We went east to the hills for a load of wood Sunday morning. We went out on a high peak & looked over east to the sheep camp in the valley. It was quite a spectacle I wish I had my Kodak here. I sure held my breath, coming home, once. We were going on a very steep hill, sidewise, it seemed as though we just must tip over. But we didn't. Then we went for a load of rock, too. We went for a load of rock two weeks ago Sunday, too. We saw a lot of peculiar rock formations. There are a lot of sort of round rocks with a honeycomb surface. They look like petrified turtles. Then there are rocks that look exactly like petrified tree stumps. There there are white crystal-like stones that are quite pretty.
I brought along my June magazines to read. And I have read Irving Bacheller's "The Man for the Ages" concerning Lincoln; Carolyn Wells' "Wheels Within Wheels" and I am reading Gene S. Porter's "Her Father's Daughter." In the last, the heroine is too good, but all Mrs. Porter's heroines are.
Aunt Jennie goes with Uncle Ed about four mornings a week to haul water home. She "keeps" the store while he goes for the water and then she brings it home. I have been going along; have stayed home twice.
I have gotten about eight letters from John since I've been here and about six from Mama, two from Dorothy & one from Bernice. Zella took Jackie (Paul & Buster, too) & went home with Bernice & Ed. She was supposed to have come home Sunday, but I haven't heard whether they did or not. One of Mama's ltters worried me, because she had had no help with the kids one Saturday night. So I wrote & asked John to help a bit and as a consequence, he took Bricky & kept her this past week. I guess Neil misses me. Mama seemed to think he was homesick for me. After all the stew Uncle Ralph & Aunt Rena had about Dorothy keeping house for the bunch at 616 Polk St., she finally got to dit it anyway, which suited everyone concerned.
There have been three birthdays since I left. Jackie was a year old on the 10th, John was twenty-eight on the 24th and Babe was twenty-one on the 25th. I sent John some cigars and Babe a dollar bill.
I wrote Emily Davis a letter last night and Helen Symons one Sunday.
Last Saturday, a week ago, we had quite a lark. Uncle Ed got the old car started & took Aunt J., Cecil, Grandfather Wilkes and me to Thatcher to a sale. Uncle Ed auctioneered it -- he's quite keen at it. It took him about three hours and he made ten dollars -- not so bad. Aunt Jennie & I bought some books -- about fifteen for a dollar, some of them were: David Copperfield, Silas Marner, Ancient Mariner, Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, Daddy Long Legs & some "lesser lights."
Then a week ago Sunday, Delhi had a picnic. The two stores had a joint stand. We sold pop and Raymonds sold ice cream. I helped Aunt Jennie sell pop. It was hot, dusty & windy. They had a little baseball before dinner & afterwards some horse races, kid races, etc.
Sometimes, in the afternoon, Aunt Jennie, Cecil and I "take to the hills" as Cecil says. Aunt Jennie & I take our reading material along. We find the highest spot on the windiest side and sit in a bed of pine needles and read. The other day I lay down, face up, and watched some magic, white billowy clouds drifting and shifting. It brought back childhood memories of similar stunts and vague recollections of the day-dreams the act inspired. It brought to mind an urge I have had for some time -- to live out from the city a ways where we could see something and the children could have the right chance.
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