I saw her for the first time in the summer of 1912.
She was carrying water up from the bend at Muddy creek to the church kitchen. I knew right then and there, she was the one. Awash in the brilliant colors of summer, she was making her way through the tall grass. Carrying two old silver pails, I could see from where I was working that her hands and arms were strong but her features were delicate. I remember how the warm summer breeze pushed her along until she finally disappeared through the church doorway. In all honesty, I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life.
We were married in the spring of ’13. It was a simple ceremony at the same church where I’d first seen her. Looking back, it’s clear to me now that we had every opportunity to get out…but when you’re young, you don’t always make the best decisions; especially when it means leaving family behind.
I went to work on old man Morrison’s ranch and my wife took in laundry. When they struck oil over in Springer’s Parish, I went to work in the fields. It wasn’t much of a life. We’d scrape and scratch to make ends meet and every year the seasons would come creeping; one by one they’d come and one by one, they’d go. It was a hard life. That’s about all I remember of it.
Still, they warned us that no one ever gets out of here alive. We had our chance–but when you’re young and in love, you don’t listen. You just don’t.
We were buried here in the winter of ‘38—swallowed up by the epidemic that rolled through the county–and every year the seasons just keep creeping; one by one they still come.
Prairie Cemetery, western NE
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