Dirt by SL Dwyer
Posted: August 24th, 2010, 11:46 am
A hot, angry wind blew across the ravaged land, scorching layer upon layer of once fertile earth. Obliterating man, beast, and vegetation from what they once were and what they could have been. Undulating oceans of gritty land resembled a foreign landscape, bleak and desolate, constantly changing. Homes became skeletal remains, framed by twisted fencing and gnarled trees.
Miles upon miles, the land had been abandoned to the ever present winds and swirling dirt. Sad remnants of dwellings stood sentry, waiting for a time when the land would lose its hostility and men and their families could return. So became the picture of the southern plains during the great dust bowl. Families struggled for the merest survival amidst a wasted environment.
In Texas County of Oklahoma, the Larkin farm fared no better than the rest of the rural homesteads. The ragged wood framed house, sandblasted and weathered, creaked and whistled in tune to the unforgiving wind. In the tiny, bare kitchen, bathed in the golden light of an oil lamp, Becka Larkin stifled another round of tears. Days of talking had turned into hours of crying, although all the crying in the world wouldn’t solve the problem they faced. Her eyes, red and swollen, held the pain only a loving parent could feel, and the defeat of a human being.
“Becka, there has to be another way.” Hank stared into the glow from the lantern, unable to look at the woman who held his heart. His weather beaten hands lay splayed on the table. They had been together since they ran away and were married on her sixteenth birthday, he, barely nineteen. His gut wrenched seeing her pain.
“We’ve tried. And we ain’t got no more answers,” she said. “We ain’t got enough money for food. No money for gas to get to California. And even if we did, what’re we gonna do when we get there?
“I heard there’s jobs out there.”
“You wanna pick fruit and dig ditches?” She pulled the chair out and dropped down on to it. “We’d end up livin’ in one of them squatters camps, doing laundry and washin' dishes in a water ditch. Sleepin' in the truck with all our belongin’s settin' out for any one of them white trash people to steal. We'd be losing the only home we've had.” Becka laid her head in her hands and whispered, “Don’t make no difference anyway. We ain't got no money to get there. Ain't no sense talkin' about it.”
“Somethin' is better then nothin'. What you’re sayin' is crazy.” Hank reached for her small callused hand, took it in his own and squeezed lightly, afraid to hurt the fragile bones poking through paper-thin skin. "You know I’d do anythin' for you, Becka, we can find a doctor who can help ya. I jus’ don’t know this is best for Sammy and Birdie. What’re they gonna do without us? It ain't right. God will hold us accountable.”
“I can be facin’ Gods wrath, but not watchin’ my babies starve while I die,” Becka said, her voice a mere whisper.
Sammy carefully stepped across the wooden stair, the one that creaked. Holding on to the hand railing, he crept down two more stairs to be within earshot of his parents talking. The few words he managed to hear froze him where he crouched. He squatted on the dusty step and pressed his ear between the railings to hear more,the old, splintered wood dug creases into his forehead.
“We can’t give them a proper home now. What’re we gonna do in a month? I can’t sit here watchin' our kids starve.” Becka’s voice rose in anguish. The kitchen chair scraped the wood floor when she stood. Her eyes sadly took in the small room, seeing their meager belongings. The food shelves pathetically empty. When they moved to this house they expected bountiful harvests to fill the now empty rows of shelving. She had dreamed of all the fine fruits and vegetables she would can and put up for the winter months. Now she only dreamed of miracles. Miracles she knew would never come. Miracles blowing through on the hot prairie wind with no chance of stopping for someone to claim as their own.
"We don't want to be wakin' the youngin's, Becka. Maybe we should talk outside," Hank said. He felt the hopelessness in her eyes, the despair in the way her shoulders hunched against the pain of loss. Two long steps crossed the small room and he took her in his arms, caressed her once shiny, glorious auburn hair, now dull and dirty. “Oh my poor Becka. This ain't the life we dreamt about. The life I promised you if'n you’d run away with me. I’m so sorry.” He brushed her hair with his lips.
She wrapped her arms around his skinny frame, her heart breaking at the loss of weight their troubles had caused. The young boy she had fallen in love with had become a ghost of his past self. In her heart she knew how hard he had tried to provide the life they dreamed of. Then one day, all their hard work was destroyed by an unforgiving force of nature. The heat, the wind, and the death of their life’s work took such a massive toll on their hearts and her health, the ability to overcome all the adversity became lost in their daily struggle.
“The State will take care of the children. I have to believe that,” she whispered. “It’s a small price to pay to make sure they survive.”
“Couldn’t we ask the State to take them in, just for a while? Till we get on our feet. We could get them back when things are better,” He asked.
“I done talked to Louise. She tried ‘fore they left to go west. The State don’t take no kids if the parents are able bodied to work. They ain't got no more room.” Becka pulled away. She looked back across the room, seeing her footprints in the dust, she said, “I just swept these floors this afternoon.” Her voice flat, emotionless.
Dust lay everywhere in their small home; no matter how many sheets were hung across the windows, or rag rugs placed in front of the doors, it found a way in through the smallest of cracks. It clung to their hair, noses, and faces. Settled into the wrinkles of their clothes and filled their shoes. They slept under wet sheets to keep the invading dust out of their beds.
Hank tilted his wife’s head up with a finger. “Tonight?” he asked.
Tears in her eyes, unable to answer, Becka nodded.
Sammy couldn't listen any longer. The snatches of conversation he overheard became too much. He stood and raced up the stairs, forgetting the one that creaked, flew around the corner and jumped in his bed. He pulled the thin wet sheet over his head and fought not to cry. All he could think of was his parents were giving his sister and him away. His mother and father were leaving them.
Miles upon miles, the land had been abandoned to the ever present winds and swirling dirt. Sad remnants of dwellings stood sentry, waiting for a time when the land would lose its hostility and men and their families could return. So became the picture of the southern plains during the great dust bowl. Families struggled for the merest survival amidst a wasted environment.
In Texas County of Oklahoma, the Larkin farm fared no better than the rest of the rural homesteads. The ragged wood framed house, sandblasted and weathered, creaked and whistled in tune to the unforgiving wind. In the tiny, bare kitchen, bathed in the golden light of an oil lamp, Becka Larkin stifled another round of tears. Days of talking had turned into hours of crying, although all the crying in the world wouldn’t solve the problem they faced. Her eyes, red and swollen, held the pain only a loving parent could feel, and the defeat of a human being.
“Becka, there has to be another way.” Hank stared into the glow from the lantern, unable to look at the woman who held his heart. His weather beaten hands lay splayed on the table. They had been together since they ran away and were married on her sixteenth birthday, he, barely nineteen. His gut wrenched seeing her pain.
“We’ve tried. And we ain’t got no more answers,” she said. “We ain’t got enough money for food. No money for gas to get to California. And even if we did, what’re we gonna do when we get there?
“I heard there’s jobs out there.”
“You wanna pick fruit and dig ditches?” She pulled the chair out and dropped down on to it. “We’d end up livin’ in one of them squatters camps, doing laundry and washin' dishes in a water ditch. Sleepin' in the truck with all our belongin’s settin' out for any one of them white trash people to steal. We'd be losing the only home we've had.” Becka laid her head in her hands and whispered, “Don’t make no difference anyway. We ain't got no money to get there. Ain't no sense talkin' about it.”
“Somethin' is better then nothin'. What you’re sayin' is crazy.” Hank reached for her small callused hand, took it in his own and squeezed lightly, afraid to hurt the fragile bones poking through paper-thin skin. "You know I’d do anythin' for you, Becka, we can find a doctor who can help ya. I jus’ don’t know this is best for Sammy and Birdie. What’re they gonna do without us? It ain't right. God will hold us accountable.”
“I can be facin’ Gods wrath, but not watchin’ my babies starve while I die,” Becka said, her voice a mere whisper.
Sammy carefully stepped across the wooden stair, the one that creaked. Holding on to the hand railing, he crept down two more stairs to be within earshot of his parents talking. The few words he managed to hear froze him where he crouched. He squatted on the dusty step and pressed his ear between the railings to hear more,the old, splintered wood dug creases into his forehead.
“We can’t give them a proper home now. What’re we gonna do in a month? I can’t sit here watchin' our kids starve.” Becka’s voice rose in anguish. The kitchen chair scraped the wood floor when she stood. Her eyes sadly took in the small room, seeing their meager belongings. The food shelves pathetically empty. When they moved to this house they expected bountiful harvests to fill the now empty rows of shelving. She had dreamed of all the fine fruits and vegetables she would can and put up for the winter months. Now she only dreamed of miracles. Miracles she knew would never come. Miracles blowing through on the hot prairie wind with no chance of stopping for someone to claim as their own.
"We don't want to be wakin' the youngin's, Becka. Maybe we should talk outside," Hank said. He felt the hopelessness in her eyes, the despair in the way her shoulders hunched against the pain of loss. Two long steps crossed the small room and he took her in his arms, caressed her once shiny, glorious auburn hair, now dull and dirty. “Oh my poor Becka. This ain't the life we dreamt about. The life I promised you if'n you’d run away with me. I’m so sorry.” He brushed her hair with his lips.
She wrapped her arms around his skinny frame, her heart breaking at the loss of weight their troubles had caused. The young boy she had fallen in love with had become a ghost of his past self. In her heart she knew how hard he had tried to provide the life they dreamed of. Then one day, all their hard work was destroyed by an unforgiving force of nature. The heat, the wind, and the death of their life’s work took such a massive toll on their hearts and her health, the ability to overcome all the adversity became lost in their daily struggle.
“The State will take care of the children. I have to believe that,” she whispered. “It’s a small price to pay to make sure they survive.”
“Couldn’t we ask the State to take them in, just for a while? Till we get on our feet. We could get them back when things are better,” He asked.
“I done talked to Louise. She tried ‘fore they left to go west. The State don’t take no kids if the parents are able bodied to work. They ain't got no more room.” Becka pulled away. She looked back across the room, seeing her footprints in the dust, she said, “I just swept these floors this afternoon.” Her voice flat, emotionless.
Dust lay everywhere in their small home; no matter how many sheets were hung across the windows, or rag rugs placed in front of the doors, it found a way in through the smallest of cracks. It clung to their hair, noses, and faces. Settled into the wrinkles of their clothes and filled their shoes. They slept under wet sheets to keep the invading dust out of their beds.
Hank tilted his wife’s head up with a finger. “Tonight?” he asked.
Tears in her eyes, unable to answer, Becka nodded.
Sammy couldn't listen any longer. The snatches of conversation he overheard became too much. He stood and raced up the stairs, forgetting the one that creaked, flew around the corner and jumped in his bed. He pulled the thin wet sheet over his head and fought not to cry. All he could think of was his parents were giving his sister and him away. His mother and father were leaving them.