut, braless strap-arounds so popular at the time. I must have been staring – I know that I was drooling – because Russell elbowed me sharply in the ribs.
“I’m Susan Love,” she said, her coy smile indicating that she hoped I was getting an eyeful. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Russ and this is Eric,” Russell said, reaching across my chest to shake Susan’s hand.
“I’ve seen you two up on the mountain. You’re college boys, aren’t you?”
We both smiled and nodded, Susan’s nuance indicating that she thought our studenthood a good thing.
“There’s an old quarry filled with water up in the hills. I’m going swimming there with some of my girlfriends. You boys want to come along?”
I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter of three. Realizing the consequences of failing to return to the cars by departure time was tantamount to failing the course and I said, “We have to get back to the camp but we’ll be back here tomorrow. Can we go then?”
Susan just shook her pretty head. “Sometimes we go skinny-dipping. Sure you boys can’t make it today?”
By this time, Russell and I were both blubbering. Susan’s smile told us she knew it and fully understood her physical control over us. There were parts of me that craved to go with her. Well, at least one part, but I couldn’t and I knew that Russell felt the same. We had obligations to fulfill, parents to appease.
Russell was begging when he said, “There’s nothing in the world we’d rather do than go swimming with you and your girlfriends but we’ll flunk if we do. Can’t we meet you tomorrow?”
Wielding her power, Susan just grinned and shook her head. “Maybe I’ll see you boys on the road again, or in town at the ice cream place.”
Lovely Susan let us off at the geology cars, our only consolation the envious looks of the other students as we climbed out of the truck. We visited the ice cream place in Batesville several times that summer but we never saw Susan again, either there or on the road.
Years have passed since that summer in Arkansas but I can still feel the palpable warmth of Susan’s thighs next to mine and still remember the unfulfilled promise in her sexy smile. But hey, at least I made a C in field geology.
Eric'sWeb
I’ve already chronicled many of the adventures – or more likely misadventures – that happened during my time at field camp. This story is neither, more like a sad tale of one of those lifetime opportunities that you somehow let slip through your fingers and have regretted it ever since.
My mapping partner, Russell B. and I were working a quadrangle twenty or so miles out of Batesville. The field camp lay square atop the Ozark Uplift, a wonderfully scenic cluster of gently rolling hills topped with stunning sea green vegetation. The terrain reminded me of the Austrian Alps in the movie, Sound of Music. Russell was similarly affected one particular afternoon.
We were finished with our mapping for the day and heading down the road to where Professor D and his field assistant awaited with the vehicles. My partner threw down his mapping board, extended his arms in a Shirley Andrews imitation and began singing the hills are alive with the sound of music, his voice raised in his best basso rendition.
“Russell, you are a scream,” I said, realizing his spontaneous outburst provided us both with a momentary release from the heat, humidity and mosquitoes.
“We’ll both be screaming if we don’t make it back to the cars by three.”
“Dr. D’s never left anyone up here.”
“Not yet,” he said.
He was right. Both of us had already had an encounter with Dr. D, suffering the lecturing attack of his sharp tongue, and threat of an impending zero on this particular portion of field camp. Neither of us wanting to suffer Dr. D’s wrath again, we double-timed our way to the County blacktop – just as a green Ford Pickup truck came tooling down the road. Rather than flying past, the truck braked to a stop in front of us.
It was in the days before serial killers and mass murderers. And besides, we’d seen the truck and its driver several times before as it passed us on the blacktop. Russell and I sprinted forward in anticipation of a ride down the road to where Dr. D and the other students awaited, and meeting the driver that had also seen us a time or two as we worked our way down the road.
The driver was a pretty blonde young lady, her smile as broad and friendly as she was double gorgeous. “You boys need a ride?” she asked, her words as twangy as a Dobro played with a slide formed from the neck of a Budweiser bottle.
“You bet we do,” I said, tossing my map board in the truck bed and sliding in next to her before Russell had a chance to beat me to it.
Russell followed, his miffed expression telling me how unhappy he was about being taken advantage of. I had no time to worry about his appearance of utter hurt as I was too busy ogling the young woman sitting so close to me that I could feel the warmth of her legs.
Did I already mention that she was gorgeous? She was, with flawless skin wonderfully tanned by a friendly Arkansas sun, big flashing eyes the color of an Irish vale in springtime, and teeth that reminded me of a perfect strand of pearls.
Oh, and what a bod! A shapely pair of tanned legs protruded from cutoff blue jeans whose frayed hemline provided little more cover than a bikini bottom, and twice as sexy. My vivid imagination informed me that she was also panty-less. Maybe, but I didn’t care. Her blouse was one of those low-cut, braless strap-arounds so popular at the time. I must have been staring – I know that I was drooling – because Russell elbowed me sharply in the ribs.
“I’m Susan Love,” she said, her coy smile indicating that she hoped I was getting an eyeful. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Russ and this is Eric,” Russell said, reaching across my chest to shake Susan’s hand.
“I’ve seen you two up on the mountain. You’re college boys, aren’t you?”
We both smiled and nodded, Susan’s nuance indicating that she thought our studenthood a good thing.
“There’s an old quarry filled with water up in the hills. I’m going swimming there with some of my girlfriends. You boys want to come along?”
I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter of three. Realizing the consequences of failing to return to the cars by departure time was tantamount to failing the course and I said, “We have to get back to the camp but we’ll be back here tomorrow. Can we go then?”
Susan just shook her pretty head. “Sometimes we go skinny-dipping. Sure you boys can’t make it today?”
By this time, Russell and I were both blubbering. Susan’s smile told us she knew it and fully understood her physical control over us. There were parts of me that craved to go with her. Well, at least one part, but I couldn’t and I knew that Russell felt the same. We had obligations to fulfill, parents to appease.
Russell was begging when he said, “There’s nothing in the world we’d rather do than go swimming with you and your girlfriends but we’ll flunk if we do. Can’t we meet you tomorrow?”
Wielding her power, Susan just grinned and shook her head. “Maybe I’ll see you boys on the road again, or in town at the ice cream place.”
Lovely Susan let us off at the geology cars, our only consolation the envious looks of the other students as we climbed out of the truck. We visited the ice cream place in Batesville several times that summer but we never saw Susan again, either there or on the road.
Years have passed since that summer in Arkansas but I can still feel the palpable warmth of Susan’s thighs next to mine and still remember the unfulfilled promise in her sexy smile. But hey, at least I made a C in field geology.
Eric'sWeb
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