I didn’t make it dune sledding today but I did see the sun rise. I can’t tell you the last time that happened. I’m not a morning person, and despite my best efforts I don’t think I’ll ever be one. My body and brain argue about which likes it least, and if I’m up early they both retreat to the couch with coffee and wait to boot up like I’m some kind of cyborg. I’m off work until Friday (technically Tuesday, but I’m falling too far behind), so I’m officially vacationing and have plenty of idle time.
At Monahans Sandhills State Park, I’m about as far west in the central time zone as you can go before the switch to mountain time. Usually I wake up about 8:30 a.m., the sun already getting on with its day as I roll from bed and sip that internal sun from a coffee mug. Today the sun was up at 7:30 and I was waiting for the hot bastard.
The weather here is stark. It was below freezing when I woke and hit nearly 70 by 4 p.m. Now at 7 p.m. it’s 55 and falling fast. Tomorrow’s high: 70 and full sun.
Today I drove into Monahans, TX, a town just a half-dozen miles from here, to go to the Million Barrel Museum (and to buy some fruit at a grocery store). I posted a pic on Facebook and a friend of a friend suggested it, so I went without looking it up. I’d assumed it was a museum of oil history in the region, and when in Rome…
The museum is set back a couple hundred yards off a service road with a sign you wouldn’t notice without Google Maps telling you it was there. After I pulled through a half-opened double iron gate and parked, an old woman came out from a small house and said hello. I asked if I was the first visitor of the day (it was 1 in the afternoon) and she said I was and that I was likely to be the only visitor of the day. I signed the guest book as the 10th visitor of 2024. The obvious question is: why is this open? And the answer is probably that people in this town think it’s important, and that’s good enough for me.
Seven buildings occupy the site, an old military base built rapidly as WWII began and America needed B-17 bombers and trained men to fly them. This was where they trained–more than 8,000 on base at a time. A couple buildings were dedicated to military memorabilia. Some to trains and old farm equipment. One was dedicated to Coca-Cola, with thousands of bottles and trinkets. Oh, and there was a gigantic concrete basin that held 1 million barrels of oil but was only ever filled to the brim once. It preceded the military base by a couple of decades, built at a time when there were oil discoveries in the Permian Basin but no where to put or transport the oil, so they built an oil lake.
I’m not a history buff, but my grandpa was a copilot of a B-17 in WWII and flew his 50 missions—the amount you had to fly to get discharged. He didn’t talk much about it, but I know he lost friends and you just generally assumed you’d die each time you went out. He made it, and long story short, now I’m driving around out here alone in the sand dunes without a Nazi in sight.
The museum also had a room where there was various ancient medical equipment, haphazard pictures of townspeople posing for photos after winning baseball or football tournaments, and one wall dedicated to country star Guy Clark, who was evidently born in Monahans, TX. Having not shunned society entirely, I knew who Clark was and I’d heard some of his music but for good measure I put him on shuffle in the truck on the drive back and in the camper. I about cried listening to “My favorite picture of you.” If there’s a better love song, I’m not sure I’ve heard it.
Today was excruciatingly beautiful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall take my leave and retire among the dunes with a glass of cabernet.
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