Uncle Charlie had to come out to the barnyard to have a look as each one arrived. One of the cows had twins—both little heifers that would one day greatly strengthen our herd.
Aunt Lou’s family was increasing, too. Jonathan Joshua joined Sarah at the parsonage. Sarah, at two years, was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. She called him “my brudder,” and squeezed him each time she came near him. She wanted to share everything with him, from her fuzzy teddy to her breakfast toast. Aunt Lou had to watch her closely.
Willie came home the first summer, excited about how God was helping him with his studies and also his finances. He was just bursting with it all. But he ended up getting a summer job at Gainerville, so I didn’t get to see him nearly as much as I would have liked.
He did talk with me about Camellia, however. She was still angry about her ma staying on in town. Willie said that Camellia had, at one point, become quite open and willing to listen to him as he tried to explain his faith. Then when she got the word about her folks, she completely turned it all off again. Willie said he didn’t dare raise the subject after that. Every time he attempted to say anything about Christianity, Camellia would remind him that her ma had at one time professed faith, and look what she had done to her pa. It wasn’t fair of Camellia, we both knew, but people can reason in strange ways sometimes. Willie urged me to keep on praying, and I promised I would.
Mrs. Foggelson didn’t stay on at the big house after Mr. Foggelson left town. She moved the few things that she still called her own into a single room at the boardinghouse in town and started to take in sewing. There were no silver tea services, no sets of fine china, no flower beds of tulips and roses—nothing but a sewing machine and the bare necessities of life.
But Aunt Lou did befriend her, and she responded. She often walked over to the parsonage for a cup of tea. Aunt Lou was even able to get her to start reading her Bible again—but she still wouldn’t agree to come to church.
Willie didn’t even come home the next summer. He had a job there near the school. I missed him, but I was really too busy to think much about it.
The harvest weather was better and the crops were in on time. The next winter was milder, too, and our few animals fared much better.
When spring returned, we planted again—this time with some of our own seed. We had chosen the best, spending many of our winter evenings gathered around the kitchen table carefully sorting out seed for planting. For Uncle Charlie it was difficult; his twisted hands found it almost impossible to handle small things.
That third year on the farm, the crop that we planted gave us the best yield we had seen for some time. The hay did especially well, and the pruned-back fruit trees began to bear again like they hadn’t in years. We’d have several pigs ready for fall market, and the cattle, though slow to make a comeback, showed good quality in the small herd we were developing.
We were even able to put out money for paint, and in between the haying and the harvesting I was able to paint the buildings, including the house. It sure did make the whole farm look better.
I even began to think about a tractor, though I didn’t mention it to Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. I knew they would be likely to think I was moving a bit too fast.
The crop was all in, and I had just celebrated my twentyfirst birthday when I got a letter from Willie. We hadn’t been writing quite as often as we once had, and I was pretty excited when I saw his handwriting. Willie was now in his final year at the college and would soon be a mission candidate. I knew he was excited about finding which foreign field God had in mind for him. I would have been excited too, but the thought of Willie graduating was a reminder to me that I was already four years behind in my preparation time. It would take a good deal of extra
Aunt Lou’s family was increasing, too. Jonathan Joshua joined Sarah at the parsonage. Sarah, at two years, was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. She called him “my brudder,” and squeezed him each time she came near him. She wanted to share everything with him, from her fuzzy teddy to her breakfast toast. Aunt Lou had to watch her closely.
Willie came home the first summer, excited about how God was helping him with his studies and also his finances. He was just bursting with it all. But he ended up getting a summer job at Gainerville, so I didn’t get to see him nearly as much as I would have liked.
He did talk with me about Camellia, however. She was still angry about her ma staying on in town. Willie said that Camellia had, at one point, become quite open and willing to listen to him as he tried to explain his faith. Then when she got the word about her folks, she completely turned it all off again. Willie said he didn’t dare raise the subject after that. Every time he attempted to say anything about Christianity, Camellia would remind him that her ma had at one time professed faith, and look what she had done to her pa. It wasn’t fair of Camellia, we both knew, but people can reason in strange ways sometimes. Willie urged me to keep on praying, and I promised I would.
Mrs. Foggelson didn’t stay on at the big house after Mr. Foggelson left town. She moved the few things that she still called her own into a single room at the boardinghouse in town and started to take in sewing. There were no silver tea services, no sets of fine china, no flower beds of tulips and roses—nothing but a sewing machine and the bare necessities of life.
But Aunt Lou did befriend her, and she responded. She often walked over to the parsonage for a cup of tea. Aunt Lou was even able to get her to start reading her Bible again—but she still wouldn’t agree to come to church.
Willie didn’t even come home the next summer. He had a job there near the school. I missed him, but I was really too busy to think much about it.
The harvest weather was better and the crops were in on time. The next winter was milder, too, and our few animals fared much better.
When spring returned, we planted again—this time with some of our own seed. We had chosen the best, spending many of our winter evenings gathered around the kitchen table carefully sorting out seed for planting. For Uncle Charlie it was difficult; his twisted hands found it almost impossible to handle small things.
That third year on the farm, the crop that we planted gave us the best yield we had seen for some time. The hay did especially well, and the pruned-back fruit trees began to bear again like they hadn’t in years. We’d have several pigs ready for fall market, and the cattle, though slow to make a comeback, showed good quality in the small herd we were developing.
We were even able to put out money for paint, and in between the haying and the harvesting I was able to paint the buildings, including the house. It sure did make the whole farm look better.
I even began to think about a tractor, though I didn’t mention it to Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. I knew they would be likely to think I was moving a bit too fast.
The crop was all in, and I had just celebrated my twentyfirst birthday when I got a letter from Willie. We hadn’t been writing quite as often as we once had, and I was pretty excited when I saw his handwriting. Willie was now in his final year at the college and would soon be a mission candidate. I knew he was excited about finding which foreign field God had in mind for him. I would have been excited too, but the thought of Willie graduating was a reminder to me that I was already four years behind in my preparation time. It would take a good deal of extra
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