One last time in Midlandia

Flying into the pump jack forest.

One year ago I drove the last stretch into Midland in an overpacked Prius with two California plates. I was exhausted from the 1,600 mile journey and nervous of what I was walking into. The pump jacks grew thicker in a landscape devoid of life, tuned grey by years of drought and centuries of desertification.

I passed through Odessa first - low-slung, industrial, and blue collar. I passed by the names of Halliburton, Baker Hughes, Schlumberger. Their lots buzzed with activity, the roads were packed with semis and trucks. In West Texas, the middle class blue collar dream was still alive - the promise of opportunity beckoned to thousands.

The ever-present pump jack.

And then the Tall City emerged from the shimmer of heat, 100-degrees of sunshine beating down on it. The tall towers of downtown Midland were the tallest buildings between Phoenix and Ft. Worth, with the Bank of America building soaring to 332 feet with a cross on top. At night the cross would be lit up, proclaiming the city's reach towards the heavens.

When I arrived at what was to be my home, I was greeted by Levi, Heidi, and Lance. Tired from the drive, I was uninspired to unpack and so they suggested we go do something else - eat. We packed up in Levi's truck (aka the USS Enterprise) and headed for a quintessentially Texas dinner at Texas Roadhouse. Loaded down with good company, beer, and not-half-bad barbecue, I thought to myself that this place may not be so bad after all.

Well a year and a month later I write this while sitting in Midland for one last time. My car again sits packed, though with some semblance of organization this time. This place, this outpost of humanity in the middle of an inhospitable desert (which some have called hell) has taught me much about myself and humanity.

Midland and Odessa have reinforced in me that one cannot consider people in absolute terms. Some are good, some are moral, some are religious and some are bigoted. All people have a little bit of it all in them, and while some people draw lines of tolerance in the sand, I've found that my lines have become more dashed than bold in my time here.

My next journey will take me to Victoria, Texas, an eight-hour drive east to a spot 20 miles inland from the Gulf Coast. What I will be covering I cannot say for sure yet, but I am excited to be getting the opportunity to cover oil and gas to a level I had been unable to before.

To my friends: keep each other sane, laugh often, and most of all, come visit me!

To my colleagues: Y'all are great people with limitless potential. As our good ol' Ed Todd has put it time and time again, keep them rascals honest!

Goodbye from Midland!

Loyal readers, I will be back soon with tales from the hot and humid Gulf, full of oil, flying cockroaches and maybe a hurricane or two. Until then, thanks for reading.