Did I ever tell you about how I raised eyebrows by telling about how “we took out a single pole and did eight rod jobs on Cindy Owens then set up and worked over a hole for the next month or so.”

For those who nein sprickense oilpatch, all that means is that we used the most common form of well servicing unit to pull connecting rods and change pumps on eight wells located on the Cynthia Owens lease. After which, we did a longer-term project of major maintenance and production increase on yet another well.

But before we could start, we had to wait until the gang finished burying the dead men and Schlumberger ran a wire into Ellen Berger.

(Labor crew had to pound tie-downs into the
underlying caliche and Schlumberger had to assure that the chemical fracturing would hit
the rock formation containing oil (ellenberger).

Language is fun.

And I drove trucks up north when I first got here and picked up some very funny idioms talking to people there. It took awhile longer to get the hang of their droll humour, rhyming slang, and stuff like that.

And they have very casual attitudes towards racism and stuff like that. Very few of the people I dealt with are racist to any serious degree but they deliberately say things like “That’s downright white of you” and it’s just as likely to be to an Indian as an Australian. “He’s a real white man” means he’s a top bloke but he could well be black.

In Guildford, the closest town where I live I’m “the local septic” meaning septic tank meaning Yank.

It just goes on and on. Cracks me up.

And from my truck driving days I picked up a lot of country idioms that are rarely used in the city and it really cracks people up to hear me using them with what they tell me is still a broad American accent.

Then I go back to SF and my sisters get annoyed because I unintentionally use Australian idioms. I’ve been here so long I can’t drop them like I used to be able to 20 years ago.

It’s probably just as well I’m a print journo and not a radio announcer with my accent.

English is a wonderful plaything and there are some wonderfully accomplished practitioners on BC.

The first Sheriff of San Francisco, and founder of Oakland, was a Texas Ranger.

Jack Hays by name. Had the first pair of Colts ever seen in the Republic of Texas. Courtesy of the Texas Navy he equipped his Ranger Company with the 9-inch Texas Pattersons. His subordinate, Samuel Walker designed the Walker Colt which saved Colt from bankruptcy.

Learn something every day, eh?

I remember being drafted to play interpreter for some Aussie Warrant Officers in DaNang.

Evening started Okay. Then atterspottergrog
stalkstrine. Left me telling an elderly Vietnamese gentleman that “while I can understand you, Uncle, I cannot understand what my fellow white men are saying”.

In return, I got Inscrutable Oriental Stare #3. Which means “who you think you BS-ing, Long Nose?” “Twas one of lifes embarassing moments.

Murphy, y’all eat them ‘roos?

The rhythm of the verse and the general tone reminds me of “A Country Boy Will Survive”.

And here I sit in a tin shack 800 yards from my front gate with a garden full of vegies, 3 dams full of water, lots of ammo and a paddock full of ‘roos ‘n rabbits (aka underground chicken).

Things could be worse.

I got a crib full of corn, and a turnin’ plow
But the grounds to wet for the hopper now.
Got a cultivator and a double tree
A leather line for the HAW and gee
Let the thunder roll and the lighting flash
I’m doing alright for Country Trash

I’m saving up dimes for a rainy day
I got about a dollar laid away
The winds from the south and the fishings good
Got a pot belly stove and a CORD of wood
Mama turns the left-overs into hash
I’m doing alright for Country Trash

I got a MACKINAW and a hunting dog
A cap I ordered from the catalogue
A big tall tree that shades the yard
A big fat sow for the winters lard
Let the thunder roll and the lighting flash
I’m doing alright for
Country Trash

Well there’s not much new ground left to plow
And the crops need fertilizer now
My hands don’t earn me too much gold
For security when I grow old
But we’ll all be equal under the grass
And God’s got a heaven for
Country Trash
God’s got a heaven for
Country Trash
I’ll be doing alright for
Country Trash