Oklahoma-Farm-and-Ranch_537642

28 | JULY 2026 OKFR C By Beth Watkins > Where the Paved Road Ends > Between Truck Stops and Battle elds Cross-country road trips will tell you a whole lot about America. Every place has its own per- sonality. Its own history. Some of it will help you un- derstand the hardships our ancestors endured for us to live free. Some of it will restore your faith in humanity. And some of it will make you grip the dashboard and whisper a prayer. Recently,we hauled a strange- looking piece of equipment from southeastern Oklahoma to Pennsylvania. The equipment is called a transloader. It’s a trailer out t- ted with stairs, a safety cage, a generator, hoses, pipes, and gauges. It’s used to off-load liquid product from railcars into storage tanks or tanker trucks. Unless you work in the energy business, you’ll probably never see one out in the wild. Well, unless it’s being pulled down the highway. But when people do see one, they have questions. Folks follow you to the fuel pumps to ask what in the world they’re looking at. Some creep alongside the trailer studying it like it’s a UFO. The countryside between southeastern Oklahoma and western Arkansas feels familiar to me. Our rst stop was Russell- ville, Arkansas, nestled between the Ozark and Ouachita Moun- tains. It’s the kind of town that still feels orderly and proud of itself. My husband works there regularly, and from what I’ve Recently, Beth Watkins and her husband made a long trip from Oklahoma to Pennsylvania, and got to see a lot of the country’s history. (Photo courtesy of Beth Watkins) seen, it would be an easy place to call home. Then there’s Memphis. Lord have mercy. I’m not saying Memphis roads are rough, but I’ve seen wash- boards smoother than Interstate 40. Seriously, you can’t speed if your vehicle is actively trying to separate from its suspension. Traveling the highways and truck stops showed me how much the trucking culture has changed. I grew up around truck driv- ers. My daddy drove a truck my whole life. Starched Levi’s. Polished cowboy boots. Crisp pearl snap shirts. His Stetson sat square on his head every single day. Truck driving wasn’t just a job to him — it was part of his identity. I vividly remember the rst time I saw a trucker climb down out of his truck wearing shorts and sneakers. I remember point- ing it out to Daddy. He said, “Girl, that’s no truck- er.” I can’t imagine what he would say if he saw them running around in pajama pants, wrin- kled T-shirts, and slides, wearing headphones. Those old-school drivers took pride in themselves and in their work. Maybe that’s what I miss most these days. Not perfection.