The job site was a dingy yellow excavator next to one of those beige container units, piles of mud and rubble, stacks of pipe lashed together, heaps of dark gray felt—filter bags, said Shane—and bales and bales of straw, for containment, he said. All of it enclosed behind a chain-link fence with a flimsy lock. A black pickup truck idled outside the gate. Shane waved. “That’s your crew,” he said. “Glad to see they’re early.” He got out to slide back the gate. We rolled in, and the truck followed. Shane handed me a set of keys. “Now you’re the foreman, you can let everyone in and out. Don’t need a manager to do that,” he said, magnanimous.

Shane and I stood in the cold, finishing the last of our coffee, as the pickup parked next to us. “Indians,” Shane said. “Shawnee. They don’t really like outsiders, but they do a good job, they won’t give you any trouble. It takes all kinds, is my philosophy. You’ve just got to stay friendly. Watch what I do.”

The crew piled out of the king cab, all of them zipped into stiff black coveralls, woolen caps pulled low, faces pinched from the cold. They handed a thermos among them, stamped their boots. And one of them was a woman. I didn’t know where to look, so I looked at the sky, where a circling bird looked majestic until I realized it was just a damn turkey vulture, first thing to remind me of home.

“New foreman,” Shane told the crew. “Karen, meet your crew, unless you met last night at the motel?” It was way too early in the morning for such shining cheer.

When none of us said anything, Shane pointed his index finger at each of them in turn. “Lawrence, Jay, Marie. Marie’ll be running the excavator, Jay is oiler. That makes Lawrence the roustabout. These folks are known for good work.”

Jay looked me up and down. “First time I’ve been on-site with two women,” he said. “Should get a picture, must be historic. Even if she is the foreman.”

Marie didn’t smile and I didn’t smile. But we looked at each other. We looked at each other and if the others were hoping to witness something like sisterhood, they weren’t going to. Not friendship, either. Just your basic scrutiny.

“Karen’s experienced,” Shane said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Didn’t say worried, said historic,” Jay said.

“But you all know the ropes, so make it easy on her, okay? I know I can count on you,” Shane said, doling out his generous golden smile. He checked his phone, clapped his hands. “It’s go time,” he said. They turned to the truck bed for their hard hats.

Inside the container unit, I asked Shane, “How come it’s all Indians on a crew?”