Cotton & Corn
A
Place, A Life, A Memory
by
Royce A Ratterman
The
Great Depression and the Dust Bowl era of Oklahoma's history hit its farming
communities hard, but the hopeful, optimistic simplicities of youth prevailed
and birthed a new generation, a strong and determined generation, a generation
of patriotic, hard-working Americans.
Travel
back to the days when the work ethics and lifestyles forged what it meant to be
a human being; back to a time when the friendships one formed and nurtured
created bonds that would last a lifetime.
Rae
Ann’s story of life in Oklahoma as it was during the years 1929 through 1940,
is one of faith and inspiration, of life's joys and life's hardships, of
youthful courage and hopeful dreams.
Cotton
& Corn is filled with straight-forward, poignant, and unforgettable
remembrances as experienced by this young girl and those around her.
ISBN:
978-82-93267-12-6 – Paperback / 978-82-93267-13-3 – Kindle
Page Count:
208
Language:
English
Fiction /
Biographical
~
Chapters ~
One: Oklahoma
1929
Two: Highs
& Lows
Three: Oklahoma
Summer
Four: Picture
Day
Five: Howling
Coyotes
Six: Inkwells
& Pigtails
Seven: Jawbreakers
Eight: A
Blizzard’s Revenge
Nine: Living
Room Decor
Ten: As
Chickens Grow
Eleven: The
Staples of Life
Twelve: Dry
Times
Thirteen: The
Wally & Thelma Jones Farm
Fourteen: Mister
Richardson
Fifteen: Christmas
Cheers
Sixteen: Cotton
Pickers
Seventeen: The
Summer of ‘39
Eighteen: Hands
of the Almighty
Nineteen: Fried
Green Tomatoes & Watermelon
Twenty: Corn
on the Cob
Twenty-One:
Sowing & Reaping
Epilogue
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Excerpt:
One
____________
Oklahoma
1929
Some
folks tell me, ‘Rae Ann, you've lived a mighty long and blessed life.’ But
livin’ to be eighty, ninety, or even a hundred years old sure don't seen quite
so long once you be reachin’ it. One kinda be thinkin’ that another hundred or
so years might be alright. Nobody wants to just up and die. Now I do pity those
folks who be sufferin' in their bodies, hearts, and all; those folks who just
keep on livin’ when all they want to do is to die and end their miseries. But
yes, I have been mighty blessed in life. I recollect my days as a youngin were
the days when I started lookin’ for some of life’s blessing. You see, times in
Oklahoma back then were a might bit trying on a person’s soul and life, but by
God's grace we made it through them times and come out on the other side just
fine.
My
earliest memories, although faded like an old worn-out photograph, are of
visiting my grandma and grandpa Charlton over in Union City. We were living on
a farm not far from there in those days. Sometime after that visit grandpa
passed away. I remember just staring at a large standing crucifix at the
cemetery during the funeral, my mind thinkin’ about dyin’ and bein’ buried and
all of that stuff that scares a kid almost to death, especially when tryin’ to
get to sleep at night in a dark bedroom. Father McNeary presided over the
affairs and did a mighty fine job, or so I heard my Ma say from time to time.
Father McNeary was young and just startin’ out in his priestly callin’ back
then and I remember him as bein’ such a nice fellow, you know, for bein’ a
priest and all.
My
Pa's name was John and my mother's was Hilda. I had an older brother, Richard,
who was ten months to the day older than me; I had another younger brother,
Theodore, but everyone always called him Teddy; and two younger sisters, Mary
and Sarah Jane. 'A lot of mouths to feed!'
as Pa used to say.
Richard
was sort of tall and lanky with curly black hair; Teddy, well he was much
taller than all the other boys his age and was crowned with the fullest,
blackest head of hair a person could ever see. He was an even-tempered boy;
Mary was just plain cute and when Sarah Jane came along she must of inherited
that same cuteness herself. Sarah Jane was a bit smaller than other girls her
age though. Both Mary and Sarah Jane were easy-goin’. Now me, I had lots more
black curly hair when I was a youngin than I do now. Folks always called me the
spunky one, or sometimes the wiry one. I used to do just about everything my
brothers did. I had the energy and gumption of a dozen polecats. I ain’t
mellowed much with age either.
Those were
the days we were growin’ cotton and corn.
~ ~
~ ~ ~
“Rae
Ann,” Hilda Charlton called out to her slowly dressing daughter, “get a move
on, you know your Pa won’t look kindly on you makin’ us late to your grandpa’s
funeral!”
“I’m
hurryin’ Ma, just a minute.”
“Not
a minute, Rae Ann… now.”
As
John Charlton hitched up the horses to the wagon, Hilda herded the children
together faster and better than any sheep dog around could have. Clothes needed
to be inspected for tidiness, teeth and hands for cleanliness, and hair and
other details for appropriateness; a full morning’s work for a busy mother of
five.
“It’s
pert near ten o’clock,” Hilda admonished her brood of youngins, “half the day’s
gone already.” You children know that farm work don’t be waitin’ for anything,
even on funeral days like today. A person has to adjust their life to the
workload at hand, the workload ain’t gonna be adjustin’ itself no how.”
When
four in the morning came around, it signaled the start of the day’s work
routines that kept a busy sharecropping family active from before dawn until
after dusk. Mr. Charlton would rise and wake his eldest son, Richard, and the
two would scurry out to feed the farm’s livestock before the surrounding
rolling hills and planted crop fields echoed with the cries of those hungry
critters with their empty stomachs. Once the animals were fed, water troughs
filled, and irrigation hoses placed and flowing with water for the day,
breakfast was next on the agenda. Then, it was back out to the fields to check
the irrigation hoses for stoppages.
Richard
had learned early the simple technique of “floppin’ hoses” as his father would
say. He would grab the hose, submerge it into the depths of the irrigation
canal, wait for the cool waters to fill it, then place his thumb over the end
and flop it over into one of the plowed water runs. The floppin’ caused a
suction that siphoned the water from one large canal into the smaller plowed
furrows. Dozens and dozens of short hoses needed to be activated every morning,
but Richard was proud to be a working member helping to support his family.
The
smells of fresh cut hay, irrigation waters, growing crops, and farmland animals
graced the lives of those who worked the lands; smells foreign to life in the
city, smells treasured by generations of families across America’s rolling
hills, beautiful mountains, and plush green valleys.
“Let’s get
a move on!” John Charlton shouted.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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