As written by George R. Hill, Jr. about life around the time of 1923.
George is my Grandma Bessie’s cousin. The farm belonged to Grandma Bessie’s grandparents in Bloomington, KS.
I took aim at Thunders head with tears streaming down my cheeks
 George Hill, Sr. (Grandad to George from this post, and Grandad to Bessie King, who is my Grandma) standing in front of the farm in early 1900. |
 Ida Jane Hill - aka 'snake killer' in this post, holding my Grandma Bessie. |
Most of my young life was growing up on my grandparents farm, because my parents were very poor and it was 1929 – the great depression.
I was born in 1923 and was 7 years old when my parents took me to live with my grandparents. I loved my grandparents so it was no problem living with them. Grandad enrolled me in the one room school which was 3 miles from the farm.
While living on the farm I had chores to do like gathering eggs, feeding the chickens, hoeing the garden and bringing in the cows for milking. I adjusted well to the farm life and enjoyed it very much. There was always things to do around the farm.
It didn’t take me long to find out there were snakes everywhere. Grandma was always killing snakes in her garden – mostly rattle snakes. I remember one time walking in the pasture to get the cows and I stepped on two snakes fighting. I didn’t stop to see what kind they were, but ran to the house and yelled for grandma. She came running with a hoe and killed them both. She wasn’t afraid of anything!
Grandad had a big dog whose name was Thunder. He was a Collie. Grandad would send Thunder and I out to the pasture to dig up cactus that grew wild. I would take a wooden 2-wheel cart with us to put the cactus in. When we took them home grandad would burn them. We would spend hours out in the pasture playing.
The flies were very bad one year and they had layed eggs in the ears of Thunder and they got infected and there was no cure for it. Grandad decided we would have to put him down because he was suffering so much. Grandad got his shotgun and we marched off to the pasture to do it. Grandad handed me the gun. I took aim at Thunders head with tears streaming down my cheeks and couldn’t do it. I handed the gun back to grandad and he lifted the gun and fired. We buried Thunder out in the pasture and placed a big stone on his grave.
This post is part 1 of several letters from George Hill, Jr. ~To be continued.
June 20th, 2010 at 7:31 pm
Love these stories. Super job Mia!
June 21st, 2010 at 1:57 pm
OH,, THESE ARE GREAT! YOU’VE DONE A GREAT JOB. VICKIE
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