For ten years, I had the pleasure to live on an island paradise, Bald Head Island, NC. It lies a couple of miles from Southport, NC, the separation caused by the Cape Fear River at it’s entry to the ocean. A Houston oil and gas Barron bought the island as a place where two of his twenty-something sons could cut their teeth as developers. This was in the mid-’80s. His name was George Mitchell and was considered the inventor or, more exactly, the pioneer of fracking.
Around 1995, I struck up a chance conversation with George. He had traveled from Texas to BHI to be honored for his support of conservation on the island. I was only vaguely aware of who and what he did. After some small talk, he told me about fracking and I later told him about cheese. He was emphatic about the eventual significance of fracking. I was a believer.
Jump forward about ten years and the impact of fracking became apparent near my other home in Pennsylvania. A little hamlet, Hickory, PA, about six miles from my little farm, became the epicenter of fracking in the Marcellus shale fields. Land owners began collecting large sums of dollars for the oil and gas underground. The economic significance was huge. Farmers bought new equipment, fixed up their property, bought RVs, sent kids to college, and put money in the bank. All that money spent in Hickory and elsewhere in our great country used to go to some sheik in the Middle East. Now it stayed at home. The US is now the largest producer of energy in the world.
Jump forward to this week and our President’s speech in Florida. MrsCheese and I watched and afterward I bought up my conservation with George Mitchell. By that late in the evening, my sugar pie honey bunch had enough politics, had her “ woman ears” on, and really wasn’t listening.
I have needed a haircut for three weeks but the four times I went to the barber shop it was full. When we lived on BHI because of the inconvenience of going to the mainland, on the passenger ferry we bought a hair trimmer and my best girl cut my hair. She was good at it but always fearful she would mess it up. After moving to South Carolina I was told to get a real barber.
Today, I begged my sweetie to get out the clippers. She gave me a terrific cut. When she finished, I reached in my pocket and gave her $25 bucks. We kept the money at home. Just like energy. By the way, I bought gas yesterday at $2.09. Thanks, George. Thanks, Honey Girl.Published in