As if on cue, when we stepped from the truck and onto the field of Winter wheat, the nearby oil well churned to life. From the moment it started pumping, it groaned with a terrible, grinding, rhythmic squeal. Imagine the squeaky bathroom door or kitchen cupboard at your house, and multiply it by about ten tons.
Creeeeeeeak, droaaaaaaaan, griiiiiiiiiind, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp…….. Creeeeeeeak, droaaaaaaaan, griiiiiiiiiind, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp……..
My hunting buddy looked over at me, smiled, and above the persistent drone, said, “Seems like they ought to be able to find a bit of oil for that thing.”