Leaving the parched farm for fertile ground.

In search of the promise.
It was not an easy decision. There were those who wished they would stay. But seven souls pushed off from the motherland in search of the promise land. It was on this date in 1941 and the voyagers were determined to find a new life elsewhere.
Life was a mighty struggle where they had lived. Drought, sky’s covered in crimson dust and the land was parched and baren. There was really nothing to lose except the tug of kinfolk. But hopefully the wayfaring pilgrims might return someday to family and welcoming hugs.
So, they left in the midst of tears. Leaving to lands unknown and not easily charted by the voyager’s captain. It was mostly a gamble of one’s future.
For some in the venturing westward it worked out and a new home was established. And for others well, they came back. Today it would be like rocketing to the moon. Uncertain and possibly dangerous. My dad and mom, older sister and brother, my aunt Pauline and her new husband David, and Arthur my dad’s teen brother all boarded their land vessel and headed west to parts unknown. Destination? Southern California. It was more like “Grapes of Promise.”

Published by OkieMan

I come from a family who migrated from the parched red dirt Plaines of southern rural Oklahoma. Migrating to blue collar working class community of East Los Angeles. There is where I was born. I am Mr. Writermelon. I can only write what my grammar and spell checker allows. I am neither profound nor profane. Boy howdy! Send comment to: Mr.writermelon@gmail.com

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