|Back in the 30s, I was a skinny little tow-headed kid. We were poor and didn't know it, as was the way with most poor families. The bank foreclosed on our farm when I was 18 months old and we had to leave, and live in someone else's house. To this day, I retain vague memories of the small house we lived in. |
Years later, I was around 40 years old & was telling the kids something I recalled happening on the farm, and my mama said I couldn't possibly remember it, for I was a baby when we moved away. She thought someone had told me and I only thought I remembered. I grabbed a piece of paper and drew the floor plan of the house and drew where different pieces of furniture sat, and asked her if this was the way it was.
I pointed at the front door and said, 'That faced east. I didn't know directions, then, but I remember the sun shining in the door, early in the morning! And straight across from the door, was the wood stove, and the rocker sat right HERE! Daddy would read to us, with his feet propped up on the fender of the stove. We sat in his lap or on the floor! And right out HERE was where the storm cellar was, and I was always scared of it, even when everyone was down there!'
She looked at me, and said, 'Well, I swan! That's exactly the way it was! Maybe you DO remember!'
I laughed and said there was no maybe about it. Granted, the memories were few, but they were there and will be forever more, I guess. I never saw the house, again, after we drove away. Now, all we owned was a raggedy old car, a dozen milk cows and our poor household goods. Our situation was much like most poor dry land farmer's in the area where we lived, in those Dust Bowl years. Times were hard, but we survived.
Submitted By: Jfb from TX on 2007-12-01