Into the dirt

 

By Andrew W. Griffin

Spring is pretty much here in Oklahoma. Change is in the air.

I have been playing the 2014 song “Dirt” by Florida Georgia Line over and over. This eight-year old bro-country song is striking an emotional chord with me. I have noticed a trend over the course of my life that just as the season changes from winter to spring, a strong bittersweet quality really consumes me, particularly when music is concerned. I begin transitioning into more authentic and “traditional”-styled music. That means a lot of country and older soft rock and Yacht rock.

And just yesterday, March 19^th, I was thinking about that being the day the illegal war in Iraq kicked off, under President Bush’s watch. That spring of 2003 was a weird one for me.

Back then, in the spring that the Columbia fell to Earth, as I had unwittingly predicted, I felt a mixture of loss and strange optimism and – dare I say it – confidence? But a horrific, illegal war was being waged and many, many people suffered and died.

I was in a weird place in those days, a “feeling” that had begun in early 1998 when I left Arkansas and moved to Alabama to take classes at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa. I was “countrified” or something. I spent a lot of time in rural areas of Alabama, Mississippi, Florida and Georgia – near the Florida-Georgia, line, I guess. Hanging out in Waffle Houses. Blogging about them, even before I knew what “blogging” was. Griffin’s Hashbrowns, I called it. It was linked to a defunct site called The Waffle House Shrine. I put on a lot of weight eating Southern-fried foods at the Waffle House. But I made some interesting observations and talked to a lot of strange and fascinating people in those days.

Eventually I followed the love of my life in those days – Liberty – and ended up in Waxahachie, Texas. And then down to Louisiana, to be closer to her in New Orleans. In a way, I had predicted my eventually going to central Louisiana. I achieved a lot of solid newspaper writing in those days. Murder mysteries. Crop circles. UFO and Bigfoot sightings. It was a trip. And because it is fairly isolated, away from large population centers, Alexandria, Louisiana generated some genuinely crazy stories. Some were just interesting. And it had a unique vibe: not Lafayette. Not New Orleans or Shreveport or Baton Rouge. It was distinctive in its “crossroads” of the Bayou State sort of way.

And then Hurricanes Katrina and Rita changed everything. I felt disconnected and more lost than ever. I was in a bad place, becoming sick and paranoid. Eventually, at a gas station, a voice told me to move to Oklahoma. And for me, that changed everything.

“You know you came from it / and someday you’ll return to it,” Florida Georgia Line sings on “Dirt.” We all return to dirt. Ashes to ashes and all that.

BLOOD ON THE TRACKS

(Update: 3:54 pm March 23, 2022)

In last night’s dream, I was jailed under very suspicious circumstances. Director Spike Lee was somehow involved. Also, a snake flew out of a hole near a window. Unconsciously, this morning, the first song I cued up on my soundsystem was “Snake Farm” by Ray Wylie Hubbard. I chuckled to myself following this choice.

Thoughts of Arthur Stilwell are near-constant. I feel his presence. Today, while searching for a photo opportunity for a story I am working on involving the Oklahoma license plate being subtly changed.

Anyway, as I drove around the Penn Square Mall parking lot, there in front of me were two large buses promoting the Stilwell Indians athletic teams. In fact, there were a number of out-of-town school buses at the mall. Not sure what is going on.

Anyway, it was interesting to see Arthur Stilwell’s namesake town emblazoned on buses, clear as day.

And then a few hours after that, I get a press release from the Oklahoma Air National Guard reporting the following:

OKLAHOMA CITY - An Air Force F-16 assigned to the 138th Fighter Wing of the Oklahoma Air National Guard crashed today in Beauregard Parish, Louisiana. The pilot safely ejected and was recovered with no serious injuries.

     The 138th Fighter Wing is headquartered in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but the pilot and aircraft were taking part in a routine training mission that departed from Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base, Texas.

     Air Force and civilian emergency first responders immediately responded to the scene of the crash and have no reported injuries at this time.

     The incident is under investigation and additional details will be provided once released by the Air Force.

DeRidder, of course, is a town – and Beauregard Parish seat - along the corridor of the mystical 94^th meridian and was founded  by Stilwell in the late 1890’s and named for one of the Dutch investors for what would become the Kansas City Southern Railroad.

And the crash site is not far from where some of the pieces of the Columbia fell to Earth on Feb. 1, 2003. I was there to cover it. And predict it, apparently.

Odd, in light of the bizarre jet airliner crash in China the other day. The aircraft slammed nose down into the dirt. Truly horrifying.