BIG SOUTHERN CHAPTER 93

APRIL 2013

The two county drivers wait outside their dump trucks at the new pit site. They're starting just north of the museum and will eventually work their way from the north fence to the south, a quarter mile away. They intend to stay to the west side, the east being less gravelly and the northeast a hill that will be nothing but topsoil between rock piles.

Their trucks idle while they wait for the semi bringing the loader. "The kid who worked here last summer, he's going to run it," the first driver says, continuing their conversation. He nods to the trailer across the road where the museum was last year. "Only up at the pumping station. That's where we're taking this gravel."

"Not sure where that is," the second driver says.

"Let me drop a pin," the first one replies. He wrestles with his phone.

The second hears his own phone, looks at the new information. "I know where that is, haven't ever seen it, I guess."

"Kind of hidden."

"How'd the County score that? Looks like Canal Company property."

"99-year lease. Just like the railroad. I imagine the Canal thinks it'll get some favorable treatment when they need it. Water being water, you never know."

"Reckon as much." They stand in silence. A flock of geese flies overhead, lower than they would during hunting season. Somehow they know, the second driver thinks. "I guess when you're Commissioner you have a little sway."

The first briefly chuckles. "Dad used to joke, but it was true, that you could tell who was Commissioner by what road was being paved. Course, that would be back when all the roads mostly was gravel."

"My dad said the same thing. It's true. Bradley's. Caldwell. Cushman. They were the first roads paved. Then they named the roads after them. I don't know about the other end of the county. Not so familiar to me."

"The kid's going to run the museum," says the first. "You meet him? Someone said he was a missionary."

The second shakes his head no. "What happened to Burgess?"

"Left. Parts unknown."

The semi with the loader pulls up. Denny Grover gets out. "Boys," he announces, then heads back to the trailer to unchain the tractor.

The drivers start over to help. "Kid's going to put a mini-restaurant with the new museum. Guess he ran a food truck in Blackfoot last fall," says the first. "Had some success. Until he was run out." He stops mid-stride. "Serves Jello, I'm told," he says quizzically.

"Wouldn't be my thing, then. Why the change from here to there?" asks the second driver.

The first shrugs. "Doyle thinks it'd get a better turnout if it were closer to town."

The second driver laughs. "It ain't exactly Disneyland. Did you go? I didn't."

"Nope. Somebody said there was a bunch of barbed wire. Barbed wire, for Hell's sake, like no one has seen barbed wire."

Each goes to a separate side, unhooks a chain. Grover pulls out the ramps, walks onto the trailer and starts the loader.

© 2025 Ralph Thurston