Rolled up in an old mattress for warmth
in the back of a 1930's Ford pickup,
three sisters said good-bye to Wyoming.
As they crossed snow covered mountains,
they remembered their dad saying,
“My brother said there’s work in the orchards of Oregon.”
What was an orchard?
Where was Oregon?
What would it look like?
This is a Flash Fiction Friday 55.
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Back Story - It was right around 1940 when a family of five, one of which was my mother, took off on a journey of self preservation. My grandfather's brother had found work in the orchards of the Hood River Valley. It was the height of the depression and even the Texas oil fields that had kept my grandfather busy for years, no longer offered security. So, he and my grandmother packed up their three girls and drove off on a 800 mile trek from Gillette, Wyoming to the Orchards on the edge of the Columbia River. Mind you, this was no 800 mile ride on super highways. This was a grueling drive in an old clunker of a pick up truck. My mother and one of her sisters rolled up in a mattress in the back of the truck to stave off the cold of the Rocky Mountains in April, then the snow of the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. None of them knowing exactly what to expect at the end of the journey. No home waiting for them. No hotels along the way. This was a hobo family's ride into the unknown. Only faith and hope to keep them on track.
If you like this tease, I will continue the story next week. First as a 55, then a bit more back story. It was a story my Mom shared with me during the last days of her life.