Letters from Hillside Farm (4 page)

Dear George,

It's too bad you are still having problems with Amos Woodward. I've been thinking about what you could do to make things better. One thing you might try when he says something mean is to stare straight at him and then walk away. If he thinks what he is saying doesn't bother you (even though I know it really does), he might leave you alone.

You could also try looking him in right in the eye and saying “Stop it.” Don't raise your voice, and try not to get angry. Let him believe that you are in control. Then turn and walk away.

I know that sometimes you feel like yelling at Amos. That's what he wants you do. Surprise him by not doing it. And no matter what you might hear some people say, don't hit him. Not only will he have won the battle before it even starts because he got you to lose your temper, but one or both of you will get hurt. That's never a good thing, no matter what.

Above all, George, don't let him make you feel bad. I know that can be hard, but even though you might limp a little, think about all the good things you can do. You can do really fine leather work. And you are becoming a fine writer as well. You described your softball game so well, I felt as if I was right there watching it. You should be proud of who you are. Remember what I said about President Theodore Roosevelt: he had some tough times when he was a boy, and look at what he accomplished.

Rachel Williams is surely on your side. I'll bet several of the other kids are, too. They might be keeping quiet because they are afraid of Amos.

Let me know if any of these ideas work. I know it's no fun when someone keeps picking on you.

Much love,

Grandma S.

April 1, 1938

Friday

Dear Grandma

When Pa came in for breakfast after doing the morning chores, he told Ma in a serious voice, “Emily, something awful has happened in the chicken house.” He said he thought a fox must have broken in last night, and she'd better have a look for herself. Ma was really upset, because she knows that a fox will steal any number of chickens. She pulled on her chore jacket, tied a scarf over her head, and hurried out to the chicken house.

In a few minutes she was back in the kitchen with a strange look on her face. She said she had counted her chickens, and all fifty were there. Pa looked serious at first, but then he smiled and blurted out, “April fool!” It is April first, and Pa had pulled a good one on Ma—except she didn't take it as a joke. Ma was really mad, and she told Pa he could fix his own breakfast and that would be an April fool joke on him.

Pa said something about it being only a joke, but Ma didn't want to hear anything about it. She was fuming. She said nobody should make jokes about her chickens, because without the eggs there would be no grocery money and no money for Christmas presents, either.

Pa said he was sorry, but Ma said sorry wasn't good enough. I don't think the two of them talked to each other all day. So much for April Fool's Day.

Your grandson,

George

April 4, 1938

Monday

Dear Grandma,

Your letter came today. Thank you for writing. I hope you're right that if I don't talk back to Amos and try to ignore him, he'll quit picking on me. I've been trying to figure out why he hates me. All I did was hit a home run so his team lost. Since that day, Amos just snarls at me, like a mean dog that wants to bite. What do you do with a mean dog? I try to stay out of his way, but our school is too small for that.

Rachel Williams is a good friend. She looks at what I can do instead of what I can't do. I'm glad she gave me a chance to play softball. We've been playing every day, but I don't get to play much, except to hit once in a while. My hitting has never been like it was that first day, maybe because I'm afraid of Amos and can't concentrate. My running is as bad as ever. Whenever I try, I fall down. I feel terrible about that.

Grandma, is there a way for me to move back to Ohio? I haven't mentioned this to Pa and Ma, but I think about it all the time. If I left this terrible school and moved away from this farm with all the chores, my life would be so much better. What do you think, Grandma?

Love,

George

April 9, 1938

Saturday

Dear Grandma,

Right after we finished breakfast this morning, our telephone rang. The telephone hangs on the wall in the kitchen, and Ma always answers it when it rings our ring, which isn't very often. We are on a party line, which means that several people in our neighborhood are connected to the same telephone line. The only way you know when to answer the telephone is when you hear your own special ring. Ours is one long ring and three short rings. We can ring each other on our party line, but when we want to talk to people who aren't on our party line, we have to ring up central, which is the telephone office in Link Lake. All calls from one party line to another go through central.

Ma told Pa the call was for him. As he listened to whoever was on the other end, a big grin spread across his face. Then he said thank you, hung up the receiver, and asked if I would like to ride into town with him. He wouldn't say who had called, but he sure was grinning. He told me to pull on my jacket and meet him at the car.

I started to ask Pa what all the hurry was about, but he was all wrapped up in his thoughts and told me I'd know soon enough. When we got to Link Lake, he pulled into the little parking lot at the train depot, which is just outside of the village. Now I was really confused. Why were we stopping here? We never stop at the Link Lake Depot when we go to Link Lake. The depot is a little one-story building that stands next to the railroad tracks that run through town. At each end of the building is a large sign that reads “Link Lake.” The depot is where the trains stop that travel east and west through Link Lake.

I asked Pa why we were stopping at the train depot, and this time he said that I'd find out in a few minutes. Inside the little building, Pa walked up to a man behind a counter. He told the man his name and introduced me. The fellow is called the depot agent. He came out from behind the counter, shook both our hands, and said his name is Floyd Johnson. Then he said he had something special for us, and he motioned for us to follow him.

We walked across the waiting room, past a bunch of empty chairs and a big woodstove. Mr. Johnson stopped at a small wooden crate sitting on the floor near the stove. The crate was maybe three feet square, with spaces between the boards on the sides. “Here's your order, Mr. Struckmeyer,” the depot agent said to Pa. “Came on the morning train from Fond du Lac.” He released a latch and pulled open the door on one end of the crate. Pa said I should look inside. I got down on my knees and came face to face with a furry little brown puppy with a long nose and big brown eyes!

I asked Pa, “Is this my puppy?”

“It sure is,” Pa replied. “Cute little fellow, isn't he?” He told me to let the pup sniff my hand. When I reached in my hand, the puppy licked it. I couldn't help but laugh.

Pa told me to take the puppy out of the box so we all could have a look at him. I picked up the pup, and this time he licked my face. Pa said that the kennel owner wrote him that the puppy is a collie, and he was born on February 2. He weighs about fifteen pounds now, and he'll grow to weigh as much as seventy-five pounds. The depot agent said this puppy is just about the finest one he's ever seen.

I put the puppy back in the crate, and Pa helped me put the crate on the back seat of our car. I kept looking back at him all the way home. I felt about as happy as I've been in a long time, Grandma. Then Pa asked what I planned to name him. I hadn't even thought about whether the little collie pup had a name or if I'd get to name him. But a name quickly came to mind. I told Pa I'd like to name him Depot, because that's where I first saw him. Pa said the name sounds a little unusual, but if it's the name I want, then Depot shall be his name.

Back at home I carried the crate into the kitchen and set it down in front of the kitchen stove where Ma was working. Ma smiled when she saw the puppy in the crate. I guess she knew how much I had wanted one.

Little Annie was sitting on a stool next to the stove, watching Ma cook. She hopped off the stool and stood watching as I leaned over, opened the door on the crate, and took out my furry puppy. I told them, “His name is Depot.”

Annie started giggling and asked if she could pet him. I held the puppy out for her. Depot licked her face, which made Annie giggle even more.

Ma said Depot is a cute puppy. Then she reminded me that it will be my job to take care of him, to make sure he gets something to eat and drink and that he stays out of trouble. She went on for a bit about how puppies are known to get into all sorts of trouble. I told her I'll watch him real good. And I will.

This was just about the best day I've ever had, Grandma. You would really like Depot. He's just the nicest little puppy.

Your grandson,

George

April 10, 1938

Sunday

Dear Grandma,

Wouldn't you know it? I've had Depot for only one day, and already both he and I are in trouble. I forgot to fasten the latch on his crate when I went to bed last night. During the night he got out and roamed around the kitchen. He found a basket of Ma's newly washed clothes, and did he have fun! He scattered shirts and underwear all over the place, from one end of the kitchen to the other. Was Ma ever mad. She said she'll have to wash the clothes all over again and that it was my fault for not latching Depot's crate.

Grandma, I'm in trouble with Ma, and I deserve it, especially after I promised her that this sort of thing wouldn't happen. I thought Pa would be after me, too, for not latching the crate properly, but he didn't say anything. In fact, I caught him smiling a little when he saw what Depot had done to the clothes.

Annie thought Depot was just having a little fun, and she said so. That sure didn't help matters. Ma blurted out that my puppy better learn to have fun with something besides her clean clothes.

I've got to remember to latch that crate at night.

Something else happened today that I must tell you about. The railroad tracks are only about a half mile from our farm, and a train goes by in the morning and in the afternoon—I can hear the engineer blowing the steam engine's whistle when the train crosses over country roads. Pa says the train runs from Fond du Lac to Marshfield, where it connects to other train lines.

Well, this afternoon, while I was doing homework at the kitchen table, there came a knock on the door. I thought it was one of our neighbors coming calling—we haven't met all of them yet, so I figured someone was stopping by to say hello. It didn't occur to me that I hadn't heard a car drive in.

I pulled open the door, and there stood the skinniest, saddest looking man I've ever seen. His clothes were dirty and torn. His shoes looked about worn out, and he wore a dirty gray hat, which he took off when I opened the door. For a minute I didn't know what to say, but then I did what Pa always says to do when someone knocks on the door: I invited him in.

By now Pa, Ma, and Annie had come into the kitchen. We all stood there looking at this forlorn man, who was clearly down on his luck.

In a near whisper, the man said he hadn't eaten since yesterday and asked if we had a spare piece of bread. Right away Ma said that she would make him a sandwich.

“I'll work for it,” the man said. “I'm still strong. I can split some wood for you. Do whatever work needs doing.”

Pa told him he didn't have to work for it and that Sunday is a day of rest. He invited the man to have a seat and tell us a little bit about his situation. I think Pa figured from the fellow's appearance that he'd been caught up in the Depression, had probably lost his job, and was riding the rails looking for whatever work he could find and begging for food. And Pa was right. The fellow had come from Chicago. He was laid off from his job more than six months ago and is working his way north riding the freight trains and trying to find work. He said his name is George, just like mine.

He finished off the sandwich Ma put in front of him and drank a big glass of milk. Ma asked him if he wanted more, and he quietly said that another sandwich would be wonderful.

Before he left, Ma packed some bread and sausage in a bag. I saw her tuck in a few sugar cookies, too. The man stood at the door and thanked us again and again, and I think he had tears in his eyes. And then he was gone. I watched him walk slowly down our country road until he was out of sight.

Pa shook his head and said that the Depression is a terrible thing. “That was a good man who sat at our table,” Pa said. “I wonder what will happen to him?”

Pa didn't have to remind us that we moved to Wisconsin because he lost his job in Ohio. We sure are a lot better off than this poor guy, who is sneaking rides on trains and spending a lot of time walking along country roads, begging for something to eat.

Your grandson,

George