Speaking of mud
You don't hear of muddy roads very often any more. Even the little country roads are black-topped. Not so, back in the '20s. One time my dad, my two sisters, and I were on our way home from Abilene after a heavy rain. Dad was always ready to take a chance — no matter what the weather was.
Anyway, at some place between Abilene and Marion, we hit some really deep, black mud. We were stuck! Dad told us girls to get out and push. We weren't about to get our good clothes all covered with mud, so we stripped down to our silk undies and climbed out. Then we pushed and pushed, the tires spitting mud all over us. We finally got the car out of the hole. I'm sure our mother was shocked to see her three darling daughters looking like a bunch of mud pies.
Speaking of mud pies — making them was one of my childhood joys. We would find some pieces of old broken china or glass and mix up a nice mess of dirt and water to the right consistency. Then we would decorate them with tiny flowers or pretty rocks. Near where we lived was some red dirt. I thought it was so pretty I decided to taste it. Ugh!
Wading in the stream that flowed through the farmyard was fun, too. We would use a bent pin for a hook and catch sunfish. What a thrill!
At school during the lunch hour we would look for tiny flowers, Johnny jump-ups, four leaf clover, and others.
At the last day of school we would have a potluck dinner with the parents. Of course, we had a program to show off our talents. I remember standing on the platform speaking a piece and being scared all through the whole thing.
— NORMA HANNAFORD
