Guest Post by Hardscrabble Farmer
My grandmother and her siblings grew up in the middle of The Great Depression. She used to tell me stories about growing up and there were lessons baked in those stories.
They never had money, but they never went hungry.
They stuck together as a family and lived in a tight knit community.
The men all had skills that allowed them to earn enough to purchase the things they couldn’t raise or make for themselves: carpentry, plumbing, hunting, fishing.
The women all had huge gardens and knew how to preserve food for the Winter.
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They were the least pretentious people on Earth and it never bothered them to wear clothes that were old because they kept them patched and clean.
In all the photographs there is a commonality- multiple generations living together and always there are children, adults, and the elderly leaning against each other, arms around shoulders and waists and the kinds of smiles that are genuine, not those wide toothy soy grimaces, but tight lipped and from the heart. All you get from them are love, devotion, solidarity, and commitment.
The lessons she taught me were the ones I ignored for the first part of my life, but they were the ones that really stuck long term. In all my life I don’t think I have ever admired or looked up to someone as much as I did those two, old, shuffling and broken people that were my Grandparents because no one ever made me feel as cared for, loved and valued as they did.
We can look at what is coming as a punishment or we can find within it what we deserve and should expect. We called the tune and now we must pay the piper. You feast and eventually they bring you the tab to settle up.
Think about what’s important, focus like a laser on that and never forget that in all things there is a balance and a cycle that must find equilibrium and all we need to do is to trust in the ones we love and care for and man up no matter what comes our way. In the end, we are all we have.
I’m always jealous of people who where close to their grandparents. I’m trying to give my 3 grandchildren what I didn’t have.
I had always felt envious toward those people with tight knit families.
Doh! I misspelled were. Posted right before my surgery. I can’t blame that on anesthesia. I will use that excuse for a few days now.
My grandparents told me many stories about the great depression .All 4 of my grandparents lived on small farms during that time period. All they had was family and a little land but they never did without food. One source of food was the Little Pee Dee river.When not farming they would hunt and fish. Hard work with prayer is what got them through it but then World War came and that change everything.
Nicely put HSF. Those who are shuffling now salute you.
Gone with the Suburbs, which are going with the Condos, which will go with the New Age Cities. The new Unity is Diversity. Progressive is Sustainable is NWO Coherence.
Thank you for this HSF. This has been my life as well. Fortunately, I’m beginning to understand those lessons, and more importantly, apply them. It’s taken me a long time to put down the things of the child. I thank God he’s given me the awareness and determination to get on track. Take care of those God has put in your life no matter the sacrifice needed to do so. The only real source of solace in life is the knowledge that you discharged your duties faithfully. Since I was so late coming to this, I have regrets. Thank God for his Mercy and Forgiveness, which heal those self inflicted wounds and renews my strength to shoulder the burden for whatever the time remains for me. Today, I look forward to whatever the day demands, and am grateful for the opportunity to serve its needs.
God Bless. Happy Easter.
Blessed indeed are the ones who realize early on that life is short and precious, and lived day by day…….directing our focus and energy towards the few things that really matter, first and foremost our ‘each other’. Loved ones, especially our children and families are our personal, tangible, material link to the Eternal and our most direct connection to God. Look into the open, guileless eyes of your small child, or experience the unconditional love and acceptance such as afforded by the HSF grandparents and tell me it is not so. I have been fortunate and blessed to experience these things and wish that all might as well. Theology and religious systems are all well and good I suppose, and I indeed have a faith I strive to keep. But in the end I am blessed with the mortar that helps to hold faith together. I have experience.
My grandparents were a major influence on my worldview. They both were from the great depression and their stories and their ability to struggle through always impressed me. My grandpa and nearly every male in our family back then were in WWII and my grandma made bullets. As a Gen-X’er their stories influenced me far more than my parents did, not sure why, but grandparents had a nearly mystic quality to them. How I live my life in large part come from their influence. I only wish my children had been around to get to experience them for awhile. My grandpa used to always quote Bob Hope, “growing old ain’t for wimps” usually as part of the struggle with all the surgeries toward the end of his life. The real coin of life is time, and time spent with friends and family we love is the best form of treasure in this world full of beauty and horror.
During the great depression a much larger percentage of the population was rural and farm based than now, people lived in families (the overall divorce rate was less than 2%), and people were used to getting by with far less than they are now (rural folks getting by without things like indoor plumbing and electricity).
I don’t think people today are anywhere near as able to deal with a complete economic collapse as people then were, most have never experienced any actual hardships at all during their lifetime.
90% of divorces are initiated by women. That says a lot and should be explored more fully than I care to here, other than to say that “Eat, Pray, Love” was a massive best-seller. To the book’s fans, “eat, pray, love” means: leave your husband (and kids, if any), change religions, travel around spending money that came from your ex-husband and have some one-night stands with foreigners. To most men, “eat, pray, love” just means eat, pray at least once in a while and hopefully have sex with your own wife once in a while, since you’re still attracted to her. Most men are easily satisfied. If you can find a wife who is, consider yourself lucky.
My parents and grandparents lived thru the depression and the Dust Bowl days. I listened to many stories of the hard times. They never complained about the lack of money and I never heard them complain about the stock market drop, I doubt they ever had any money in it to begin with. They just had the farm, hogs and chickens and a lot of family. They did what they had to do to survive, or as my Father told me, ” we didn’t know any better, and we didn’t have a choice, we just trudged forward hoping for better times.” As an FYI , a lot of family’s made a good business out of moonshine in the southwestern Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas area. If any of you are looking for a good read try “The Worst Hard Times” by Timothy Egan. It does a good job of detailing what went on.
I doubt that we will have total collapse, but just a major event that will drastically affect us all. Watching the less prepared and electronically dependent will be interesting and tragic at the same time. John
HSF, your writing takes me back to growing up in middle TN. My grandmother lived with us and often talked about living through the Depression in Arkansas and Alabama. She was widowed young and raised my Mom as a widow through the worst of the depression. Her brother dropped his son on her doorstep to raise as well, when his wife ran off and he had no work. Tough times breed tough folks. My family stuck with each other and made do – and those are the lessons I learned growing up as well. I try to pass the lessons on to my kids but I think I have not been as successful at that as I need to be, but I will keep trying. Thanks for taking me back.
Thanks for the short story HSF. I have been feeling very uneasy for two weeks now. I believe the storm has started and is here. This story reminded me of and instance that happened a few weeks back. My youngest daughter and I were walking down the road. Me dressed like a hobo from working around the place and she dressed like a little princes. We were about a mile from home when some sight seers pull up. Most houses are a mile or more apart, fly over country that is. We talk for 30 min before another car shows up and we part as we are in the middle of the road. Hmm,lots of traffic today. When I get home my wife is aghast that I am in public dressed this way. Patches on britches, coat with tears and blown out boots. “I have bought you 2 new pairs of boots and an untold number of pants and coats and you go out like that”. I don’t know how long my boots will last but they are still going after 10 years. They gunna hfta pry them from my cold dead feet! Those new clothes and boots? In the garage in barrels with socks, thermals and…wait’n for the storm.
I got tired of waiting for the storm. Been getting rid of those extra items that were put back. I just hope this doesn’t come back and bite me in the ass.
Problem with shoes and boots is that the plastic can degrade after a while. Had some Timberlands from the 1980s I put away for 10 years and the sole had just rotted off ’em.
HSF, great article about family and the depression era grandparents. My depression era grandparents along with three children, lived in a chicken coop for over a year after their farmhouse burned down. With their own hands, and the help of family and neighbors, they rebuilt a small two bedroom farmhouse. Dirt poor, they grew their own food, wore old worn shoes patched with newspaper, fended off snakes, tornadoes, hobos, and other life threatening events, made rugs and blankets from old clothing, went to church on Sunday, together as a family. They persevered, and many years later, prospered. Both grandparents were blessed to live well into their 90’s. It’s good to remember our families. We can learn a great deal from their lives.
I love hearing these stories from other people, it only reinforces the belief that we are going to be the solution to the problems created by others if we can just keep doing the right thing.
Apropos of nothing I am surprised by how few trolls we seem to attract here. You’d think that this site would be hammered, especially considering that fact that this kind of perspective is an affront to The Narrative. It’s as if we were protected by some kind of magical spell. It is always a relief to open up the tab and see the familiar names and know that we’re not in this alone, no matter what happens.
The story sounds exactly like my Grandparents. They were preppers long before it became a marketable phrase. One has been gone 50 years and the other 47. There was the garden, the fruit trees,the canning and of course the pantry. I can remember my Grandmother saying.”Never again will we not be prepared for the unknown.” It keeps me driven,because of them it is who I am. I stay prepared in a society that has been taught,that it is much easier to laugh and call me crazy. Then it is to see the truth of what is coming at break neck speed. For most of us here at the TBP. It is a great time to be alive.
Unfortunately I didn’t appreciate the wisdom of my elders until most of them had gone. I did get to ask my Grandfather (farmer, truck driver, handyman, mechanic) before he passed what he remembered of the Depression. The thing that stuck in his mind the most was only having a single pair of second-hand shoes for several years, and they were only to be used for church. The rest of the time all the kids went barefoot. As poor southerners, they lived a humble life, never wasting anything, but with few (if any) wants either. Even across multiple generations, the kids never went hungry.
My grandparents were born in the mid to late 1800’s but I’m not as old as Tampa Red claims that I am. I deny ever seeing a Muzzle Loader till we went to a Museum.
My Mom and dad were born in 1903 and 1911 and all 12 of their siblings lived through the depression. They made a distinction between being “Country Poor” and “City Poor”. We were all country poor and so suffered much less in the way of nutrition.
Did you know that the Model T had go up steep hills in reverse gear because they weren’t powerful enough in first and reverse was a much lower ratio.
My parents and every one of my Aunts and Uncles would holler if you wasted anything, and I mean anything. BTW. All adults everywhere had the God given right to Holler at errant kids. And they also had the right to ABUSE their children. It was the duty of the extended family and community to stop it.
Meat was more of a condiment than a main course. Cheap cuts were used sparingly in stews and casseroles to give good flavor and provide nutrients only found in meat. We didn’t eat fried chicken till the prosperity of the 60’s arrived. True frying chickens were the young roosters that were unnecessary given the 1 to 1 ratio of hens and roosters hatched. At any rate the were too valuable to eat when they could be sold for cash money to the city folk with money. Things like that could also be used as semi legal tender to pay local bills or buy things that required cash money. Much like PM’s can be redeemed at face value in a trade. Everyone knew the price of a prime young fryer on the hoof if you’ll pardon the pun. Old hens and roosters were used in pot pies and stews and soups because they had to be boiled for an eternity to tenderize them. Nobody ate steaks because nobody ate beef cows, they were too expensive. Old milk cows past their prime were eaten but never Beef cows. There was more money in using pasture and feed for dairy products. Although Grade milkers were often bred to a beef breed and the steer raised to sell for cash or cash equivalents. I’m sure it was different out west but not that many people lived out there compared to east of Kansas.
Things were still not much different for us kids in the late 40’s and early 50’s. Believe it or not, I still miss that tar paper shack we lived in until we finished building the big house when I was 9. The debt we incurred doing that made Mom and Dad a nervous wreck for fear of missing a payment due to their ingrained fear of loosing everything and we were never happy again. The misery that inflicted and carried over into all 7 of us kids lasted well into our adulthood.
I also remember with great fondness my Grandma sitting me on her lap and telling me about traveling from Appalachia (Cambell County TN) to Fannin County TX by covered wagon when she was 6. That was her favorite story.
Well thanks for indulging me in my memory lane thing.
P.S. Raising children clear through to adulthood was quite a feat in itself back then. Not to mention how many women died during childbirth and how many fathers died from “Widow Maker” Dairy cows kicking him in the head. So it wasn’t all peaches and cream.
I remember three stories my grandmother told me about her experience during the Great Depression. They are so vivid in my mind that they remain like a movie scene you can never forget.
I’ll recount them quickly: one was her eyewitness account of a stowaway tramp being dragged off a train in the nearby town and being beaten severely with a baseball bat by the conductor of the train. Railroad conductors were still “God” in those days and nobody dared intervene.
The second, was her telling of a seasonal hobo/tramp encampment by a river about 2 miles from town, but only an eighth of a mile from her large garden. They would dig up a single potato to steal, in the hopes that the theft would go unnoticed. Grandpa told her: “Leave ’em be, they’re hungry”.
Third, was her recounting of an Ojibwe (Chippewa) woman who came to her door asking to borrow just a single cup of flour. She took off her wedding ring (I guess Indians had adopted the White Man practice of wedding rings?) to leave as collateral. Grandma tried to refuse the ring but the lady insisted she have it. A short time later (I can’t remember if was days or weeks) said lady returned with a cup of flour to get her wedding ring out of “hock”.
Tough times.
I shared a bedroom with my father’s father as a boy off and on for all of my boyhood. The last five years he had had a leg amputated because of diabetes. He got a prosthetic and got around well with it and even drove until he got too frail.
A third generation Irish coal miner he spent 40 years mining and would show me various scars on his body and then tell me that scars’s story. He repeated the stories as he got older…but they never changed and I always acted as if I was hearing them for the first time. My favorite was when Grandpap and his first born, my Uncle Jim were trapped in the same cave in and were racing alongside one another in a mad dash panic to scrabble out…and made it! The old ballads…Big John and 16 Tons would come on the radio and he would get lost staring into the past.
He had had 7 children and was a hard disciplinarian with them…and I could tell there was some distance between him and many of them when he got older…but with me he was a mellow, tender, loving Grandfather.
Often when he was at another one of his children’s homes my Mother’s Mother stayed with us. Nana could only speak a few words of English. She had the same mellow, tenderness towards me but we couldn’t talk at length unless my Mom interpreted. That changed the dynamic a bit. She would stare at me and talk to my Mom in hushed Italian tones…I found out years later it was because of my deep dimples…that she said her husband my Grandfather gave me (he was murdered when my Mom was 2).
Being raised a Mick/Wop in a three generation house (one or the other other widowed grandparent was always there) was rich and wonderful.
Love the grandparents stories. My mom and dad were born 1914 and 1916. My dad the oldest of 12. He taught my mom how to cook. My maternal grandma sent my mom and her sister to live with her parents when she remarried in 1930. Step-grandpa did not want the girls. Great-grandma shooed them out of the kitchen. That’s why my mom couldn’t cook. I’m pretty sure my dad married because she was beautiful. This makes my grandma sound awful but there are good reasons she did that.
My parents told me some interesting stories about the depression and dust bowl. They lived in western Kansas during those years.
I’m not as old as Fleabags. My parents had me when they were in their forties.
Mary.
I intended to say dad was 47 when I was born. Mom 39. She had my baby sister at 47. She told me before she died that our Dr. Told Dad to start sleeping with his pants on. I’m 70.
Flea, the Doc told my mom she would never get pregnant again after my big brother was born in 1939. Surprise! I was born in January ’57.? No other siblings.
MC
Dad was born in 1924 and Mom in 1926. Both grew up tough, Dad made it to 92 despite losing half a stomach to cancer and three or four heart attacks before the last one. Mom is a couple of days shy of 93 now. She grew up on a small farm in Alabama without much of anything besides the clothes for school and the time to learn, but she never saw hunger as a child or adult. They would raise chickens and sometimes her mother would take one down to colored folk she appreciated, along with vegetables and flowers that grew in the garden. Grandfather was a steel worker in a mill, later a deputy sheriff and mostly respected by everyone he met.
My father was a Pennsylvania Deutsche boy, grew up delivering sacks of coal and bottles of milk up and down the hilly streets near Pittsburgh. He lied about his age to get into the Air Force at 16 (and away from his mother, who was something of an airhead and only valued his wages). He put two of his siblings though college after he went on the G.I. Bill, and sent money monthly to his mother (she would save it up and go on vacation trips) until she died. He knew poverty but never complained about it, I think he felt it made him who he was. He put four of his five kids through college too, (one couldn’t grasp a foreign language enough to get the graduation requirement), and I graduated with no student debt or obligations.
They were a strong generation, tempered by their trials, and driven to succeed or exceed any requirement they encountered. This 4th turning might turn out the same way, the survivors may be toughened enough by their experiences to become worthwhile people; in fact, that may be the secret after all. Weak people may be those who were never tested, never tried in the tempest to prove what they were capable of, so that when the hard times come they are unprepared, insecure and unready to do what is needed to be human.
I hope when this is over my kids are still standing; if I am then I’ll rebuild better than it was. It would be hard to rebuild worse than now in many respects!
My grandparents did not discuss the Great Depression. I am grateful my grandmother had a large community to rely upon!
My grandmother experienced the American Dream! Marilyn Monroe and Jackie O most likely never knew women similar to my grandmother existed and led productive lives.
My grandfather and grandmother lived on a family farm next door. The rural Church was theirs, but hardly anyone knew this fact.
Grandmother’s youthfulness remains tucked warmly in my memories. Year after year the pattern of grandmother’s dream became originally vibrant. Springtime gardening wasn’t so much a lesson earned for paying attention, but a reward to be in the company of a happy individual whose presence was not shaped by oppression. Spring showers shoved grandmother inside, where her heart’s treasures were shaped in confidence and the views outside were shaped to plan for horseback riding, or helping grandfather. Summertime planted grandmother in the center of modest social mixes. Autumn resourcefully hailed grandmother the all-about-authority, as cutting and loading firewood with grandfather was essential and best endured with pride. Grandmother collected ceramic angels. Grandmother placed her angels near a wall where winter storms banked. Her winter wonderland was classic!
Grandmother wore the label of youthfulness more accurately than any glossy reprint duplicated for production.
The only type of assertiveness grandmother was skilled and gifted to own was being able to confront women who did not match or exceed her standards. If grandmother had known Gertrude Baniszewski existed, America would have become silent until grandmother gave the all-clear command.
One season, when I was about 12, grandmother faded away into the youthful seasons that carried her throughout her American Dream. I was left behind. The angels in the Holy Bible have been recorded to say “Do not be afraid”. I am thankful grandmother may have skimmed over how frightening in appearance angels were known to be.