Chapter 7: 1934

1934 was my introduction to history--the year when time and dates began to take on significance.  

I heard about 1934 in the year 1933.  I didn't know it was 1933 then; all I knew was that in 1934 we were going to move.  1934 was the first date that I can remember.  I can remember many things that happened in 1933, probably some things that happened in 1932, and possibly a thing or two that happened even earlier.  But 1934 was the first date, the first year that I can remember anyone ever referring to.  It was my introduction to the idea that time moves along in a line and that it could be labeled.  The future, which had not arrived yet, would have a different label than the present or the past.
      
Now, when I first heard about the coming of 1934 I did not, as far as I know, tell myself that this was 1933, and that some time before it had been only 1932.  If it had been explained to me in that way the explanation has been forgotten.  I can remember only being assured that some time in the future--not too long into the future--we would be moving to a new place.  And that would be a major event, one of the first truly big events that I would look forward to and which would occur in a time which had a name given to it--1934.  I'm not even sure whether I thought of 1934 as "1934"--a number--or as "nineteen thirty-four"--words.  It seems, almost, that I could see the numbers in my mind when the term was spoken; but that may have been my later learning revisiting and revising my memory.
           
I don't remember either when it was that I first learned that we would be moving in 1934.  I had started first grade at Amsterdam Township School District No. 4 in September of that year while I was still four years old.  A month and a half later I would celebrate my fifth birthday.   I clearly recall that morning of my fifth birthday, and of course, I was well aware that "five years old" was a great deal older than "four years old."  I am sure, in this case, "five" was a number--a "5"--not just a word.  I had looked forward for some time to becoming five years old for very good reasons.  Five years old would be much bigger and stronger than four years old, and able, no doubt, to run much faster too.

As a matter of fact, on that frosty morning of October 17, 1933 I would conduct the first demonstration of what it means to become one year older.  

I announced to my parents and family before break-fast that I had to go out to prove how much faster I could run now that I was five year old.  Being so much older, no doubt my feet would fairly fly over the ground.  I would conduct my impressive demonstration starting by the house, and run down the lane toward the machine shed and back again.  Obviously, I didn't have the benefit of a stop watch or of previous timed runs with which to compare this run, but, of course, that would be totally unnecessary anyway.  It would be clearly apparent that, being now five years old, I would greatly exceed any speed that I had ever produced before while I was only four years old.
           
So I set myself in the ready position.  Then, I lunged forward, giving it all I had, down the lane to the machine shed, then back again, up to the house.  Frankly, and much to my great disappointment, I honestly couldn't detect, even though I was a whole year older that morning, that I was one whit faster.  I went back into the house deflated.          
"Well, did you run a lot faster?" brother Henry asked.  How do you respond to a question like that when the hopes and expectations of weeks, perhaps even months were shattered in a major disappointment?  I softened the harsh reality a bit: "Yeah, I think so.  A little, anyway."

Christmas day of 1933 came.  Santa had even visited the night before.  Harold had shown Ruth and me his boot prints in the snow outside the house.  That Santa should have rather small boots and heels like my mother's did seem a bit strange, perhaps, but who were we to question what Santa's footprints were like.  But I mention Christmas because by this time the fact that we were going to move in 1934 was well-established and we were beginning to look forward to that day.  New Year's Day came and went without, as far as I know, any- thing notable happening or my even being aware that there was such a day as "New Year's Day."

But, finally, 1934 came, on March 1.  

March 1 was moving day.  The time-honored tradition was that everyone who had to move from one farm to another would move on March 1.  That way there would not have to be any double occupancy or any delays due to one party still residing where another party was to move to.
           
March 1, 1934 was a pretty nice day.  I recall riding on a horse-drawn wagon for one of the seven-mile trips that were made from our old farm to the new farm as furniture, chickens, and a lot of junk was moved.  I suppose we may have had a truck move some of the animals, but I remember the cows were driven along the road by foot for those seven miles.  We even passed the new school which we would be attending and noticed all the kids watching the moving procession pass by.
           
I remember lying on the porch steps on the south side of our "new" house as that day progressed.  The March sun was comfortably warm.  Sport, our airedale dog, kept me company, and it was cozy there in the sun.  It was a new home for me, a new farm.  The box elder trees just south of me marked the northern boundary of a spacious lawn that extended all the way to another row of trees next to the road separating us from the Verbruggees who lived across it.
   
I would miss our old place, of course, with the big grove of trees, the flowing well and the nearby creek.  But for now, it was pleasant here.  There were new horizons to view, exciting new terrain and unfamiliar buildings to explore; and, best of all, a lot of evergreen trees, some of them with branches smooth enough to climb.  The big gray barn had on it the words: "Clover Leaf Farm."  It was 1934, and life promised pleasant days ahead on such a farm.

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