In the years 1934 to 1936 the great depression had begun to wane. During those years my mother told me she and I lived in a tent on the bald prairie during the summer. She said it was the happiest period of her life. She said, "I got up in the morning, swept out the floor of the tent and we picked wild strawberries for breakfast with the farmers cream next door. Then you and I did all the nursery rhymes 'til you could say them by heart." I was two years old in 1936 and my mother and I were following my father those summers. As the depression abated he finally got work again with the railroad as a telegrapher substituting here and there in two week stints throughout the prairie railroad depots. We were like camp followers but she thrived on the change and the bonding with her first-born and the gypsy life style. The four years I had alone with my mother in this fashion, linked by indissoluble bonds not connected with things; house, bed, bicycle, TV, internet, may have left an imprint that differs from today. The stability that is supposed to be supplied by the received wisdom that a home must be provided with all the accoutrements in place before family planning has possibly some sense. However a little love, a lot of attention and bonding face to face with your mother, union of mind and body over nursery rhymes, makes up for any camp following and all the diverting stuff of today.
1 Comment
7/1/2017 08:21:28 am
Sweet story; loved it. I have often wondered why adults from supposedly secure middle class backgrounds occasionally seem to suffer from a sense of privation or lack. This gives insight as to why and as to what is really important. Being raised on the prairies and knowing the area also helps me relate to this narrative. I could taste the berries, hear the wind and smell the smells.
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