Chapter 3 of Tales I Can Remember, by Elsie Swagerty Burton
My first swimming lesson was in that stream. Father could “dog paddle” and he was the teacher. He spent some time trying with me and I did show some aptitude and received some grudging encouragement but I got the feeling it was more important that the boys master the skill. I did enjoy the exercise, however.
From that spot by the stream, the structure of sleds was moved some distance away to a field near Tranquility, a small community near Fresno in the San Joaquin Valley. Thinking back to all the things that happened to our family within the short period of time we stayed there, Tranquility was a misnomer.
We had none, absolutely none, of the modern facilities one regards as ordinary living conditions: no running water, no sewage, no garbage pick-up, no electricity. There was a pump installed as an irrigation facility for the fields a short distance away. Mother had to pack water in small enough buckets for her to carry, for cooking, drinking, bathing and laundry. The laundry must have been unthinkable. She had a husband who did dirty, hard labor and three healthy children who had no where to play except in the dirt, besides a baby with all of the laundry that entails.
This sounds like my mother’s story, but it serves to indicate the care and individual guidance one could expect from such an over-worked mother. I remember at one point, she lost the diamond from her engagement ring, the only thing of material worth she owned besides her wedding ring. I remember the hours we were set to searching the ground around where she might have thrown it out with wash water. We never found it. I remember her desperate sadness because of it.
A frightening experience occurred there that has stayed with me to this day. My two oldest brothers, Clem and Floyd, were playing, giggling and making such noises that mothers learn should be investigated. Mother discovered these two tiny tots, about four and two and a half years old, with sticks in their hands, forcing a snake to stay under their small wagon as they wheeled it forward.
Mother knew practically nothing about snakes except that father had told her how he frequently encountered rattlesnakes in his work; so she knew they were in the area. The only other thing she knew was the bite of rattlesnakes is deadly. She tried to get the youngsters away from their game without frightening them or allowing the snake to get near them. She wasn’t having much success. The boys were enjoying their game too much and hence were not inclined to be very obedient. As luck would have it and, as seems too frequently to happen to them in God’s care, a man came along the road by then. He assisted Mother in extricating the boys from their game of tormenting a hapless snake; then reassured mother that the snake was not a rattlesnake but was, in fact, a king snake. He stated that we should treasure it for king snakes and rattlesnakes are enemies and if it stayed around would keep rattlers away from us and that the king snake itself was not poisonous. That king snake did stay around for the rest of our stay there – not prized, but tolerated. The boys had strict orders not to play with the snake ever again. This order they more or less obeyed, with constant reminders.
The day I particularly remember, however, was one of the very hot days the area around Fresno can have during the summer. We had taken what chairs we had into the yard in order to take advantage of the small area of shade our humble dwelling provided. Mother had made lemonade and cookies and had been entertaining a neighbor lady. As the neighbor was leaving and mother was accompanying her the short distance to the pump with her pails, my small brother, Floyd awakened from his nap and I was requested to go in, help him put on his shoes and give him a cookie. I was glad to for I planned to get another cookie for myself in the process. Cookies were hard to come by around there. I was trotting toward the house and instead of circling the grouping of chairs in the yard, went directly through the center of the grouping and, in my quest for fun along the way, placed my hands on two adjoining chair seats and proceeded to swing my body between the two. When I went to lower my body, I looked down and there was our snake. I was able to bend my arms and thrust my feet forward just enough to miss the reptile, but I was traumatized. I screamed, I became hysterical. I was outraged. Mother didn’t understand the depth of the fright and ordered me to complete the task on which she had sent me. I felt completely alone in my danger. From that time on I dreamed about snakes chasing, endangering me every single night for the next fifteen years. Every story or trait of snakes I heard about would be incorporated into those dreams – hoop shakes, side-binders, etc. Those snakes chased me in every imaginable way. They made hoops of themselves and chased me down hills, they took each others tails in their mouths forming long rope-like affairs and encircled me. They truly harassed me every night for all those years.
I do remember one nice thing that happened during that summer. It was a visit from mother’s parents. She had three sisters all of whom had their birthdays in October, two Aunt Lulu’s and Aunt Ethel’s were on the same day and Aunt Lucy’s was two days later. They always celebrated together, but mother’s birthday was in August and instead of feeling special about that, felt left out. Her father was particularly sensitive to that; so since he knew Pearl was having a difficult time coping with all that life was dishing out just then, decided to bring a birthday party to Pearl.They brought homemade ice cream and cake. Besides just seeing them, the ice cream was a treat.
That September we were still living in that location. I was six years old then and now going to school. I remember being overwhelmed with my new status of now going to school. I had just gone to school for two complete weeks. It was a Friday and I had gone through the process of getting a book checked out of the library when one of the older cousins came in to get me. He informed the teacher we were moving. I had to give back the book and I still remember the disappointment.
The situation had become hopeless, I guess. Mother had developed inflammatory rheumatoid arthritis and was pregnant again. There were already four small youngsters who needed caring for and father could not care for the family and work, too. He gave up the venture.
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