Because we have had such a wet spring all across the country, the hillsides still had green growth and we enjoyed it so much. The sky was blue and bright and that was exhilarating in itself. Every moment had something to look at: black cows against the fields, mountains against the sky, rivers along the roadside and cut bales of hay. Barns old and new with every shape of roof: Dutch, gabled, metal and shingled. John Deere tractors and other farm implements at work.
I showed Dad the tiny recorder I had brought with me and he willingly answered questions about his childhood. Mom had written in a memory book about her childhood and when she died Dad discovered it afresh and was so thrilled to have it. When I suggested at Easter that he should also write in one, he demurred, thinking it wouldn’t be as good as hers. I told him we didn’t want him to sound like her; we wanted his voice and his stories, but I didn’t hold out much hope that he would write in a memory book. So this method of getting his memories on tape was meant to counteract his resistance. And it did! He was happy to talk about homes he’d lived in during his childhood, his various driving experiences, the Soap Box Derby, his school experiences, his family life. The time just flew by and we couldn’t believe how hours melted away under the wheels of the car while we were recording his stories for posterity.
Today we drove across Montana to Sheridan, Wyoming, where we stopped for supper at Perkins and bed at happy end.