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Memories of Golde Dicks Markham (1996) Golde Markham Dicks 31/125

Ma and Pa tried so hard to divide everything equally—especially if it was the least bit
unusual or special. Ma took a hoe and dug a twelve-foot-long trench down by the picket
fence. A big oak grew in the northwest comer of the yard, and the smokehouse was just over
the fence on the north side of the yard. She planted grapefruit seeds real thick in that trench.

They were so thick that they couldn’t grow, but they spindled up about eighteen feet tall and
bore grapefruit. I can’t understand why freezing temperatures didn’t kill those citrus trees.
The oak and smokehouse must have protected them. Pa smoked hams, shoulders, side

bacon, sausage, and liver pudding during cold weather. The smoke piled out from under the
eaves over the grapefruit trees.
Ma picked several grapefruit every night after supper. As we sat in front of a big fire,
Pa peeled the grapefruit and handed each one to Ma. She sectioned it and gave slices to

Tribble, Emerald, and me. We kids would sit there with our mouths watering, our eyes
sparkling, and most of the time, our noses running, but we were real happy.

Most older people refer to back then as the “Good Old Days.” I guess they were good
old days. We enjoyed the simple pleasures of life, and I do believe that people were happier.
We didn’t have as much to worry about. We didn’t care or know about the latest styles. In
fact, those $100 denim jackets that people wear today, which many consider so stylish, are

what Pa used to wear to plow the fields. He could buy one for 50 cents.

There was a time when I thought the end of the world had come. One day in 1916

when I was 8, Ma and Pa left me at the house to take care of Tribble. They went out to the
field southeast .of the lane road to plant a watermelon patch. They thought they would be
able to hear me yell—if'I needed them—or so we all thought.

All of a sudden the sky started getting dark. The wind blew so hard that the pole
holding the water bucket in the well sweep blew straight to the east, then straight to the

west. I held Tribble real tight in my arms, afraid that he would blow away. I screamed for Ma
and Pa at the top of my lungs, while Tribble was crying. I stood on the front porch watching
the well bucket swing back and forth as I looked toward the field. Our cows were coming
through the blowing sand as it got darker and darker. They were running like a pack of

wolfhound dogs were chasing them. I could tell that the cows were as scared as I was.

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