I did not attend
the auction at our little farm. I had no
desire to watch our meager and somewhat shabby but familiar possessions
dispersed to strangers. I had said my
goodbyes to old Buck, that patient and gentle big buckskin horse, and to Red,
the little blazed- face sorrel. They had
served us well and were my friends.
Mother had told me
that I could keep one of our two guns—either the slim little twenty-two or the
single-barreled breech loader shotgun—for hunting that fall. I chose the shotgun. I had only been permitted to carry a shotgun
for the past year and some bird hunting wa all that it was likely to do in the
fall. I would be leaving in the spring
before squirrel season.
Mother also asked
me not to plague Grandpa and Grandma with a dog so, very reluctantly and having
to hold back tears, I said goodbye to my good friend Pup and gave him to one of
my cousins who I was sure would treat him well and take care of him.
On the day of the
sale on a Saturday I simply helped Grandpa around the store and carried buckets
of water from the well for Grandma. I do
not know how much money was realized, but hopefully it was sufficient to defray
Mother’s expenses on the long trip west.
Departure day for
Mother, Richard, Rex, and tiny seven-month-old Sandra arrived. Mr. Ganaway loaded our old metal trunk and
such housewares as mother could take into the truck, then he piled bedding and
pillows on top so that Richard and Rex would have room to sit up under the
canopy. There was even a small space for
them to hang their feet down at the back.
Mr. Ganaway said, “Well, boys, you won’t see where we are going, but you
will sure know where we have been!” It
promised to be a long, long haul on those miles across Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming,
Montana, Idaho, and Washington.
Our family was
never very demonstrative. My mother’s
eyes puddled up a bit when she told Grandma and Grandpa goodbye. She hugged me and admonished me to write a
letter once in a while. She turned then
and climbed into the truck while Richard and Rex scrambled into the back. Grandma reluctantly handed up Sandra
Dean. I patted Sandra’s tiny hand, then
closed the door as the truck engine growled into life. They pulled away and off down the graveled road
toward Dadeville and the highway west beyond.
The last I saw was
Richard and Rex waving gaily from the back of the truck until the dust obscured
them. I stood in the road and watched
them disappear past the little house where we had lived, then I had to hurry
off to school.
