Letters from Hillside Farm (5 page)

Dear George,

What fun you must be having with a new puppy! Depot is a great name, and it fits him, too. You are a very clever fellow to come up with a name like that. In one of your earlier letters you seemed sad about living in Wisconsin. With your new little puppy as part of your family, things will surely look better for you.

I know you and your little sister will have lots of fun with Depot, but remember that puppies are just like any other baby: you've got to look after them. Puppies especially like to chew on things, it's their nature. And sometimes they chew on things they shouldn't, like one of your Pa's shoes.

Puppies also can get into trouble with other animals, especially wild animals. They don't know any better. Puppies are really curious. When I was a little girl, we had a puppy that waddled off and got in the chicken yard. I heard the little guy yipping after a big red rooster pecked him on the nose. He never bothered that old rooster again. I felt bad for the puppy, but it was kind of funny, too. Nothing tangled with our red rooster. He was king of the chicken yard.

Love,

Grandma S.

April 11, 1938

Monday

Dear Grandma,

When I got home from school today, Pa asked me to drive the team over to the Williams farm and pick up ten sacks of seed oats. The Williams family—and my schoolmate Rachel—live about a mile north of our farm. You'll remember that Rachel picked me to be on her softball team a few weeks ago.

I have been practicing driving the team, and I was proud that Pa wanted me to drive them over to the neighbors' place all by myself. I've also learned how to harness the team by myself; harnessing a horse is a lot more complicated than it looks.

Soon I was seated on the wagon and on my way down our driveway with the team walking out front with their heads high. I waved to Pa and then returned to keeping a tight grip on the driving reins. Maud and Tony are fast walkers. In a few minutes we were out of sight of our farm. The wagon's steel wheels bounced along the gravel road, making interesting sounds as they ran over stones. The weathered gray wagon box rattled and shook, but I was quite comfortable on my driving seat with springs. I relaxed a little and let the team have their heads as they stepped off down the road.

Mr. Williams saw me coming and motioned for me to drive up to the granary door, which I did. I said “whoa” to Maud and Tony, and they stopped as nice as you please. I crawled off the wagon seat and tied the team to a post by the granary door. Pa has told me never to leave the team without tying them, because you never know when something might scare them and they'll run off. I had never seen anything scare Maud and Tony, but I tied them to the post anyway and helped Mr. Williams drag the sacks of seed oats onto the wagon.

Mr. Williams asked if Pa is about ready to sow oats. I told him that we'll be putting the seed in the ground just as soon as Pa works up the oat field—which means plowing, discing, and smoothing the field. One thing I'm learning, Grandma, is a new language. Maybe because you grew up on a farm you already knew “work up,” but it is new to me.

When we were just about finished loading the sacks of seed oats, Rachel came from around the barn carrying something furry in her arms. It didn't look like a barn cat. She said hi and asked if I'd like to meet Gregory, her pet raccoon. I'd never seen a pet raccoon before. She told me she found it when it was a baby. Something had happened to its mother, and it was all on its own.

Grandma, I wish you could see Gregory. He is about the cutest animal you'd ever want to look at. He's got big bright eyes, a nose like a puppy dog's, and two cute little ears that stand straight up. And do you know what? He has a black mask that makes him look like a furry little outlaw. Rachel says he knows all kinds of tricks, like begging for food and holding his paws together like he is praying.

I wished I had more time to spend with Rachel and Gregory, but I knew that Pa was waiting for me at home, so I untied the team and headed back down the road toward home. With the ten sacks of oats on the wagon, Maud and Tony walked a little slower. It was a pleasant time to be on the road. I could smell the soil in the fields that had already been plowed. I even saw a wedge of wild geese winging north. Grandma, what a wonderful sound they make, honking as they fly. I watched the great Vs change as new geese took up the job of leading the flock.

Then I saw something in the underbrush alongside the road up ahead of the team. Suddenly a fox jumped out in the road, its big bushy tail sticking straight out behind it. The horses saw the fox at the same time I did. Tony snorted and reared on his hind legs, and then Maud did. Wow—it was scary seeing the team on their hind legs pawing the air and snorting like everything!

I pulled on the lines and yelled “whoa” at the top of my lungs. But it did no good. The team took off on a gallop toward home. I yanked on the lines as hard as I could, but there was no stopping them. I kept yelling “whoa, whoa,” but they didn't slow one bit. Then we got to a little turn in the road, and that's where it happened. The wagon flipped over on its side, throwing me into the neighbor's plowed field and spilling the seed oats in the ditch.

When the wagon tipped, Maud and Tony finally stopped. I got up from the muddy field and hobbled over to the wagon. I was muddy from one end to the other, but I wasn't hurt. Maud and Tony seemed all right, too, although they were breathing pretty hard. Pa had been watching me driving down the road, and he came running when he saw what happened. He grabbed the team by their bridles and calmed them down. Then he unhitched the team from the overturned wagon and said that we'd need some help in righting it, and that'd we'd have to shovel up as many of the seed oats as we could. I thought he was going to give me the dickens, but he didn't. He just asked if I was hurt and what happened. I told him about the fox running in front of the horses.

He said it doesn't take much to spook a team. I know one thing, Grandma, I'll never let the lines rest in my lap again. I didn't tell Pa that I wasn't holding the lines tight when the fox jumped in front of the horses.

Your grandson,

George

Dear George,

Depot appears to be a normal little puppy, getting into all kind of things he shouldn't. If you want to stay on your Ma's good side, you'll need to do a better job of watching after him. I'm sure you already know that.

I'm glad your Ma gave some food to the man who stopped by your house. This Depression is a terrible thing, indeed, and it just keeps hanging on, month after month, year after year. I know it's tough for farmers like your Pa who have to contend with low prices. But I think it's even worse in the big cities, like here in Cleveland. Twenty-five percent of our people who want to work do not have jobs. Can you imagine that? One-fourth of the people have no income, just like the fellow who stopped by your house asking for something to eat. Most of these men who are on the road have families, too. It's just terrible. I know you don't have it easy living on a farm, but at least you and your family have a roof over your heads and plenty to eat.

I spend some of my time volunteering at a soup kitchen in downtown Cleveland. A soup kitchen is a place where people can get a free meal. You should see the line of people waiting at noon each day. Every week the line seems to grow longer. You can tell by people's clothes, all faded and patched, that they have no money. About all we're able to give them at the soup kitchen is a slice of bread and a bowl of hot soup, sometimes with a little meat in it.

I'm lucky to have a little money from your grandfather's savings. It's enough so I have food to eat. So many people have nothing—no money for food, no money for clothes. I just don't know where it's all going to end. I'm trying to stay cheerful about it all. Your letters help me. Keep them coming. After a few hours of work at the soup kitchen, I need all the cheering up I can get.

Much love,

Grandma S.

April 15, 1938

Friday

Dear Grandma,

Good news, Grandma: Miss Harvey selected me for the spelling team! Rachel Williams and Amos Woodward are the other two members. Amos didn't want me on the team, so he said the spelling team shouldn't have any new students on it. Because I have attended Rose Hill for only a few weeks, I shouldn't be eligible, he said. Miss Harvey didn't see it that way and shushed Amos when he complained.

I felt like holding up my hand and telling Miss Harvey that Amos shouldn't be on the team because he doesn't spell all that well, but I thought better of it. Pa always says that there are times when it's best to keep your mouth shut. I figured this was one of those times.

We've been practicing every afternoon. We started out with easy words like “dessert” and “antique.” Miss Harvey keeps making them harder, and we three compete against each other. The first day Rachel won, and the second day I won. So far Amos hasn't won any of the practice matches. He isn't too happy about it, either.

Miss Harvey came up with the word “epistemology” one day. I asked if it really is a word. She smiled and said it surely is, and that it means the study of knowledge. None of us could even pronounce the word, so Miss Harvey wrote on the board: epis-te-mol-o-gy. Amos said it's a dumb word and asked why we should practice a word that will never be in a spelling bee. Miss Harvey said you can never be too sure about that, so we'd best learn how to both pronounce it and spell it.

Another word we have practiced is “chrysanthemum.” Now I know why most people say “mum” when they talk about this flower. “Chrysanthemum” is a mouthful. Miss Harvey wrote the syllables on the blackboard: chry-san-the-mum.

Practicing for a spelling bee is kind of fun, except for having Amos on the team. He hates me, Grandma.

Your grandson,

George

Dear George,

It's another rainy, dreary day in Ohio. All the people out of work here in Cleveland don't help matters, either. One bright spot for me is receiving your letters and hearing all about what you are doing.

Congratulations on being selected for your school's spelling team! Good luck at the upcoming spelling bee with the neighboring school. Spelling bees are lots of fun.

You are lucky you didn't get hurt when the horses ran away when a fox frightened them. That must have been a scary experience for you. I know it would have been for me. Whatever work you are doing, especially if it involves animals, you must never let your guard down. Of course, you know that now without me having to point it out to you.

Keep practicing your spelling. I'm sure you know that being a good speller will help you become an even better writer. I'm rooting for you, and I can't wait to hear how the spelling bee turns out. And keep trying to ignore Amos Woodward.

Love,

Grandma S.