Chapter 13 Morning Walks

Chapter 13 Morning Walks

When our family moved to the farm, Father and I found that we had a love of early morning walks in the fields. Was it the walks I was fond of, or was it having time alone with Father?

I pulled my dress over my bloomers, buttoned it up the front, tied the bow in the back, and then rummaged around in the dark to find my shoes.

Father waited for me right outside the kitchen door. The daylight glowed on the horizon before the sun made its appearance. He leaned against the porch railing, picking dirt from underneath his fingernails with a twig. Ready for the day, he wore overalls Mother had patched. A clean red bandana was tied around his neck, and his favorite straw hat sat on his head to protect him from the sun. He looked a little like the scarecrow we mounted in the garden to scare the birds away.

“You ready to go? You’ve grown so much these past months. I think you’ve kept pace with the corn stalks. I can almost watch you grow, sprout.” He patted my head.

Father often used his long-handled shovel as a walking stick. I enjoyed the walks because he’d name the insects, grasshoppers, and beetles we’d find along the path.

One day, a poisonous cat-eyed snake slithered out, crossing our path: slow, lazy, and still cold in the morning chill. Father cut that snake in half, quick as a gollywhopper stinging a cow in the eye. The two halves squiggled and wiggled even after the dang thing was dead. Father kept on walking like nothing, but I stayed close, looking over my shoulder, bumping into him all the way home. I wasn’t sure one half of that snake or the other wasn’t following us home.

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“Remind me, Father, how did we get electricity out here, when no one else had it?”

“Mr. Owens was an in-ven-tor.” Father always had taken to breaking words up into pieces when he wanted you to remember something.

“Yes, Father.”

“His tools modernized farmin’ for others, but it’s funny he never wanted to plant his fields and test his in-ven-tions on his own land. He built a hay loader, and I heard tell that Henry Ford, the automobile maker, bought the blueprint from him. Farmers all over Texas have one. I bet he could have made a heap of money if he had manufactured it hiself.”

We took turns kicking a clod of dirt as we walked. I tried to kick it the farthest, but Father won when the clump fell apart.

“But you haven’t told me about the electricity.”

Father picked a random spider web off a cotton plant.

“I’m getting to that. Even though he didn’t make as much money as he could have, Mr. Owens did pretty well on that deal with Mr. Ford because he managed to bring ‘lectricity to this county. It comes from a big power plant he and some others built near Galveston twenty years ago. It’s said he paid them to bring the juice up to this farm. That’s why we have light globes here in the house.” Father pointed to a twig. When I looked closer, it moved.

“I know it, Father. I know it! It’s called a walking stick,” I said.

“That’s right,” Father said as he touched it again. “Sometimes they sway back and forth to make it look like it’s moving with the breeze.” Then he knocked it off the leaf and crushed it with the toe of his boot. “They have a voracious appetite and if I let ‘em they’ll eat the whole dang field.”

“Oh, Father. But they’re so cute. Why did you kill it?”

“We can’t have bugs eating the cotton. Sorry, Sprout.” He tugged at my braid.

“Do you think Mr. Owens brought electricity here to get light in the barn so he could work on his contraptions at night?”

“You’re so smart, Ruth. Yes, I think he did,” Father said. “Now that we have a harvest under our belt, we’ve used this land as the Lord intended. We made a nice little profit last year.”

Maybe Father would buy me a new book for my birthday.

“Our vegetables did real well. The pantry is right to overflowing with canning jars. Next winter Mother plans to sell the extra vegetables at the city market. You know, fewer and fewer of those city folk plant themselves gardens these days.” Father took my hand and swung it high in the air. “People wanted Mother’s recipes, so she figured she might as well sell them instead of handing over the family gold for free. Your mother and I feel you and Suzanna can help, canning the vegetables and such, but you’re old enough now and can lend me a hand with the planting and outside chores too.”

I hoped it would be easier out here on the farm, but I was already finding it hard to keep up. Besides washing Father’s bandanas, I sloped the pigs, fed the chickens twice daily, brought in the eggs, and did my schoolwork. I kept wondering when I’d have time to read, and now it looked like there would be more work for me than a mule could haul in a week. I let out a long sigh. Father glanced down at me. He picked up a kitten that had strayed from the barn and handed it to me.

“I know. Sprout, but we’ll figure this out, soon there will be more time for you girls.

The smell of fresh cornbread wafted out the kitchen door into the courtyard.

“You smell that?” Father asked. “Smells like sunshine. Your mother’s been baking.” We opened the back door.

“Go wash up now.” Mother said. “Don’t be sitting at my table with dirty hands. Off with you.”

After Mother placed breakfast on the table, it almost took us longer to say our prayer than to wipe our plates clean.

“That’s good cooking, Bess,” Father said, scooting back his chair. He cleaned his chin with the napkin and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thank the Good Lord for our blessings. I’ll be working down by the river today.”

“Ruth, get your things,” Mother said. “Don’t be late for school.”