Our Lucky Home

Last night in the northwest corner of Texas, sky fire-orange, we drove parallel to a well-used railroad along Interstate 54 in search of a place to sleep. With small raindrops glinting through the windshield, we turned West onto what I can most closely describe as a private residential highway with a four-digit numerical name. We continued for about 20 minutes, passing several small branches in the road apparently leading to private ranches.

On an ill-conceived whim I turned onto one such dirt road. I got just far enough to roll my back tires off the gravelly paved way, and feeling an unmistakable drag, I realized we were sinking in mud. I put the car in reverse but it was largely unresponsive except to flash at me the double-triangular symbol on the dash suggesting I alert others to our emergency. Somerset proposed rocking the car out of its tracks and volunteered to get out and push from the front while I backed out. The small alleviation of weight and my turning of the wheel were just enough to allow my car to power its way back up onto the gravel and out of a possible disaster.

So with rain falling and light fading, we turned back to the 54 and soon found a square turnoff such as you might see at the top of a scenic cliff, but without the elevation or view. Between two clusters of trees a tiny driveway led to a flat, pebbly patch next to the railroad tracks, our lucky home for the night. It was sprinkling now and dark all around except a slight orange glow to the West beyond the tracks, so Somerset and I set up quickly and efficiently by headlight. Finding no tarp to cover the mesh windows on top of the dome, we pieced together about five garbage bags from my large stash to serve the purpose, remarking how proud Dad would be of this mechanism. It was about this time that the rain miraculously, completely stopped. We were quite warm in the tent and our only discomfort was auditory – a two-way parade of unbelievably loud trains, one every 45 minutes I’d guess. Some plodded passively, deliberately along while the thunder of others inspired visions of derailment directly onto the vulnerable capsule where slept three little lives unheard of and unloved by anyone within a hundred long miles.