Chapter 19: True Charity

In the summer of 1933, disaster struck. The drought got worse and the sun burned down from cloudless skies, searing the young sprouts of wheat and corn barely peeking out of the ground. Worse yet, whole families were starving. Some people were driven off their farms and out of their homes when they could no longer pay even a portion of the interest on their loans.

Then there were many more who just gave up and left. It was not a rare sight to see a worn out man and his equally worn out wife trudging down the road, pulling a home made jury rigged cart loaded with whatever they felt they could not get along without. They were the dispossessed, called Okies and Arkies and worse.

Ma wept tears of great sorrow at the spectacle of whole families homeless and moneyless and hungry, determined to walk the whole way to California, the promised Land. President Franklin Roosevelt uttered words forever seared in the heart and souls of the Dispossessed. When farmers resisted leaving their farms for the relocation camps, he said, "Let them starve, then." He recanted those words later, but by the time he gave help where it was needed, it was too late for many. They were already dead or gone from their farms.

Some hardy souls walked the whole way to California, or drove if they had transportation or hitch hiked. Others rode the rails, sneaking into open boxcars, evading the dreaded railroad bulls. Then there were so many who died on rail sidings when the car they were huddled in was left out in the middle of nowhere.

There were also those who stayed and fought back at the elements and prospered to one degree or another, or failed and died. John Steinbeck's classic "Grapes Of Wrath" told some of the story.

Grandpa Hansen homesteaded some of the choicest land in the whole area. We had water the year around. Others had little or none. We shared with our neighbors and permitted them to bring their livestock to our small lake of dammed up water. As June turned into July the water level dropped, but Pa would not turn his back on our neighbors.

Because I wanted a catfish pond and Pa wanted irrigation water we built our dam. So many fortunate things came together all at once for us. But like Pa pointed out, "All the good ideas in the world get you nothing if you don't work hard to make them real." We worked very hard to put in our dam. Come to think of it, we worked very hard all the time for everything we wanted.

After a trip to town to get a harrow welded, Pa looked very sad. He told Ma, "There are people without food in Woodman. People are coming into town off their farms looking for any kind of work they can get. A man offered to work all day if I would just feed his two children. Something has to be done. That dam' socialist in the White House said as far as he was concerned, let the farmers starve."

"Did he really say something so awful?" Ma was incredulous.

"Well, it's what I heard," Pa told her. "And I did see an awful lot of hungry and idle people in town."

"Pa, couldn't we grow a bigger garden and take our surplus into town? It's a month late in the season, but we ought to get something out of it. And we have extra oats and wheat. Folks should be able to do something with the grains and we could maybe kill a hog..." I stopped as I saw that I was beginning to sound a little impractical. In fact, I was embarrassed because I had let my mouth run faster than my brain.

Pa looked at me and smiled and asked, "Son, why is it you have all the good ideas? I ran into Brother Moore in town and he said he wanted to do something to help those who are less fortunate than we are. He would like to serve free food to people who are going hungry. He said there is stiff resistance from some of the people in the church.

"Well, Walter, let's get together with Brother Moore and whoever else is willing to help those in need and do it any way. Let those who don't like it go to church elsewhere. Or we could even start our own church. But I am not going to let people starve because of a selfish few." Ma had spoken and Pa nodded his total agreement.

"Son, hitch up a team and plow two more acres. I'm going on back into town. The feed store has a sale on vegetable seeds."

He turned to Ma, "Hon, you ride into town with me. I get lonesome for your fine company." He gave her a hug and led her out to the car. They were gone in a cloud of dust. As they drove out of the yard, Ma already had her head on Pa's shoulder. Since my own marriage got closer, I understood more of what their love was about. I sure hoped Betty May and I would be close like they were when we got old and in our thirties.

Even though it was mid day, I hitched two Percherons, Molly and Dolly, up to the single point plow and started to turn the soil on the slope between "my" dam and the house. It was closer to three acres, but a little more wouldn't hurt. Also, I was feeling a certain amount of concern for the Hendersons. Ever since our engagement I became very close to Betty (naturally) and her family. I knew Mr. Henderson had been doing a lot of repairs on credit for people who could not afford to pay right when they had the work done.

It was dark by the time I heard the new Ford come up the hill and into the yard. Dog had brought the cows in and I was in the midst of milking when Pa got out of the truck and came out to the barn.

"You're milking a little late, aren't you Davy?" Pa asked.

He turned up the kerosene lantern I had brought out to the barn to see by and saw I had two cows left to milk. He grabbed a bucket and squatted down by one cow and started to milk her.

"Well, Pa, I was trying to get as much of our new garden plowed as I could. I'm sorry I made the cows wait." I gave him my explanation and shut up. I learned early in life pa had no use for what he called, "excuses, alibis and other lies." If you did something wrong, just own up to it. Face up and get it over with.

"Son, your heart was in the right place, but it does pain the cows when they need to be milked, as you well know." "His tone was gentle but full of reproof.

"I know, Pa, and I am sorry." There was nothing else I could say. I finished the old Guernsey and started on the last cow, a new Swiss heifer. She just recently had her first calf. She was fidgety and I had to be patient with her.

He helped me carry the milk to the milk house and started to turn the separator crank. Dog grabbed the old tin bowl up in his teeth and brought it over to me for his first serving. Pa watched in amazement as I filled the bowl and Dog slurped it all down. He brought it back for seconds. And I gave him more and he inhaled the second bowl of milk, licked it clean, belched and went over to sit by the door.

"Your dog even washes his own dishes. He is an amazing animal. Now just so he doesn't learn how to use a knife and fork. Then I'll be real worried he's haunted." He shook his head in mock concern.

The next morning, after the milking was done, I hitched up one team of horses to the plow and Pa hitched up the other team to the discs. I finished plowing. While Pa broke up the big clods with the discs, I changed over to the harrow and broke the soil up so it was manageable for planting.

Pa approved of the extra land I had plowed. It always felt great when Pa complimented me on something. He was able to show appreciation in such a way as to make it very important to me.

Ma took a bunch of russet potatoes that had begun to sprout and pulled them out to us in my old red American Flyer wagon. After I got too old to play with it, Ma took it over to be her "tote cart," as she called it. Over and over she shoved her plugger into the ground and droped in a cut up section of potato. She always tried to have three "eyes" in every piece. She figured at least one of the three eyes would sprout.

We had everything planted in neat and orderly rows. We put in turnips, beets, carrots and a lot of beans, as well as the potatoes. Beans and potatoes were great staples to fight off hunger. It took us two and a half days of hard work to get everything planted. We were in a hurry because it was the middle of April, and it was the month everything was supposed to already be in and growing. We still had our "regular garden." It would yield its first produce in June and July and we would help the hungry with what we could spare out of it.

Our regular chores were not neglected. Although the plowing and planting was in, there was the constant weeding had to be done. Irrigation was the only way we could grow anything because the weather was so dry. We kept the pasture gates all open so the livestock could drink. The usual seeps were all dried up and the cows and horses came to the dam to drink.

The following Sunday, Pa brought up most of the potatoes out of the spud cellar. I helped him load the truck with our surplus. He looked at the load and said, "Son, this looks like a lot now but you just wait and see. It will be just a drop in the bucket to what is needed."