Loyton, Oklahoma, 1985

Chapter 1, 1922-1935

Some people feel deeply about their physical heritage, even when they have to abandon the location for quite some time. Some come back. Some cannot. Some do not.

Bruce Jackson Wilson was born in 1922 in a farmhouse near Loyton, Oklahoma, in the middle of the Oklahoma Panhandle. As the years passed, he grew up loving the land, the long, hot summers, the blue sky, fishing in the little stream on the edge of the farm, and farm life in general. He enjoyed having a calf of his own to raise, cows to milk, and chickens to feed. Before he was old enough to go to school, he and his dog had many a pleasant day running and playing over near the brook till both were tired, but happy. The family house stood on a little hill so that the morning sun would awaken him, while the evening breeze blowing through the loft where he slept, softly sang him to sleep.

The family lived in a typical farm house, a little ‘dog-run’ house, two miles from Loyton at the edge of their one-hundred-sixty-acre farm. The term ‘dog-run’ was applied because of the peculiar layout of the house, essentially two rooms separated by a wide hall between the two, open to the outside on both ends. The name described what could happen. Bruce’s dog could run through, unimpeded. On the front and back the roof stretched out over porches, often used for storage of foods, utensils, tools, and an ice chest, supplied with a big block of ice once a week during good times.

One of the two rooms was the kitchen with a stove, a sink and a table for eating. The other room was used for recreation, sleeping, dressing, and clothes storage. By 1935 the Wilson family had five surviving children, Bruce, thirteen-years old, June Anne, eleven, Mike Edward, nine, Joseph Samuel, seven, and Zane Thomas, five. Bruce and Mike slept in the loft in the winter, and outside on one of the porches in the summer on an old thin mattress plopped down on top of a set of springs with Grandpa Silver, their Mother’s Dad.

Bruce and his younger brother, Mike, felt the loft was their ‘special place’ and rigged up a way to easily and safely transport items up and down by using an old basket and a rope. These two boys were the first in the family to use brown, paper sacks to store ‘goodies’ to be shared with no one, unless the goodies were needed to brag about something. After a bit Bruce was able to repair an old, wooden box to store his precious items. The other children just continued using sacks to keep their ‘valuables’ in.

Bruce’s box held a few marbles, the number depending on how many he had won or lost recently, his stainless steel ‘aggie’, used to knock marbles from the circle, and an old pocket knife with one broken blade. In her sack June kept a long string of lace, two smaller patches of cloth, and a small doll with a crack in the head. Mike had begun to collect marbles and frog skins and bones. Joe had a top, and two short strings used to toss the top and make it spin on hard ground.

The whole family attended church and Bible classes in town, along with an aunt and uncle, and Grandma Wilson, who lived with the aunt and uncle. The uncle worked in the cotton seed oil mill over next to the railroad tracks.

Life was not static for this farm family in the little house on the hill. Beginning in 1930 the crops on this little farm failed year after year, due to a terrible, multi-year drought. During these years, the wind whipped the dust high in the air day after day, so much so that on some days the sun was almost hidden. On April 14, 1935, the dust blew so much that the sky turned to a dusky, blackness. As a result, a visiting Kansas City reporter called the day Black Sunday, and the area ‘The Dust Bowl’, in his write-up.

In 1935 the ultimate sadness stomped into the life of Bruce and his family when the sheriff appeared, talked briefly to his Dad, and handed him a piece of white paper. When the sheriff drove away, his Dad, John Jacob Wilson, turned back with a deep frown and a downturned face to his waiting wife, Amanda Viola, and the kids, Bruce and the four younger ones. John Jacob began to stumble as he walked toward them.

Bruce immediately asked, “What’s the matter, Dad? What did the sheriff want?”

John Jacob didn’t even look up as he replied, “Son, I’m afraid he served the bank’s foreclosure paper we’ve been expecting. The bank will not renew our loan. These terrible five years of drought have caused us to lose the farm.” Then he paused, “You know we’ve had to borrow money to buy seed and food in each of these last five years.” Suddenly, the tears started to cascade down his cheeks.

Bruce rushed over the few steps between them and put his arm around his Dad’s shoulders. “Oh, no, Dad. What can we do, now? I guess we have to move?”

John Jacob said nothing in reply. Inside the house he sat down in a kitchen chair, crossed his arms on the table, and putting his head down on his arms began to sob uncontrollably. After a while he looked up to say, “Yep. That’s about the size of it. I guess we’ll have to move to California. That’s where other people like us are going.” Then he straightened up, tears still streaming down his face and pulled another piece of paper from his shirt pocket and slowly said, “I got this flyer in town yesterday about jobs in the peach orchards. I think that’s where my brother, Billy, moved last year.” Looking at Bruce he continued, “You remember him, don’t you? I’ve looked everywhere here. I can’t find a job. We have to move and I simply have to get work out there.”

The family all hugged him, as Bruce read the flyer in detail. “Dad, this sure looks like the thing to do.”

John Jacob dropped his head again and sobbed again, with violent lurches of his whole body.

****

The next day the kids and their Mother began loading the old pickup with their belongings as they prepared to leave for California. At first, John Jacob just sat and stared out the window.

Finally, Bruce roused him, “Dad, some of the stuff is too heavy for me. Can you get up and help?”

****

That very day a letter from uncle Billy arrived and upset all their hastily made plans. John Jacob could read a little, but, not very well or rapidly. So, usually Bruce read letters or important documents. “Dad it tells about living in California and how it is to pick peaches. Uncle Billy says they’re miserable out there with low pay, about half the pay promised on the flyer. They are living in a squalid camp with hundreds of migrants in terribly unsanitary conditions. The place has only two latrines, one at each end of the camp for use by both men and women. Only two out-houses in the middle are for women. He says there’s a terrible odor everywhere, and there’s nowhere for children to play. Dad, this sounds horrible. What can we do? We don’t want to go out there, do we?”

His Dad frowned, began to sob again, and looked very troubled. “I don’t know,” he said. Then paused amid his crying, “You’re right. We don’t want to go out there to that mess. I don’t know what we can do.”

Bruce’s Mother immediately spoke up. “I know what to do. My sister, Vivian, and her husband, Willard, moved down to the Rio Grande Valley two years ago. He has some engineering training, and is working on government canal projects to get water from the Rio Grande for the nearby farms. I got a letter from her last month. She says they are doing good. Let’s go down there and look for work. I know he got a job almost on the day they arrived.”

Bruce tried to look hopeful as he said, “Yeah, Dad. Let’s go there. They have farms down there. You and I could get work on a farm, and if the farms can get water from the river, they won’t have to depend on rain as much as here.”

John Jacob stopped his sobbing, and clutched his wife’s hand. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“But first,” Amanda Viola added “Let’s offer our daily prayer and ask the lord to bless and take care of us.” And they did, each family member offering a prayer asking for guidance and help from the Lord. The prayers seemed to stabilize John Jacob, and he stopped his tears, and asked for a drink of water.

After the prayer and as they were continuing to load up, for the move to the Valley, Bruce asked his Mom, “Why didn’t the Lord answer our prayers here? He could have sent us rain, couldn’t He?”

“Bruce, we don’t know how the Lord works. He’s in charge and His providential care takes care of things. He’s blessed us so far with health, and none of us choked to death when the dust storms came. Maybe it’s best for us to move. We don’t know. There was a similar movement of Christians in Bible days described in the eighth chapter of Acts. Remember reading about that? The Christians were being persecuted, and moved out of Jerusalem in every direction, much like in this county here in Oklahoma. At least we’re not being persecuted. What we need to do is move to the valley and see what God has in store for us there. Meanwhile let’s just trust Him to care for us.”

****

Four days later they began the long trip to the valley in the pickup, piled up higher in the back than the cab. Bruce, Mike, and June sat in the back of the pickup high up among their belongings. As they left town, Bruce looked back at the land he loved and said, “Mike and June, I’m coming back. I’m determined to come back. This is home for me. I love this country. Someday I’m coming back. No matter what happens to me. I’m coming back!”

Chapter 2, 1922-1935

Other families were also affected in a tragic way by the drought. Phil, Philip Donald Mills, Jr., born also in 1922 in a house on the edge of Loyton, Oklahoma, was the son of the General Store owner, Philip Donald Mills, Sr. The General Store needed to make a profit for the family to survive.

Phil Jr. was not much different from the other boys in the town, except he kept all his valuables in a cigar box. He loved the Oklahoma Panhandle also and especially the summers when he could go bare-footed from May to October and wear only a pair of old overalls, despite hole in the knees and ultimately the seat. Phil Jr. loved his dog, a big, black cur, named Blackie, who challenged all the other male dogs in the town. Phil Jr. was often busy keeping Blackie from an attack. Of course, no one would dare hurt Phil Jr. because Blackie would growl fiercely, and attack if anyone appeared to threaten his beloved owner. Phil Jr. always had great plans to make money. He planted a garden thinking he could sell the produce in his father’s store. But the lack of rain ruined those plans. Next, he tried to raise chickens, hoping to sell fryers to town folks. That plan failed mostly due to the ever-present hawks that watched the chickens for an opportunity to snatch a growing chicken when Phil Jr. and Blackie weren’t around. Phil Jr. was taught to shoot the family twenty-two rifle at age ten. He and Blackie spent many a pleasant afternoon walking the country roads and fields looking for rabbits. About once a week they could provide the family with a meal of rabbit-stew. As time passed Phil Jr. was needed more and more to help with the work in the General Store.

Earlier, in 1929 before he owned the General Store, Philip Sr. worked on an oil field rig over just inside the Panhandle of Texas. When a big chain broke, the end of the broken chain struck him in the face, blinding the left eye. The insurance company and the oil company settled for two-thousand-five-hundred dollars. Philip Sr. then moved his family and used the insurance settlement money to buy the General Store in Loyton, Oklahoma, in early 1930.

When they arrived in Loyton, Philip Sr. found a dog-run house, similar to the wilson house, at the edge of town they could buy for fifty dollars. It was meant for a temporary home until profits from the store would allow them to buy a larger house over in the middle of town.

As the drought dragged on, more and more of his customers could not pay the accumulated yearly credit charges, and were forced to migrate to California or elsewhere. They mostly left with a promise that money would be mailed back to pay off the unpaid credit charges. Unfortunately, the pay in the California peach orchards was so low, these debtors, not only couldn’t send any money back to Oklahoma, they had a hard time feeding their families.

By 1935 the bank began pressing for payment or foreclosure of the store. So, in late June Philip Sr. talked with his son as they walked home from the store at the end of the day, “Phil, we are going to have to make a change. I can’t pay my bills for this store. My suppliers won’t ship any more stuff till I pay what I owe them, and the bank demands I pay off the loan there. I guess that means the store is lost. I can’t figure out anything else to do.

Your Mother’s brother, Buster, moved to Stillwater in 1930. He wrote he has a good furniture store. I think we’re going to have to move over there and ask him for help. What do you think?”

“I guess so, Dad. I sure don’t know anything else to do.”

They were met and hugged by both his wife, Cathy, and Phil’s little sister, Cynthia, as they made their way up the steps of the house. Philip Sr. spoke to his wife as they went in, “Cathy, I have some very bad news. we are going to have to give up the store and think of some other way to make a living. Do you think your brother could find a place for me in his furniture store? I wish my Dad hadn’t died. He’d help us.”

Cathy tried to smile as she answered, “Don’t be sad. You did the best you could. It just didn’t rain, and the farmers couldn’t pay off their credit debts. I’m sure Buster will help us.”

Phil, Jr. chimed in, “Sounds good to me, Dad. Let’s do it.

So, Philip Sr. informed the bank that he couldn’t pay off his loans and gave them the key to the front door of the store. The family loaded up the car and attached an old wagon to the back with as much of their furniture and stuff as they could manage and moved to Stillwater. As Phil Jr. was leaving the house for the last time he paused on the steps and told his sister, “I’m really sorry to have to move, Cynthia. Aren’t you? Maybe we can come back next year. I love this country. Think we’ll ever live here again?”

The furniture store was providing a living for Phil Jr.’s uncle, Isaiah Watson, also known as Buster, and his family, but not much more. Philip Sr. could not be easily accommodated as an employee in the store. What could be done?

Buster always had a positive outlook on the future. Now he remembered that the owner of a furniture store over in Muskogee had recently died. Buster struck a deal with the bank for the store’s inventory and assumed ownership. He then decided to move his family and manage the new store himself and leave Philip Sr. to manage the Stillwater store.

In this situation, everybody needed to pitch in to help the family survive, and pay off the debt left in Loyton.  Cathy helped with the paper work for the store at night, and during the day worked in a local woman’s hair salon giving permanents. Young Cynthia helped out at the salon with chores and learned how to give perms and set hair. Then she only worked when there were more customers than the owner and her Mother could handle.  She was paid per customer, not a weekly salary.

Phil Jr. got a paper route and did his part in helping out at the furniture store. He arranged furniture on the floor, loaded up the sold items on the little pickup, and carefully delivered them to the customers.  After Phil Jr.’s graduation from high school, Philip Sr. convened a family conference. “Phil just graduated. We must insist on more education for him. He’s gonna keep on working here in the store, and keep that paper route, by the way, for spending money. He’ll enroll over at Oklahoma A&M at least for a few credit hours each semester. Each of us must do all we can to better ourselves.”

When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor Phil was nineteen and in his first semester at Oklahoma A&M. After the spring semester, he felt a strong need to help his country, and volunteered for the navy and served in the Atlantic theater fighting the German U-boats. When the war was over he used the G. I. bill to go back to college three more years to graduate in 1949 with a degree in banking and business. He then took a job with Phillips Petroleum as an analyst in Bartlesville, and put all the money he could manage into Phillips’ stock.

Chapter 3, 1985

Earlier, the Wilsons long move to the valley in 1935 came at an opportune time because the canal construction company was hiring. Willard Mann, the husband of Amanda’s sister, hired both Bruce and his Dad for the roust-about crew. First, they worked as helpers for the crane operators. Later, with more experience, John Jacob became one of the mechanical shovel operators. Amanda got on at the local hospital as a practical nurse trainee. Religious matters were handled on the first Sunday after their arrival when they all attended the local congregation and placed their membership.

As they sat down to lunch after services in the little house they had rented, they prayed a thank-you prayer for the blessings of the Lord that had brought them to the valley, to jobs, and to a good congregation.

Bruce was nineteen when Pearl Harbor occurred. The next month he volunteered for the marines, spent the war storming the beaches in the South Pacific and was slightly wounded twice. After the war, he used the G.  I. bill benefits to buy a canal building and construction business to provide for his rapidly growing family.

****

Phil Jr. held his Phillips stock until 1987 when he retired. He talked to his wife, Zoella Elizabeth, about what he wanted to do in retirement “Well, Honey, the day has finally arrived. Can you guess what I want to do now?”

“Probably I can. But, tell me.”

“I want to move back to Loyton. I just loved it out there as a boy. Mom and Dad moved back there five years ago after Mom’s Dad died, to take care of Grandma. That would put us all back home together. I’d really like that. Think you can stand to live in the Panhandle?”

“Sure. I can stand anything if it’s retirement. And besides I have an Aunt and an Uncle out there somewhere. We’ll find them. Mom told me they need some help from time to time. They’re getting to be really old.”

So, Phil Jr. decided to buy a large farm in the Oklahoma Panhandle just outside of Loyton as an investment, and also as a place to build a home so he could be near his parents and Grandma. This large farm was a consolidation of four smaller farms to make up a total of six-hundred-forty acres, one square mile, but scattered out in four plots.

One of these plots included the old Wilson house that still stood, ram shackled and lonely, at the end of the little road leading from the eastern edge of town to the farm. No one had lived there for years. The windows were all broken or missing. The doors sagged and the steps creaked. Out back and down the hill a bit, an old out-house, sagging and almost fallen over, bore witness to the passing of the years. Over to the side in the back the old cistern had become only a large hole and was partially filled with rocks and debris.

When Phil Jr. looked around at all his new property, he decided to build at the end of the little road from town. It would be the closest he could be to town and still be on his property.

The contractor whose job it was to build the new house, began asking questions about exactly where the new house should be located. Phil Jr. looked all around and immediately said, “Let’s tear down that eye-sore up there and put the house up on that little hill.”

The contractor gave it some thought, and then told him, “Uh, I will, if you want me to. But I would advise against it. Houses on hills in this country have two things against them. In the winter, they’re harder and more expensive to keep warm. The wind just sucks the heat right out. You’ll have to use propane for heat out here. That’ll be costly. You’re way too far out to be on the natural gas line in town. Second, a house on a hill makes for an easy target for lightning, and we get a lot of lightning, especially in the spring. If I were you, I’d build down here in this little valley and use the hill to an advantage as a shield against the weather.”

“Well, I’ll tell my wife what you said, and we’ll tell you tomorrow. Okay?”

Phil Jr. and Zoella came out the next morning to look over the land. She agreed with Phil, Jr that the house should be built on the hill. But when the contractor again went over the reasons to build down in the little valley, she reluctantly agreed.

Zoella was the inquisitive sort, “Phil, let’s go and have a look at that old house. I bet it’s a hundred years old. Maybe Grandpa and Grandma had a similar house.”

The contractor quickly cautioned them, “Watch out for a big hole in the ground where the old cistern was located. I doubt if anyone’s filled it in. Also, somewhere up there is an out-house. That will have a small hole under it.”

“Okay. Thanks for the warning. We’ll watch out.”

With that, Phil and Zoella set off up the little incline to examine what was left of the old house.

Phil recognized the style of the house immediately. “Zoe, it’s what we called a dog-leg or dog-run house. It’s exactly like what we lived in at the edge of town when I was a boy.”

“Well, maybe it’s what the grandparents had. But it looks like a hole goes through the middle. Did the end walls fall down?”

“No, it’s not a hole. That’s the way it was built, and why it was called a dog-leg house. It was two rooms separated by an open space between them. That’s the ‘hole’ you’re seeing. Usually the left-hand room was used for cooking and other domestic activities while the right-hand room was for dressing and sleeping. Let’s ease inside to see what’s been left behind.”

Once inside, all they could see was a lot of trash and debris. In the right-hand room, they found two pieces of an old iron bedstead. In the left-hand room, they found a broken table and one broken chair. Apparently no one had been in the house for years. “Look at the inside walls, Zoe. You can still see the remnants of the newspapers used to cover them to keep out the wind and especially the dust. Here’s a page from 1930. And here’s one from 1935. Those were hard times for all the families around here.”

“Look here, Phil. Here’s a scrap of paper that says ‘Come to California and Get Work Picking Peaches.’ I heard a lot of folks did just that. Only it was a hard life, just scraping by.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Look at this. See these boards nailed across from upright to upright and extending upward. What do you think that was good for?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know.”

“I know. It’s the steps on a ladder to the loft. That’s where kids slept.”

“Is that where you slept?”

“Some of the time. But Grandpa and I had an old mattress outside. If it wasn’t raining we slept out there, and it hardly ever rained. Of course, we had to come inside in November and sleep on a pallet on the floor or up in the loft. Actually, the loft could be nice in the winter. The flue from the cooking stove went through the loft and warmed it up some. Then the wonderful smells of breakfast went right through the kitchen ceiling early in the morning. I just loved to wake up to the smell of hot sausage and scrambled eggs. Plus, the SMELL OF coffee was wonderful.

“Think there’s anything left up there?”

“Naw. It was too hard to get stuff up there to use it much as storage. Climbing that ladder and carrying stuff was really tricky.”

As they started to leave, they spotted a series of initials carved on the door mantle: BJW, JAW, MEW, JSW, and ZTW. Zoe asked, “Who do you think they were? Maybe the kids? Look, here’s a Z. Maybe somebody was named Zoe!”

****

A few days later, when Phil Jr. and Zoe went back to check on the building progress of their house, they saw an old Impala Chevrolet parked over to the side and the contractor hurrying over, seemingly anxious to talk. “Mr. Mills. An old fellow drove up as I was leaving last night and climbed the hill to the house. He had a back pack and a bed roll. I’d watch it if I was you. Could be dangerous.”

So, Phil and Zoe climbed the hill to see if anyone was there. No one was inside, but the smell of sausage cooking led them out back where a whiskered stranger was cooking over a little fire.

Phil immediately challenged the stranger, “Hey. What are you doing here?”

The stranger straightened up to reply, “Oh, hello. I’m Bruce Wilson. I grew up in this house and just wanted to have one last look. I brought my bedroll and spent the night inside. Are you going to build a house down the hill there?”

“I’m Philip Mills Jr. and this is my wife, Zoe. I own this land, and yes, I’m building down there. When did you live here?”

“Oh, it was a long time ago. We left in 1935. The drought starved us out.”

“Hmmm. We lived at the edge of town in a house just like this, and we left in 1935, too. My Dad had the General Store. Did you folks trade there?”

“Yep. We did. I might remember your Dad. Seems like I do. He was blind in one eye. Right? Did you go to school in town?”

“Yeah, he lost an eye on an oil rig over in Texas. And, I did go to school in town. I think I kinda remember you. The beard threw me off. Did you have three brothers and a sister?”

“Hey. You do remember us. Where’d you move to, and why are you back here?”

“Well, we moved to Stillwater in 1935 and my folks moved back here five years ago. I love this country. I’ve dreamed of moving back here for a long time. Besides one last look, what else brought you out here. How far did you drive for one night in this old house?”

“Well, it’s really ‘up here’. I live in the valley. That’s where we moved in ‘35. Actually, I have a hobby of looking up the family tree. Everybody in the family remembers we had two family Bibles when we lived here. We managed to pack the big one when we moved. But, we had a little one that belonged to my Grandpa Wilson with a lot of family names and dates in it. I used to carry it with me when we walked into town for worship services. I remember one year I read it through from cover to cover. Anyway, I think I left it somewhere here and I really want to find it. I couldn’t see it last night. It got too dark to look everywhere. But I would like to look more today, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, but I didn’t see it yesterday either, and we looked all around pretty good.”

“Ummm. That doesn’t sound too good. Maybe it’s not here.”

“I have an idea. I was telling Zoe yesterday that some of the time we slept in the loft. You don’t suppose it could be up there?”

“I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I’ll climb up and look.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Wilson knew exactly where the old ladder was and slowly climbed up, huffing as he went. After a moment, the Mills heard a ‘whoopee’, and saw Wilson at the top of the ladder holding the remains of the old Bible. He carefully laid the old Bible to the side and climbed back down, pulled a large handkerchief from his back pack, and climbed back up. the fragile old Bible was wrapped carefully in the handkerchief before he climbed down, and then stowed securely in the backpack.

“Whew. I’m exhausted. I’m too old to do all that climbing. Guess what I saw? The remains of my brother’s sack all crumbled on top of several marbles. Would you believe it? I bet that sack and my box have been sitting right there all the time since we left.”

As the three walked down the hill to Wilson’s Impala, Mills said, I’m glad you found it. It looks terribly fragile. I guess you’ll have to be really careful or it’ll fall apart.”

“Yeah, you’re right. The family will be so glad to have it, even if the covers are mostly ruined. Maybe we can get it rebound.”

“Going back to the valley, Mr. Wilson?”

“Yeah, the family will want to see this Bible. But, I going to sell my canal-building and construction business and move back up here. This visit has made me remember what a wonderful place this is. I guess, I can’t help it. This is really my home country. I’m definitely coming back.”

They waved goodbye to Wilson, and Mills told the contractor, “Well, I can see no reason to keep that old house up there. Tear it down as soon as you can.”

After an hour or so of consulting on the exact location of the new house, Phil and Zoe went back to town to the little apartment they had rented until the new house could be built.  They found a note on their door, ‘Please call the mayor’s office.’

“Wonder what they want?” Phil Jr. asked Zoe.

“I wouldn’t know. Let’s go over there instead of calling.  After we see the mayor, I’d like to shop in the stores a bit. Okay?”

The mayor’s office was surprisingly messy with large sheets of paper strewn around and piles of various books and reports stacked on the floor. After proper introductions to the mayor, Phil began, “What can we do for you?”

“I hear you have a run-down and ramshackle dog-leg house on your property. What do you have in mind to do with it?” Mayor Hues asked.

Phil Jr. answered with a small grin, “Tear it down as soon as we can and get rid of it.”

“Ummm,” Hues said, “I don’t suppose I could talk you into letting the town have it, could I?”

“Uh, I guess so. Would you try to move it intact? And to where are you going to move it?”

“We’re developing a new city park for our kids with ‘Oklahoma Heritage’ as a theme. We’re trying to get as many different old buildings for this new park as possible, like a typical house, a barn, a cotton-seed oil mill, and a General Store. Some of them we’ll have to build from scratch, like the General Store, and make them look old. But, if we could get that old dog-run house, it would save us money and be a first step in developing the site. What do you think? Would you be willing to part with it?”

Zoe interrupted, “Oh, let’s let them have it, Phil.  It would be nice to see it in the park and know it was on our land.”

“Sure. You can have it. It’s just like the house we lived in when I was a kid. You could ask Dad for help with the General Store. He’d be glad to help, I’m sure. And, I can remember some about it, too.”

And so, the house on the hill was moved to the new Heritage Park so that the children of future generations could experience how life was long ago.

****

Three years later at a dedication ceremony for the Heritage Park, the mayor, in his speech reminded everyone of the aim of the park, “We dedicate this Park to our children and those who will come after them as a silent memorial to those who came before us and experienced this wonderful land.”

At the end of his talk, he asked for a show of hands of all those who had moved back ‘home’. Sixty-nine hands were raised. “Welcome back. There’s nothing like home.”

After the ceremony, as Zoe and Phil and Bruce and his wife, Sally, walked back to their cars they passed the restored dog-leg house, and the newly built but old looking General Store. Zoe asked, “Is that how you feel, Phil? Is this home?”

“Yes, it is Zoe. I can’t explain it. But it just feels good. Finally, after a long time of being away, I’m home. How about you Bruce?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a feeling, isn’t it? Especially when I see this old house.”

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