And the Story Goes On

When we moved to the farm my sister was three years old. In 1925 my oldest brother was born and in 1930 my youngest brother was born. He was born with a spirit of adventure. When he was old enough to walk he began to climb. First it was the furniture. Then it was the piano where we would find him sitting yelling," Mommy, get me down". One day in the spring his curiosity got him in trouble. He decided to see what the world looked like from the top of the cherry tree so up the ladder he went. Mom was afraid he would let go so I had to climb that ladder slowly while Mom stood at the bottom to catch him if he fell. I finally got him and we made our way down the ladder to safety. Another day when he was a little older we missed him from the yard and went looking. We found him playing in the creek with our faithful collie dog, Spot, watching him carefully. I am sure if he had fallen in the creek that dog would have pulled him out. They were inseparable. The economy was getting worse and my Dad lost his job. In order to keep from losing the farm my parents sold that farm. We then moved to a farm in the north part of the county where my paternal grandparents lived. They were needing care as they were no longer able to care for themselves. We had to leave the orchards with all the apples and other fruit, our beloved creek and the hills where we could sled in the winter. That period of my life was over.