Dirtline and Keatchie

"Dirtline" is one of the various hairbrain travel ideas that's hatched from my imagination in recent years. I'm fascinated by the social, political, historical, environmental, and topological aspects of borders. The idea that just crossing a few feet to this side or that side of an imaginary "line drawn in the sand" can change citizenship, college choices, taxes, phone service, historical context, road maintenance, gas prices, and so many other big and small parameters amazes me. Intuition seems more comfortable with gradual changes. But, whether an international border, a state line, or some minor civil division (even a school district), an adequately defined and surveyed border represents a human imposed discontinuity in a mostly continous world.

Of course, the weather cares little for political borders, and people and animals cross them all the time, generally without much concern or interest. I wonder whether the two deer that I saw in Texas knew that they'd reached safety when they crossed the road into the game refuge of Fairchild State Forest. We hear lots of hoopla about international borders, about people's hopes to make it to the other side (legally or illegally), and the occasional stories of someone's life getting seriously messed up because of arbitrary border bureaucracy. But the subtle differences across state and lesser borders are easily overlooked.

So the idea of the "dirtline" was to plan a trip along a border, crossing at every available opportunity. The name comes from the extra little thrill I get at "sneaking" across on out-of-the-way little roads (especially if unpaved) where the line is not marked by some huge billboard or line-up of shoppers. In particular I remember one road across the Florida-Georgia line where the small sign informing me that I was entering Florida looked like it was at least 50 years old. Since land surveys tend to be based on state and territorial meridians and benchmarks, it's fairly natural for property boundaries to stop at state lines, sometimes producing a visible line of varying land use.

On this last trip to Texas, I took the opportunity to seek out a couple of county/parish roads that cross the Louisiana/Texas state line. Like a few other state lines, this one has the added historical interest of once having been an international border, between Spanish and French territory. Westward bound, I followed Elysian Fields Road out of Greenwood to Texas, where the pavement substantially deteriorated and a sign welcomed me to Harrison County (no mention of Texas). Then, turning south past Boggy Baptist Church (wonder if they baptize you in mud there?), I got on State Line Road into Bethany. As you might guess, State Line Road follows right along the state line. The only clue to which state the road was in was a monument in Bethany at the intersection with US 79. So it appears that I was still driving in Texas, but that the people living on the west side of the road had to walk across into Louisiana to get their mail from mailboxes that were all on the east side.

My other dirtline trip didn't quite go as planned. On the way back, I figured I'd just take the next county road to the north across the state line. As a bonus I would get to go through the small town of Elysian Fields. Nothing really special. I've just always thought that was a really neat name for a town. (Check up on your Greek mythology if you don't understand.) It turned out that I couldn't make it to the state line before dark, but decided I would not let that deter me or dampen my enthusiasm. But when I got to the final turnoff about a mile or two from Louisiana, there was a big homemade sign warning "This is not a public road". So apparently the county road is no more. All I could do was continue north to Waskom and commence the monotony of I-20.

So what in the world is a Keatchie? Just another little slightly-out-of-the-way place that's had my curiosity for a while. Yep, I think it's a neat sounding name. I think it would be good for the name of some exotic tea made out of an obscure plant from the Big Thicket of Texas. Surprisingly there are actually two Keatchie's in Texas. Neither is big enough to attract any attention, and the one I explored was more of a place than it was a community. But it led to a nice adventuresome drive along deserted gravel roads. I don't think I saw another vehicle along the nine miles that it took to get to the next state Farm-to-Market road.

What I did see was a surprisingly large and peaceful creek. A couple of slightly confusing minor intersections. And plenty of partly wooded ranchland. There was a small rural cemetery, next to one of the very few houses. One of my favorite sections was where the road was cut, or worn, into the low rolling hills as a "sunken road". Probably none of my family would have cared much for this narrow, often washboardy road. But for me, it was a pleasant and memorable departure from the highway drive. The one disappointment was discovering that my camera battery was dead. Maybe that just makes the experience more personal. In any case, I resolved to enjoy the moment rather than mourn over something I couldn't fix.