GOING HOME
STILL ANOTHER PLEASANT VALLEY TALE
By William B. Grove
As the old truck rattled out of Granddad's yard and passed the swinging bridge spanning Cherry Creek, I suddenly spied Jumbo in Grandma's gooseberry patch. The old mule hadn't been seen since Grandad dynamited the well six days ago. As the fuse was sizzling toward the bundle of dynamite Jumbo walked up and stuck his head over the edge of the well. The explosion and the flying rocks sent him off like a shot on a six day disappearing act! It made the close of my visit to Granddad's and Grandma's place complete to know Jumbo was safely back home.
I sighed as I squeezed in between Bessie Cline and Vess Humel where they sat on the floor of the old flat bed truck. Alto and Phileta Cochran and Uncle Bruce had already found their places with their backs up against the wooden sideboards of the truck. Grandad and Grandma were in the cab of the truck with Lillian Margaret between them. Lillian Margaret was my aunt but only one year and nine months older than me.
It was good to be going home to Phoenix but I was going to miss Pleasant Valley and all the summer fun at Granddad's. Folks in Pleasant Valley were more neighborly than in the city. For example, Granddad posted a notice in the post office inviting others who had a need to go to Phoenix to join us. That's how Pleasant Valley folks looked after each other.
As the sun began to fade below the horizon, Bessie asked me to sing a song with her. As we passed Cagle's cabin nestled in the pines on Squaw Flats, Bessie's lovely voice joined with my boyish soprano as we sang:
Suddenly, rounding a curve, a shaft of moonlight reflected from an old rusted wood cook-stove at the side of the road. That's where Granddad and Grandma left it when the truck overturned on their move to Pleasant Valley. Lillian Margaret's cat, Weenie, terrified, had jumped out of the cab of the overturned truck and ran away never to be seen again.
The notes of our song soared through the moonlit pines as we continued down the mountainous road. I couldn't be sure in the enveloping dusk, but I was almost positive that from beneath the old rusted stove, a pair of yellow eyes watched a familiar old rattletrap truck until it was slowly swallowed up in a cloud of dust.
I sighed as I squeezed in between Bessie Cline and Vess Humel where they sat on the floor of the old flat bed truck. Alto and Phileta Cochran and Uncle Bruce had already found their places with their backs up against the wooden sideboards of the truck. Grandad and Grandma were in the cab of the truck with Lillian Margaret between them. Lillian Margaret was my aunt but only one year and nine months older than me.
It was good to be going home to Phoenix but I was going to miss Pleasant Valley and all the summer fun at Granddad's. Folks in Pleasant Valley were more neighborly than in the city. For example, Granddad posted a notice in the post office inviting others who had a need to go to Phoenix to join us. That's how Pleasant Valley folks looked after each other.
As the sun began to fade below the horizon, Bessie asked me to sing a song with her. As we passed Cagle's cabin nestled in the pines on Squaw Flats, Bessie's lovely voice joined with my boyish soprano as we sang:
"When it's nighttime in Nevada, I'm dreaming
Of the old days on the prairie with you.
I can see the great divide
And the trails we used to ride,
The only bit of Heaven I knew.
When it's nighttime in Nevada I'm dreaming
Of the old days on the prairie with you."
The notes of our song soared through the moonlit pines as we continued down the mountainous road. I couldn't be sure in the enveloping dusk, but I was almost positive that from beneath the old rusted stove, a pair of yellow eyes watched a familiar old rattletrap truck until it was slowly swallowed up in a cloud of dust.
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