STILL IN TWO ROOMS

We weren't through living in those two rooms. It was beginning to be home. I remember a little about the east room. That must have been where most of life happened: living, cooking, eating, talking. I remember a highchair. The rooms faced south. The pig shed was north, behind the house. I believe there was a cow. The chickens were out there. I guess the west room had the bed.

The road to town ran east to west in front of the house. The driveway was quit long. For some reason that seemed to be normal. Our place was higher than the road and the mail box. At the mail box, we jogged west (to the right) just a bit to turn in at Roy and Amy's place. We could easily see their house and barns from our windows and yard. We turned left on the road to Mother Shumaker and Grand Daddy's farm. It must have been almost a half mile down there.

I don't ever remember hearing a name for our place. I don't know who owned it. We traveled forth and back from there to the sheep range. Daddy was at the sheep range several weeks -- not several months, but I don't know how long. I don't know who looked after our animals while we were gone.

It's unclear to me, how to juggle the time frame of our living there. We had moved by the time Donnie was born. Daddy still worked in town part of the time we were there. The weather was turning bad one morning. Daddy took Mother and me to Shumaker's as he left for work. It was snowing by the time he started home: a blizzard. He could hardly see and was breaking through heavy drifts as he came. They finally stopped him near our drive way in the middle of the road. He had to leave the car were it stuck and walked against the roaring north wind to the house.

Snow was filling the shed. The cow and chickens must have had enclosed shelter. Daddy was concerned about feed and water for the sow. He started digging her out. When he reached her, she was laying on her side with her back toward him. He lifted a shovel of show that reaveled her back. She was breathing, but didn't move. He noticed an air space, about a half inch or so, had melted around her. He knew she would keep warm and probably wouldn't eat in this circumstance. He covered her back and left her there.

(As I am running short on time tonight, I will write more tomorrow. So until then, the sow is going to have to endure this snow storm once again until I finish the story.)