They've Arrived!

In summer of 1986, the 17 year locusts were going to hatch. A friend from Georgia was visiting and I was telling her about them and how they sound. It was mid-June. Her boyfriend went down my bumpy driveway buckety-buckety on his truck. We were sitting on my porch in the late afternoon and heard a sound and she announced “They’ve arrived, Jo. They’ve arrived!”

I listened carefully and did not hear them but I did hear another sound. We pondered for a moment and then I identified the hissing sound. Gas! Her boyfriend had bounced the bottom of his truck onto the gas line that ran along the middle of the driveway in places.

We ran down to the sound and sure enough, there was a gaping one-inch hole in the line and gas was spewing out.

I ran up to the trailer and started calling frantically to find the owner of the gas line so it could be turned off. After many tries, Walter, an older and helpful friend in the community, told me who owned the wells in Williamsburg

Snowy Creek 1, photograph by Bobby Morgan. Click for a larger view, and for more of Morgan's works.

where the lines started and he said he’d call the owner. In the meantime, I’d called the fire department and asked for help.

We sat waiting and fretting on the porch when an eerie light shone from the hard road (several hundred yards away), I started down the road to see what the light was when I saw a strange sight. Three space aliens were walking stiffly up the holler towards me. In moon suits. White suits with helmets, clunky boots and oversized gloves. They walked up ponderously and hailed me and told me that they were from the fire department. Oh. Not space aliens. I directed them to the punctured line.

I asked them why they were dressed that way and they replied that they thought it was a good time to test out their new hazardous materials equipment. Oh.

All three men and myself stood there looking down at the puncture.

“Yep, its gas.”

“Uh-huh.”

I ask “How can we fix it?”

“Maybe we could weld it?”

Stunned. I blurt out “Oh no no no! Oh no. Wouldn’t that blow it up?”

“Oh, hummm, yes.”

We stand there. Gas hissing. No other sound.

I offer “How about duct tape?”

All 3 men in moon suits turn their entire bodies towards me since they couldn’t turn their heads in the helmets.

“You have duct tape?” (As if a woman wouldn’t have duct tape?)

I murmur “Yes.”

“Well, OK, let’s try it.”

I run up to the trailer and get my industrial strength duct tape and run back down to the line.

They tape it up. The tape holds. The hissing stops.

Snowy Creek 2, photograph by Bobby Morgan. Click for a larger view, and for more of Morgan's works.

So I tell them I am looking for the owner of the line to shut it off, and they say “Good,” and begin walking down the holler.

I call to them, “Will this cost me?”

All 3 men in moon suits once more slowly turn their entire bodies towards me since they couldn’t turn their heads in the helmets.

“No, this was a dry run on our new equipment.”

“What’s that light?” I ask.

“It’s a search beam. We’re just trying it out, too.”

“Oh.”

They lumber down the holler out of sight. The light goes off. It is dark.