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Last fall, I was at a school function and this huge guy wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off at the shoulders and tattoos on his bulging biceps came up to me and said, “Are you Suzanne?” A number of possible responses ran through my mind, including, “No, I’m her twin sister,” and, “I think she moved away.” Then Princess said, “That’s her name!” and my life flashed before my eyes. He said he was a friend of my cousin’s, which might have made me feel better except my cousin is an attorney, so he knows a lot of criminals. Then he asked me if he could have my derrick.
Oil and gas exploration in the 1890s in this area of West Virginia made Beverly Hillbillies out of countless families–including my own, who were so overcome by their surprising wealth-from-nowhere that they threw their clothes out and bought new rather than trouble themselves with laundry. One would think they would have set aside some of their loot for their descendants…. (I’ll try to contain my bitterness.) My great-grandfather, at least, spent a good portion of his oil dollars buying up land in what became known as Stringtown. Stringtown was a short-lived rural hub of the gas and oil industry, with a gasoline plant that employed 50 men, a church, a one-room schoolhouse, a hotel, a store, a post office, and even a whorehouse. Our farm sits right in the beating heart of old Stringtown, and historic junk of the gas and oil age crumbles, covered with grapevines, all around. My favorite pile of junk is our old oil derrick.
Flannel-and-Tattoos said the former owners of our farm promised it to him. He wanted to tear it down and sell it for scrap metal. I said, “We own the farm now and we like our derrick.” I was a little bit worried the derrick might mysteriously disappear before we could move out here as selling scrap is a booming business in an area full of scrap. But our derrick is still here, and I like it just where it is.
This flywheel rests on its side, its work life long gone.
This is the gearbox that would transmit power to the walking wheel.
It was forged July 18, 1898.
The walking wheel ran the beam and rods that pulled the oil up out of the ground.
The wire line wheel held cable that drew various tools in and out of the well.
The well is lined with wood. We keep it covered now with a board and a heavy rock.
All of this massive, heavy equipment was brought out here, down narrow, rocky backroads and over countless hills, by teams of horses and oxen. I can hardly imagine the event it must have been to construct this derrick on our hill.
To some people, this is just scrap metal they could turn into dollars, but I see a piece of history.
I like my pile of junk. I’m keeping it.
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-Kim :cattail:
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Love the goat post-great pictures.
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I like your oil derrick. It belongs on your farm. I keep family furniture, which is why much of my house is moving toward mid-century modern, original pieces. We don’t have anything as interesting as an oil derrick. My father’s family were (was? were sounds wrong) coal miners. My mother’s family…well, we don’t talk about it.
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I love old junk like that, and I’m glad you decided to keep it!
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Have you visited the oil and gas museum up in Calhoun County? It’s worth the trip. There’s also a museum about the industry in Parkersburg. The history behind your well is fascinating, and the equipment you have is rare to find in any kind of condition. Yours looks like it could be in pretty good condition, given its age. It would have been terrible to have had such artifacts turned into scrap. My skin crawled when I read what he wanted to do.
Visit Volcano Days in Wood County next fall. You’ll see what I mean about your equipment. I have some photos and a lot of information about it on my blog–we went last year and it was a blast.
Our new gas well isn’t anywhere so cool-looking as yours. But it will be worth having when we get our free gas hooked up.
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Great post about the derrick. She doesn’t mention that she drug my fat butt along on this expedition to look down into the well. My husband’s family used their “oil and gas royalty” money to throw out all the old furniture (pre-1900) and buy “new” stuff. It is a good thing they didn’t throw out the loom. (See Suzanne’s post about the loom in the old farmhouse.) Then, the great-grandparents moved to Charleston (their Beverly Hills, I guess) but they didn’t like it so they came back to the farm.
Suzanne, your Cousin Mark (my hubby) is an aficianado (?sp) of Volcano Days and he would be happy to take you there I am sure!!! LOL
See you later! Luv ya!
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Blessings from Ohio…
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