A Most Unusual Passage
Copyright© 2026 by J&J
Chapter 19
Darkness, that’s all I remember. I felt like I was in an endless dream, but couldn’t remember the details. I believe a few times something was almost there. But, it remained just out of reach. Eventually, I could think somewhat, but I had no control. The thoughts came of their own volition; vivid and clear, as if I was seeing what happened just yesterday.
I remember my dad and mom and the rest of us in the tornado cellar. The terrible, roaring sound above us, as the tornado ripped through the yard. When we finally made our way outside, it was an amazing sight. To the north, every building was torn apart. The barn, the creamery and the chicken house were nothing but splinters lying on the ground. South of where we stood, the house sat untouched. I remember the look of despair on my father’s face. And then, slowly, he straightened, and you could see his look of determination.
I recalled the following year, as Dad rebuilt the barn and chicken house. I could also remember my mother crying when Dad told us that the hail that came with the tornado had taken most of the wheat crop. I realized that was when I started to understand what the word “tenacity” really meant. Somehow, someway, Dad and Mom had pulled us through a most terrible time. There were times when all we had to eat was one chicken and a few potatoes, but we never really went hungry. Over the summer and even through the winter, Dad and several of the neighbors cleared the rubble and started building a new barn.
From the many discussions over the dinner table, I remembered Mom’s concern about using all of their savings for building materials. My father, always the pragmatic one, responded that without a barn, we might as well give up the farm.
I also remembered the frustration I felt at being too small to help. The continual admonishments that I would only get in the way were frustrating for a seven year old child. Thankfully, my mother understood and managed to soothe my bruised ego.
Unbidden, the scene of my first trip to Denver came. That would have been in the summer of 1929. I was nine years old. The acrid smoke from the locomotive, alive in my nose as we boarded the train in Akron, was clearly present. The great hulking black piece of iron pulsed with life, as the dark smoke spewed from the smokestack. I was mesmerized by the train swaying and the click-clack of the wheels on the rails. I don’t think my nose left the car’s window pane the entire trip.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.