Christine Bradfield - Two Kids and a Notorious Talking Crow: A True Story

Two Kids and a Notorious Talking Crow

A True Story

Joyce Hamilton

with

Christine Bradfield

Published by Christine Bradfield

Two Kids and a Notorious Talking Crow: A True Story

Independently Published

Copyright 2021 by Christine Bradfield

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior permission of the author.

Cover design by Christine Bradfield

1. Personal narrative. 2. Childhood and youth. 3. Humorous stories. 4. Brothers and sisters. 5. Human-animal relationships. 6. Family relationships. 7. Rural Schools-United States. 8. United States-Midwest-Indiana. 9. The Great Depression. 10. Crows.

cbradfield.author@gmail.com

I dedicate this book to adventure lovers, big and small.

Joyce Hamilton

Family Life

Joyce, age 6

I n 1930, a year after the start of the Great Depression, our family was living in the small Midwest town of Jasonville, Indiana. My brother, Gerald, was two years old at that time, and this year brought a new addition to the family; me, Joyce. I was born November 11, 1930, Veterans Day. There were not many homes in Jasonville at that time. Our house sat on the south side of town, and the road it was on was the town limits. Everything past our house on the gravel road was mostly woods dotted with a few farm fields and the occasional small pasture corralling a few cows, goats, pigs, or maybe a horse. The area just south of the house was a wooded area known as Possum Holler. Possum Holler was a playground of the best kind for my brother and I who were both born with an abundance of wanderlust. To the east of Possum Holler was a burg known as Frog Town.

We lived on five acres that consisted of the house, a barn, and the pasture. My family also owned another forty-acre plot with a run-down house my father rented to the Hickman family. My mother, Delta, stayed home and tended to the house and took care of us kids, as well as helping with the care and feeding of our animals. She was a hard-working woman who did not put up with a lot of monkey business when it came to her children. Care of the animals was handed off to us when my brother and I got older. We raised chickens and pigs, and we usually had a goat or two. The goats were always good for laughs but not when they broke the harness to the pull cart or when one of the smelly male goats would pee on you through the fence.

My father, Jim, was a miner. He was more even-handed than mother and had a softer touch with us kids. Strip mines in the area were where most of the men worked, provided you could find work once the Depression happened. My father was a very dependable and capable worker but was often unemployed. Depression years touched all but the rich. I still get tears in my eyes when I remember the time that my father had to ask for help. Our family was in a tough spot and needed food. Father swallowed his pride and made a trip to the local trustees office, where he received a free box of commodities. I watched from the doorway to the kitchen as my father sat the box on the table, sat down, then put his face in his hands and cried. It had humiliated him to ask for help because he thought he had failed as a father and provider, and as a man. It was not his fault. It was the harsh times of our country that had caused the need and despair that our family faced.

It was common then for neighbors to stop by unannounced and visit with our parents. Everyone usually ended up sitting and chatting on the front porch. But on Saturday nights downtown Jasonville was where all the weekly socializing happened for those living in Jasonville and the surrounding areas. It was customary for families to head to town on Saturday evening for shopping. My father always wanted to get there early, so he could get a decent place to park on Main Street. Mother and us kids would head off to the dime store and follow that with a stop at the grocery store, and if necessary, maybe a stop at the drug store. It was nothing for mother to pause and talk multiple times as we passed people she knew in the stores or on the street, even speaking with friends or neighbors waiting in cars.

While mother shopped and talked, father usually made his way to one of the two taverns in town to have a couple of drinks and hang out with some of the menfolk. Sometimes he would be high-steppin and full of smiles as he arrived back at the car. If he returned in this state, Mother generally fussed at him once inside the car. Father would just laugh. My brother and I thought it was comical too, but we did not dare allow mother to see us laughing.

This was our life in our small Midwest town, hard work and hardships, simple pleasures, and family and friends.

Amusements, Adventures, and Other Kid Stuff

A s for us kids, my brother was the responsible one, and I was a redhead with a quick temper. We were not only brother and sister, but we were best buddies and inseparable as children. That did not mean we did not squabble from time to time. I was such a tomboy, but mother still made me wear dresses to school. At home, I would be in overalls just like my brother. Forget the dolls! I wanted to be outdoors all the time. Gerald loved being outdoors too. If Mother Nature allowed us to be outside, then that is most certainly where you would find us.

The woods and ponds became our playground. Gerald and I ran the countryside from morning until dark if we were not in school, doing chores, or back home for a meal. Our daredevil friend and neighbor, Bob Borders, was usually with us on our jaunts, as well as a straggling dog or two. Sometimes, other ragtag little kids in the area would follow along with us, as well.

I remember one summer Gerald and I, and our friend, Bob, decided we would dig a pond in our back pasture where there was a low spot. Quite an undertaking for three little kids. Every summer, we would be out there digging and digging, hoping that one day it would hold water. Our plan was to stock the pond with fish so that we could have our own private fishing hole. Eventually, after a couple of summers of digging, it did hold a modest amount of water, and we thought it was time to launch a boat in it. Of course, we chose daredevil Bob to try it first because he was fearless in our eyes. Our boat was really an old wash tub, and its oar was a stick. Bob jumped in the tub, and we pushed him out into the middle of what amounted to be just a huge mud puddle. While the tub did float, Bob could not make any movement with his stick in any direction except to go around in a circle due to the shape of the tub. After minutes of trying to sail the seas, Bob became frustrated, and Gerald and I had to wade out into the water and pull the boat to shore.