Continuing on last week's discussion of the American Dust Bowl, this week I sat down with Alma Grawehr, a Browntown resident who lived through Black Sunday. She remembers the dark clouds rolling across the countryside, and she remembers the voracious swarms of grasshoppers. She remembers these things, because she was there.
Alma was born in a sod house near Meade, Kan., in 1931. On the surface, her family's lifestyle almost resembled that of a farming family from Wisconsin. Her father milked one cow, raised chickens and grew wheat. They separated the milk and sold the cream for groceries, sold eggs and were able to grow nearly all essentials right there on the farm.
Alma grew up in a place that was as featureless as a skillet, and in summer could be just as hot. Wintertime provided little reprieve, as icy-cold winds sliced across the barren landscape with brutal efficiency. "There were no trees at all." Other pests lay hidden, but always lurking. "I remember going into the henhouse to gather the eggs, and you'd always have to look first, because lots of times there would be a rattlesnake curled up on the nest. I never remember anyone getting bit, but they were everywhere - you never just walked, you always had to look where you were going."
Eerily, rattlesnakes were not exclusively found outdoors, "I can remember they used to climb the screen door. I also remember when my brother was a baby, we didn't have any fans or anything, and so my mother would lay him on a quilt in the middle of the floor for his nap. Well, when he woke up from his nap he was crying, so Mother went over to see what was wrong. Here he had scooted under the bed, and when Mother went to get him out there was a great big rattlesnake there under the bed with him."
Alma's father was a wheat farmer, and she remembers clearly the stress brought about by the Depression and subsequent dust storms. "I don't remember having any tractors; I think we did everything with horses." Alma remembers her dad coming home after a day of plowing, having walked behind a one-bottom plow all day long. Four years in a row, the wheat crop failed. This was at the height of the dust storms when drought, coupled with high winds, stripped the land bare and peppered the entire eastern half of the nation with Great Plains topsoil. Literally, a single storm would cause thousands of tons of soil to become airborne. Says Alma, "It was blacker than you could imagine, darker than midnight. I can still see that dark cloud rolling across the hill, just like a mountain, and it would just blot out everything. I remember my dad and grandpa sitting at the kitchen table with a kerosene lamp in the middle. It got so dark you couldn't even see the light from the lamp. I don't know how we lived. We never had any dust masks or anything, and would wake up in the morning to find inches of dust on the kitchen table. It was like everything was covered with a fine carpet. The dirt was so fine it would get in everything; Mother would spend days cleaning and scrubbing, but it was impossible to keep anything clean."
At this time, banks would loan money to a farmer for only five years. If the farmer could not pay back the money within five years they would lose the farm. For four years the wheat crop failed. Then, on the fifth year - the year Alma's father would have to pay back the bank loan, his luck changed. For once, the wheat came through beautifully. Alma remembers walking through these huge fields of wheat, and her dad was "so glad, he was elated" about this magnificent crop of wheat. Alma's dad was due to harvest the wheat on a Monday, so the Saturday before he was getting the combine ready. On Saturday he got the combine ready. They never worked on Sundays, so Alma's father planned on harvesting first thing Monday morning. On Sunday night, Alma, her mother and father, and little sister walked through the fields of wheat, hand-in-hand, looking at "this beautiful wheat crop - Dad was just elated." They went to bed Sunday night, and on Monday morning awoke to discover not a single stem or kernel of wheat remaining - the grasshoppers had come overnight and ate everything.
"They were big, long fat things and when they flew, if they smacked into a post or a wall, or you, they would just splatter because they were so full. They covered everything - the ground, the walls, the fences; you couldn't walk outside. ... This is when my dad left the farm - he lost everything."
After World War II, Alma moved to Wisconsin with her family, eventually retiring in Browntown. I asked if she ever missed Kansas. Alma replied, "I miss my friends, but you couldn't drag me back." Certain things about her childhood have followed Alma. To this day she hates snakes, no matter what kind. She does not like tornadoes, having survived one as a child.
One thing Alma and I can both relate to is the joy of living in Wisconsin. After having lived overseas in large cities and rural countryside alike, I have found my home in the American Midwest. To this Alma agrees:
"This is truly God's garden."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a weekly column for Friday editions of the Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Alma was born in a sod house near Meade, Kan., in 1931. On the surface, her family's lifestyle almost resembled that of a farming family from Wisconsin. Her father milked one cow, raised chickens and grew wheat. They separated the milk and sold the cream for groceries, sold eggs and were able to grow nearly all essentials right there on the farm.
Alma grew up in a place that was as featureless as a skillet, and in summer could be just as hot. Wintertime provided little reprieve, as icy-cold winds sliced across the barren landscape with brutal efficiency. "There were no trees at all." Other pests lay hidden, but always lurking. "I remember going into the henhouse to gather the eggs, and you'd always have to look first, because lots of times there would be a rattlesnake curled up on the nest. I never remember anyone getting bit, but they were everywhere - you never just walked, you always had to look where you were going."
Eerily, rattlesnakes were not exclusively found outdoors, "I can remember they used to climb the screen door. I also remember when my brother was a baby, we didn't have any fans or anything, and so my mother would lay him on a quilt in the middle of the floor for his nap. Well, when he woke up from his nap he was crying, so Mother went over to see what was wrong. Here he had scooted under the bed, and when Mother went to get him out there was a great big rattlesnake there under the bed with him."
Alma's father was a wheat farmer, and she remembers clearly the stress brought about by the Depression and subsequent dust storms. "I don't remember having any tractors; I think we did everything with horses." Alma remembers her dad coming home after a day of plowing, having walked behind a one-bottom plow all day long. Four years in a row, the wheat crop failed. This was at the height of the dust storms when drought, coupled with high winds, stripped the land bare and peppered the entire eastern half of the nation with Great Plains topsoil. Literally, a single storm would cause thousands of tons of soil to become airborne. Says Alma, "It was blacker than you could imagine, darker than midnight. I can still see that dark cloud rolling across the hill, just like a mountain, and it would just blot out everything. I remember my dad and grandpa sitting at the kitchen table with a kerosene lamp in the middle. It got so dark you couldn't even see the light from the lamp. I don't know how we lived. We never had any dust masks or anything, and would wake up in the morning to find inches of dust on the kitchen table. It was like everything was covered with a fine carpet. The dirt was so fine it would get in everything; Mother would spend days cleaning and scrubbing, but it was impossible to keep anything clean."
At this time, banks would loan money to a farmer for only five years. If the farmer could not pay back the money within five years they would lose the farm. For four years the wheat crop failed. Then, on the fifth year - the year Alma's father would have to pay back the bank loan, his luck changed. For once, the wheat came through beautifully. Alma remembers walking through these huge fields of wheat, and her dad was "so glad, he was elated" about this magnificent crop of wheat. Alma's dad was due to harvest the wheat on a Monday, so the Saturday before he was getting the combine ready. On Saturday he got the combine ready. They never worked on Sundays, so Alma's father planned on harvesting first thing Monday morning. On Sunday night, Alma, her mother and father, and little sister walked through the fields of wheat, hand-in-hand, looking at "this beautiful wheat crop - Dad was just elated." They went to bed Sunday night, and on Monday morning awoke to discover not a single stem or kernel of wheat remaining - the grasshoppers had come overnight and ate everything.
"They were big, long fat things and when they flew, if they smacked into a post or a wall, or you, they would just splatter because they were so full. They covered everything - the ground, the walls, the fences; you couldn't walk outside. ... This is when my dad left the farm - he lost everything."
After World War II, Alma moved to Wisconsin with her family, eventually retiring in Browntown. I asked if she ever missed Kansas. Alma replied, "I miss my friends, but you couldn't drag me back." Certain things about her childhood have followed Alma. To this day she hates snakes, no matter what kind. She does not like tornadoes, having survived one as a child.
One thing Alma and I can both relate to is the joy of living in Wisconsin. After having lived overseas in large cities and rural countryside alike, I have found my home in the American Midwest. To this Alma agrees:
"This is truly God's garden."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a weekly column for Friday editions of the Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
