By Lee Allen Miller
It is 3:00 AM on Christmas morning. Inside your house, the only light comes from the multi-colored glow of the tree in the corner and maybe the embers of a dying fire. The kids are asleep, dreaming of what they’ll find under that tree in just a few hours. It is the definition of a “Silent Night.”
But out on a lonely Farm-to-Market road, miles away from the warmth of a hearth, it is neither silent nor still.
A yellow strobe light cuts through the darkness. A diesel engine rumbles. And high above the ground, suspended in a fiberglass bucket near the top of a loblolly pine, a man in insulated gloves is fighting the wind to make sure your turkey gets cooked and your Christmas lights stay on.
“That’s your local lineworker,” says Oncor’s Nolan Smith, “and they’re out working on Christmas morning to help yours be merry and bright. Rain or shine, holiday or normal day, Oncor’s lineworkers and support staff work around the clock to keep the lights on for our neighbors in East Texas.”
The Shepherds of the Grid
We tend to think of Christmas magic as something abstract—a feeling in the air or a spirit of generosity. But in East Texas, keeping the magic alive is a physical, gritty job.
While we wrap gifts and drink eggnog, there is an army of lineworkers, dispatchers, and power plant operators standing guard. They work for our local co-ops and utility providers, and they are the unsung shepherds of the grid.
I’ve always admired the “bucket truck brotherhood.” These are men and women who run toward the storm. When the ice snaps a branch in Lufkin or a thunderstorm rolls through Nacogdoches, they kiss their families goodbye and head out into the weather most of us are trying to escape.
The Empty Chair at Breakfast
The sacrifice of the midnight shift hits hardest on holidays. We often forget that for every light switch we flip without thinking, there is a person who had to miss a moment to ensure it works.
There are lineworkers who will miss seeing their toddler’s face when they see the bike under the tree this year. There are dispatchers eating a cold sandwich at a console instead of Christmas dinner with their grandmother.
They do it because it’s their job, yes. But if you talk to them, you realize they also do it because they take pride in taking care of their neighbors. In a region as tight-knit as ours, they know that the power line they are fixing belongs to their high school football coach, their pastor, or their aunt.
A Little Light in the Darkness
So, this week, as you drive through our towns and admire the dazzling displays—the inflatable Santas, the laser lights hitting the oak trees, the glowing nativity scenes—take a second to look past the bulb.
Think about the hands that keep the current flowing.
If you happen to be up late this Christmas Eve, and you see that flashing yellow light down the road, say a little prayer for them. They are out there in the cold, doing the hard work to keep our holidays warm.
Merry Christmas to the midnight shift. We literally couldn’t do this without you.
