The mood out her eon the road has gotten a lot more glum since Grandpa passed. The Wilson's car also broke down, and that spells trouble for the rest of our trip to California. Pa and I suggested that we split up so that the journey is quicker but Ma put her foot down. Hard. She's such a strong woman, but I don't know if Pa welcomes the thought of that, especially when he is the one that is supposed to be making all of the decisions.
Signing off, Tom Joad.
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He's gone. Nobody knows how it happened. He was asleep and then- he just stopped breathing. It happened after we met the Wilsons, an olderly couple named Ivy and Sairi. They're going to join us for the rest of our journey. I wish we could have given Grandpa a better funeral, but we don't have the time or the money. We held a ceremony for him near the outskirts of Oklahoma City-at least he is in his home state.
Emergency! Grandpa devided for some reason that he wants to stay on our old land- he says that he's gonna fight off the banks and live the way that the pioneers did. We doused his coffee with some drugs so that he would shut up and now he's resting in the back of the truck. I'm worried about Grandpa. I don't know if his health will hold out long enough for us to make it to California. On the other hand, we're finally on the road, and I'm feelin optimisitc about our travel.
Hey, blog. I do not like, repeat do not like businessmen, period. Pa and Al showed me a used-car that they had bought for the journey, but it's hardly worth their money. I've heard a lot about them, preying upon poor families joining the westward migrations, charging expensive prices for the most run-down of cars. But they can't do anything about it- it's the only thing that they can afford. I talked to the family about Jim, the Reverend. They seem to like him and I'm sure that they're going to let him travel with us.
Whew, we finally caught up with my dear family at Uncle John's ranch. They're all still the same: Grandma, Ma, and Rosasharn still cook the same-old biscuits, Grandpa still fusses at everything and the kids are still rascals. They told me about some mighty-fine idea of moving to California to "start a new life" or something- who knows what's out there on the road, though? We're leaving soon, but we might have to think through the consequences.
Signing off, Tom Joad. Hey, blog. I would have never imagined that a simple drought could have such an impact on my community. The Reverend and I traveled back to my family's farm, we even used the same, familiar dirt roads. But when we got there all we found was overturned houses and empty fields- heck, they weren't even fields anymore, they were just dunes of soil, or rather sand. We found an old neighbour of mine and he says they moved in with my Uncle Jack, I guess that's where we'll have to look next if we want to find them.
Signing off, Tom Joad. Through my travels I've met a lot of different kinds of people: cowards, heroes, people who think that they're all that but they're actually not. But today, I met an interesting character. A reverend, or at least he says he used to be one. He asked me for some of my drink- which I was obviously confused by. He's supposed to be a Messenger of God, not an alcoholic- but I guess times are changing. I asked him why he's not a preacher anymore and he gave me a hell of a good reason why he abandoned his holy profession. I guess all people do change, after all.
Signing off, Tom Joad. Hey blog, it's been about four years since I last wrote in you. Something "important" happened and I was sent off, away from the family. I'm on my way back, and this time I know better than to stir trouble in the community. I'm atoning for my sins, or rather my one grand sin, and I know that I can't mess up again. I hope the family's still the same. They've suffered enough, from the poverty to the harvest failures and all that. Only thing is, I need to find a way home- and I think I've found it: hitchhiking.
Signing off, Tom Joad It's not a good time for us farmers. We're already poor, and news is just in that the seasons' harvest might be the worst recorded in the 1930's- or maybe since our family settled in Oklahoma. Tensions are rising in the community, and I fear that the current situation will produce something rather bad.
Signing off, Tom Joad |