At one point we lived out on the line in Sutton VT. (Mom hated it out there... 2 miles to the nearest neighbor... 10 miles for groceries... I loved it.). I remember not being able to sleep at night when the line shut down and there was no hum from those monstrous pumps pushing crude up the line from the tank farms in South Portland, feeding the refineries in Montreal.I know dad was proud as punch of me when I worked on the construction of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline in the 70's (though he never said so... I could tell by the way that he held his mouth... he was one of a kind and I miss him.).
So when , while walking the dogs the other day, we stopped to speak with a 70 something couple weeding their gardens, I was intrigued when Norris told me he worked in pipeline construction and invited him for a cup of coffee.
He was standing in his driveway at 7:58 and hadn't got much sleep. His 98 year old father-in-law had passed away at midnight and he had been up scheduling flights and communicating with family. He and his wife Arlene were flying out at 4:00 and most men would have canceled on the cup of coffee... ( but then he was a pipeliner). He didn't drink coffee. ordered a glass of milk. The Starbucks kid was dumbstruck. "You want what...?". He grew up on a farm ( 250 acres of sweet corn... "nearest neighbors were 4 girls and one boy who should have been a girl...") and started on the shovel end of the business. For the next hour, before the calls started streaming in from children and grandchildren, we sat outside and traded stories about projects and pipelines and people; about unions and farming and hunting. about family and friends and life.
I hadn't realized how grounded I was in all of this. So thanks for reminding me, Norris. As we say in Maine, you're a wicked good guy....
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