Dustbowl Christmas Past

 Christmas Past

mqdefault-2 mqdefault mqdefault-1A friend of mine shared a file of old family letters describing the terrible hardships endured during the dustbowl years. The letter inspired me to imagine what Christmas must have been in those times. Most of the settlers/farmers hoped for more than the desolation they found due to drought, poor farming practices and the troubled world economy. Many migrated west looking for homesteads, some carried on hoping for better times, but many simply died.

The following story is about a family of German immigrants who have endured several years of the drought. It is Christmas Eve and all through the house, not a creature was stirring except… Kurt Klaus.

 Rubin’s Christmas

Kurt Klaus searched his dusty overall pockets for a pencil as he stared at the tattered calendar on the wall. The last month of the year hung lifelessly under the faded picture of a green tractor. He found the stubby pencil and chewed its end until enough lead showed to place an X over the twenty-fourth day, Christmas Eve, 1934. He couldn’t believe it.

A kerosene lantern, hung on a piece of twisted fence wire, barely gave him enough light to see so he turned to the fireplace and placed another board on the fire. He was grateful that planks from abandoned homestead buildings were plentiful and provided enough firewood for the winter. As Kurt turned, his wife Gretchen slipped into his arms. They stood together in the flickering light and listened to the howling wind rattle the windows and door. Outside in the darkness a light snow mixed with the ever-present gray dust, and drifted against their weather beaten two-room house and attached barn.

“Another Christmas and we still have nothing.” Kurt sighed. “We should have left last year with the Guttenbergs.”

“Next year my darling, next year.” was all Gretchen could say.

Her eyes were always dry. Kurt had not seen her cry since they arrived at their Kansas homestead five years ago. Against all odds, they had managed to get the house and barn built with the help of neighbors, and borrow enough food to last the first winter. Unfortunately, the following years of drought and incessant dust storms were disastrous for the German families that were lured to America by the Homestead Act’s promise of free land and a new life.

During the bitter winters, Kurt placed both beds in the main room close to the stone fireplace for warmth. Pieces of old sheets and quilts covered the windows and door to keep out the cold wind and the dust. It was a loosing battle. The dust was everywhere, in their food, in their hair, and in their lungs. The four year-old twins and their older brother Hans coughed continuously.

The children slept together in one bed for warmth and all that could be seen of them now were a few moving lumps under the heavy quilts. They were awake, no doubt still clutching their Christmas gifts. Gretchen had made a Raggedy Ann and Andy doll for the girls and Hans loved the boat his father had carved for him.

Gretchen and Kurt could hear the children talking. Hans’ head appeared from under the quilts with the Twins’ faces right next to him.

“Daddy, we’re worried about Rubin. He’s out there in the cold all alone.”

The twins chimed in together, “Daddy, can Rubin come inside and spend the night with us… next to the fire?”

Gretchen looked up and her eyes met her husband’s. No words needed to be spoken. Kurt could see her soul through those tired blue eyes; he knew that Rubin would spend the night inside with the family. In fact, he knew it was a good idea. Like the two Airedales sleeping under the bed, Rubin was indispensable. The dogs protected the vegetable garden from the plague of rabbits and supplied their larder with more meat than they could eat, and Rubin labored all day in the ravaged fields with Kurt.

Kurt pulled on his heavy coat and went out into the howling wind to get Rubin. A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway holding a rope that disappeared out into the darkness. Hans jumped from the bed, ran to his father, and grabbed the rope. He pulled until a shaggy head and two flaming black eyes, reflecting the fireplace, appeared from the darkness. With another yank, the big black mule cautiously stepped into the room. He looked around and grunted softly as Hans led him over to the fireplace and tied him to a rusty railroad spike in the wall.

While Gretchen stirred the last of the powdered chocolate and sugar into hot water, Hans brushed Rubin’s shaggy mane and face. The big mule closed his eyes and lowered his head so Hans could reach his long ears.

“Why don’t you girls give Rubin his Christmas present?” The twins followed their father’s gaze to the vegetable bin and then squealed in delight as they scurried over to it. They returned with all the potatoes and turnips their little arms could carry.

The Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls and little toy boat lay forgotten under the quilts while the children lovingly hand-fed and fussed over Rubin.

“I’ve never seen the children happier.” Gretchen whispered. She snuggled into her husband’s comforting arms and laid her cheek against his chest. Kurt felt the warm wetness of her rare and precious tears through his heavy shirt. During these years of utter desolation and delusion there still existed a tiny spark of humanity, still glowing, patiently waiting for a better tomorrow.

Kurt looked down at his wife and noticed a faint smile mixed among the tears. The years of hardship were momentarily forgotten, erased by the immediate pleasure of witnessing their happy children grooming old Rubin before the fire. The old mule shifted its weight and crunched a turnip in the pleasure of the moment.

 

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About cgosling

I am a retired medical/scientific illustrator who has given up illustration to write about science, superstition, and secular humanism. I consider myself all of the following: atheist, agnostic, secular humanist, freethinker, skeptic, and nature lover. I have several published books but the mass of my writing is unpublished. I write children's fiction, poetry, essays, and several plays and radio theater shows, that are available as free downloads to be used on secular podcasts and meetings. They can be heard on Indy Freethought Radio. I hope some of my writings will be of interest to like minded freethinkers who I cordially invite to respond.
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