My Life at Friday's Crossing in the Great Depression and After

By Ardis T. Weems

Moving Day, October 1930

youngartyoungartWhoa! The mules stopped the wagon as soon as the command was given. My grandfather, Roscoe Weems, used the hub of the right front wheel to jump to the ground, still holding the leather lines. To show appreciation for the rest, one of the mules snorted and both blew hot breath into the air, which formed fog in the morning chill. The load of canned goods was being transported to the farm my parents had just bought. This is my earliest memory. But I am getting ahead of the story...[read complete book]

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