Sunday, November 25, 2018

Oil wells and picnic tables



Sunday, November 25th 2018
Marfa, TX and Los Angeles, CA

It’s 9am and I am waking up for the last day of Thanksgiving vacation. I meet my parents in the lobby for breakfast and it is incredibly crowded. We immediately decide to check out and eat somewhere else. 

I am leaving from the Midland airport at 6pm, so we start meandering in that direction. We pass through 3 towns before we are able to find a suitable place to eat. 

We end up in a small, Mexican restaurant with multicolored, paper flags taped to the walls and metal chairs. I ask the server what kind of meat is in the taco salad. She looks slightly confused by that question and says that it’s ground beef. Her response is perfect and I feel a small pang of nostalgia as I know this moment can only happen in West Texas. 

After brunch, we drive to a town called Monahans to check out the Sandhills park. This is where Texans go surfing on sand and I am super excited to see it. There are multiple road closures on the way, so it takes us a few tries to get into the park. 

When we arrive, the parking lot is empty. My allergies are raging and the wind here is insane. 

Dad goes inside the main office while Mom and I stay in the truck. He returns with a day pass and the news that it’s too windy to sand surf today. I am silently relieved.

We start to drive through the park. At first, we only see sand and tumbleweeds, but eventually, we reach the end of the main road and are greeted with enormous dunes in almost every direction. The sand is light tan and the sky is a strange mix of dark blue and gray. The dunes appear untouched and are adorned with squiggly lines from the incessant wind. 

Dad parks the truck and we get out for pictures. On a whim, I take off my boots, tuck my jeans into my socks and make the climb to the top of the first dune. The sand is incredibly soft and my feet are sinking almost to my ankles with each step. When I get to the top, the view is amazing. There are dunes as far as the eye can see and not one soul in sight. I feel an urge to run around them but the wind is so strong that I am leaning into it to keep from falling over. I reluctantly slide back down to the parking lot as both parents stand at the bottom, recording me on their iPhones.  

We continue to drive around the deserted park. We pass by a picnic area nestled next to a large, working oil well. If this isn’t West Texas, I don’t know what is. 

Eventually we make it to Midland an hour early. I opt to go ahead to the airport; my allergies are making me miserable and I just want to sit quietly indoors. 

At the airport I eat an early dinner and treat myself to a few glasses of wine. As soon my flight opens for boarding, I am the first in line. I have never been more ready to trade in West Texas tumbleweeds for California palm trees. 



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