August 31, 1935
Well, that gullywasher and the flood that followed it wasn’t the end of the drought. A couple of months later, Pop found me in the orchard sawing off another dead limb from the Macintosh apple tree.
“Nora, take it easy,” He grabbed my arm. “You’re gonna saw off your fingers.”
I looked over my shoulder. My tears were still streaming. “Our trees are all dying!”
Pop sighed. “I know, Nora, but maiming yourself won’t save them.”
“But, Pop, it all seems so hopeless. We can’t grow a crop. We can’t feed a steer. I can’t go dancing.” I buried my face in my hands.
“And Mom can’t stop coughing.”
“You know what the doctor said.” He gathered me into his arms. “Coughing out all that dust is good.”
I relaxed a bit.
“And at night, she takes that concoction your Aunt Mag mixed up from Grandma’s recipe. It helps her sleep.”
“I know, Pop. Her coughing doesn’t wake me up so much anymore.”
“See. Sometimes I think the old midwives and herbalists like your grandmother know a lot more than the doctors.”
“If the storms would just stop. If I could just see something green—once in a while.”
“You will, Nora. This drought is gonna stop sometime. Your grandparents used to talk about a drought in the 1870s that couldn’t seem to stop, either. And they had locusts. I guess it was pretty bad then, too.”
“You think it will stop?”
“In time, yes. Then you’ll see all the green you want. Wheat and oats and corn and lettuce and green beans. Carrots. What I wouldn’t give for a nice crisp carrot.”
“Or a tomato. Imagine a sweet, ripe tomato, meat filling your mouth, juice running down your chin. I wouldn’t even mind staining my shirt.” I leaned against his shoulder. “Pop, what do you suppose Connor’s eating these days?”
“Remember the letter we got last week. He’s in the Civilian Conservation Corps now. Said they’re sending him to Tahoe National Forest. I imagine they’ll feed those boys very well.”
“I’ll bet it’s pretty and green there. Think about when we took Uncle Lawrence to California—back when it rained here, and we could get away.”
“Sure do. We camped one night at Tahoe.”
“I remember the pine trees rustling in the breeze and the warm pine smell. We could see the stars peeking among the branches.”
“And the air felt so cool.” Pop released me, held my shoulders and pushed me away, looking into my eyes. “Maybe we can go there again when it starts to rain. It’ll take a few years to catch up, but maybe . . .”
“Maybe so, Pop, but you know, I really envy Connor. He’s in that beautiful country. In the woods. Up in the mountains. He probably isn’t even sweating himself dry.”
“Prob’ly not, Nora, but those boys are there to work. And if they’re still out there this winter, it’s gonna be pretty dang chilly.”
“Well, we’re working here, too, and I wouldn’t mind the cold and some snow crunching under my feet. Oh, Pop, I’m so tired of grit in my hair. Grit in my teeth and grit under my fingernails. I can’t ever feel clean. I’m afraid I’ll get stuck here and never see anything else. Never get to see what goes on in other places. Never do anything but what I’m doing right now.”
Pop looked a little startled. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Timbuktu. Cairo. London. Paris.”
“Really?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m just so tired of dust.”
“I know, Sweetheart, it really wears you down, doesn’t it?”
“To the nubbins.” I looked at my toes. They were beginning to show through my shoes. “What I wouldn’t do for a whole pair of shoes.” I looked at Pop. “Or the material to make a new dress. I haven’t even had a new dress in years. Neither has Mom—or you, Pop.”
Pop grinned. “I’m not too interested in a new dress,” he said.
I chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. It does get depressing sometimes. “But,” he glanced toward the house, “we’d probably better get inside before the beans get cold.”
“Ugh,” I said, grabbing the saw I had dropped when Pop grabbed me. I swung it by my side as we walked to the house.