Leaving the Rock River House by Boat

Dad and I used to sing in the car, especially on the long trips to Brainerd. Dad also taught me to dance, and I’ll always love him for that because I’ve loved to dance all my life. One of Dad’s favorite songs was Red Sails In The Sunset. I always think of him when I hear that song and picture him beside me in the car singing, happy as could be. I miss my Dad. I have some vague memories of life, for a short time, on the Rock River. The house had a large screened-in front porch. Aside from that, I don’t remember much. We did move out at a time of flooding. I remember putting things in a boat and vacating the premises that way. Also, lots of mosquitoes. I think that may have been Mom and Dad’s second house in Moline. Yes, Dad taught me to shoot a gun when I was about twelve, and I was a pretty good shot. Dad was proud of that and would brag about me. I’m sure it was a twenty-two rifle I used. But memory and time—you know that old story. He took me hunting but I never did shoot anything, though I loved being in the woods. He also took me fishing when we went to Brainerd to visit our relatives. I did catch fish. I remember Mom on her hands and knees, sorting tomatoes under the big tree in the back yard. Some for canning whole, some for catsup, some for juice. And, oh, her pepper juice was so good. I remember canned pork. What a treat. And, I regret not learning how to do that! I miss my Mom. I asked Bill to relate something about Mom and Dad. Here’s what he remembered: