If not for the drought, it would have been a very pretty area. The Troupe was camped west of El Reno on. Interstate 40, an area of red cliffs of crumbling sandstone, red soil, creek bottoms full of pecans and aspens and festooned with honeysuckle, a place of goldenrod and winecup and coneflowers and trailing purple legume. Spring hadn’t given up yet. It was parched and covered with dust, but spring hadn’t given up.