Who Knew Oklahoma Was Worth Seeing?

Poor Oklahoma got hit pretty hard by storms the other night.

I have a special interest in the state these days, since I only recently realized it was there, in a way.

I mean, have you ever had one of those dreams where you open a door in your own house and find a whole wing you never knew you had?

That’s the way I feel about Oklahoma.

It’s been sitting right there all this time and I was so busy exploring Texas, I never even gave my neighbor, just 90 minutes north, a thought.

Of course, immediately upon moving to Dallas I was subjected to anti-Oklahoma bias. I’m no stranger to interstate bigotry. A born-and-reared New Yorker, I figured out pretty quickly that Oklahoma is the New Jersey of Texas. (Yes, Jenna, I am going to try and get digs in at Jersey as often as possible. It’s in my New Yorker DNA.)  It’s where the yokels live. Bridge-and-tunnel people.

Go to Oklahoma? Why bother?

Most of the Okies I know left Oklahoma as soon as they could, to live in the big city, Big D. They’re not even defensive about their home state. They just accept its role as the poor man’s Southwest.

I visited Oklahoma twice in the 1980s. I went to Tulsa with friends who grew up there. I remember driving through the architectural Disneyland that was Oral Roberts University. Another time, a friend and I drove to Oklahoma City to see a Stevie Wonder concert. I don’t remember much about that. Oklahoma made little impression on me.

But then I was sent there on assignment in 2008, and I saw it all differently. Why didn’t anyone tell me all that was right there? Not only is Oklahoma pretty, with hills and lakes and pines, but it’s sincere. Oklahoma today reminds me of Texas in the early ‘80s, when it was reeling from the effects of the oil crisis and hadn’t yet started the massive investment in tourism that saved the state’s economy. The investment has been good for the state, and I don’t begrudge a penny of it, but it’s changed much of the state from Texas to Texana—all spiffed up and a little self-conscious.

Oklahoma hasn’t been ye-olde-teddy-bears-and-fudged up. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a bit of that lucrative action, but it ain’t there yet. So far, I’ve been to Ardmore, Norman, Oklahoma City, Shawnee, Durant and Bartlesville. There are pockets of trendy, of course, in OKC, Norman (home to the University of Oklahoma and my new favorite kitschy hotel, the Sooner Legends Inn & Suites) and Tulsa. But other towns are varying degrees of round at the heels.

And two-thirds of Oklahoma is owned by the state’s numerous Native American tribes. While the large tribes (Choctaw, Chickasaw) are investing in ever-larger and more opulent casinos (warning: this links to a tenacious earworm), much reservation land is raw beauty. Few sights in the world are lovelier than hay rolls on the prairie glowing in the late afternoon sun. No, don’t argue. It’s true.

My favorite place these days is the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve in Pawhuska, Oklahoma—39,000 acres of the largest protected remnant of tallgrass prairie on Earth. Complete with bison. You can’t know America until you’ve seen this. It’s America 1.0.

I’ve only just scratched the surface of Oklahoma. I still have lots to see and learn. And now, I’m kinda wondering about New Jersey, too.

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