Storms of Life

“Are you ready?” Walter nodded as he clambered up into his pa’s truck. Finally, he had permission to accompany his father on his daily milk-delivery route. Walter had noticed that even in the midst of dust, failed crops, and hard times, life went on. He’d heard the grownups discussing how they’d stick it out no matter what, but he also heard their wishful thinking: If only it would rain.

The truck sputtered to life, with the rattling of chains in the rear. Walter’s mother scurried off the front porch, waving to catch their attention. “George! Your lunch!” Walter reached out the window to accept the paper bag. He knew even without looking what the bag would contain. Cold biscuits left from breakfast, dried jerky, and maybe some peas she’d managed to salvage from the garden near the house. He didn’t mind working in the garden; they were all grateful for it, but having a few hours today away from the farm felt like a vacation.

“Why are there chains attached to the rear bumper?” Walter hollered over the noise as they made their way down the lane rutted with potholes.

“If a dust storm comes up, I don’t want the engine to short out from the static electricity in the air,” his pa replied. “Can’t afford the repairs or the time it would take away from the delivery route.”

Walter quit trying to converse over the racket and, instead, idly gazed out the window. He watched as the bare wheat fields passed before his eyes. The fields, plowed and planted before the market fell, were now dried up and left exposed to the prairie winds. For entertainment, Walter decided to count how many rabbits he saw. He’d probably have better luck counting grasshoppers, as they seemed to be everywhere, ravaging the few remaining crops.

Pa jerked the steering wheel, and Walter was pulled from his thoughts. Walter stared, wishing he could shut his eyes and forget about the ominous black cloud that swirled their way.