This intense journal not only captures life in the Oklahoma panhandle, but a nation fraught with political, economic, and environmental emergencies.

		May 10, 1935 We had Grandpa’s funeral today. Mother sang two hymns, and she held up a lot better than me or Daddy. It’s been powerful hard on Daddy to bury two parents inside of seven months. The minister spoke about the old days and how Grandpa was one of the original pioneers in the county, living as he had in the last days of the open range. He mentioned how Grandpa had ridden on several cattle drives with Mr. Charles Goodnight, a Texan who once ran a million-acre spread. I talked with Mother this evening after all the neighbors had gone home, and she tried to help me sort through my sadness. She told me it’s natural to miss Grandpa, but I should remember that he lived a good, long life. As true as that might be, I can’t help feeling bad that he died like he did. It is sad that his doctor back in Ohio sent him to Oklahoma so he could escape that coal mine and breathe clean, dry air. Then he went and swallowed so much dust that it choked him to death.