Toshi Abe: All the day’s mud on our feet, & Internment, Empty-handed, empty suitcases

We were kids always running around barefoot
I remember my mother,
she always had to pick up wood
for cooking and heating the house,
My father made charcoal with the logs
We’d help our father cut the wood
The menfolk would cut the trees
and we’d gather up all the wood.
My mother would wash the rice
we’d set the table with rice bowls, chopsticks
After dinner, the menfolk would heat up water
and we’d all have a bath in the furo
because we needed to be clean every night
from all the day’s mud on our feet

—Toshi Abe

When WW II broke out, we were sent 

to an internment camp near Vacaville,
empty-handed, empty suitcases
The kids were all barefoot,
we didn’t have anything but we didn’t cry
& we never asked for anything
because we said we can’t afford it.
It was wartime, we were at war
with my mother’s country
She was born in Japan
She was married to an American
She went to school here,
learned English from us when we were small
She tried so hard, We tried hard too
to speak Japanese. It was very hard years
in the internment camp near Vacaville
We didn’t have anything but we didn’t cry
& we never asked for anything.

—Toshi Abe

Louise Athens: making my own toys & The first touring car

I was about four or five, in Klamath Falls, Ore
I remember making my own toys
I remember a man coming through town
taking pictures with a box
So I made a box covered in black cloth
& I went to all the neighbors and took pictures
I didn’t know why I didn’t get any pictures
and nobody paid me either.

—Louise Athens


My father bought the first touring car
You had to put up all the black curtains
so the rain wouldn’t come in
I remember when my father had a sawmill
I remember when all the banks went broke
He sold everything, we moved to San Francisco
And I have pictures of myself as a child
with my father in a derby hat
my mother in her best “going to” outfit
with all her furs, pearls and gloves.

—Louise Athens

Warren Halter: Four going on five, Clear up to the moon, A dustbowl joke, HOT AIR, Amelia Earhart, Barnstormer,

I remember when
my mother took me to Kingman, Arizona
We had to get off at a station to change trains
There were Indians there at the station
She said, “Stay around me or the Indians
will steal you,” so I walked right up to them
and I said, “they don’t look very dangerous.”
That’s true! I was four going on five.

—Warren Halter


I'd wish to get out of here.
I lived in the Panhandle a few years.
I had my own plane & I’d fly into Texas.
I flew acrobatics in Oklahoma.
I taught acrobatics and exhibitions .
I did difficult stunts
at the Phoenix Airfield.
I’d wish to get out of here.
I’ve done everything with a plane
that a plane is capable of—
loop de loop, stall and roll, you name it.
I always wished for wings to fly with.
When you step out that door
you’re holding up air
clear up to the moon.

—Warren Halter


Reminds me of a dustbowl joke: like the woman said: I’ve never been to Iowa, but I’ve seen it fly by. When I learned to fly in 1972, they said you wouldn’t find any clouds at 18,000 feet because there was no moisture but that wasn’t true. Well, I’ve seen clouds over the equator at 40-50,000 feet. I remember in Phoenix, it’d get so hot at night, to escape the heat, we’d strip down to our undershorts and fly those open airplanes up to about 5000 feet just to escape the heat, but sometimes it’d be hot up there with an inversion layer, with all that dust from Iowa, we’d have to climb some more, but then it got too cold, and there we’d be freezing in our undershorts. After 8000 feet there wasn’t air enough to hold us up. We’d take run right up into the stars, flying by the seat of our pants.

—Warren Halter


HOT AIR

The Japanese used to send up hot air balloons with bombs attached, and let then drift to here. The Americans didn’t want the Japs to know it was successful. It was all hush-hush, not in the papers.

One day at Falcon Field, someone spotted one of those Japanese hot air balloons. I looked up and all I could see in that Arizona sky was the sun. I looked closer and eventually I saw a tiny speck.

They sent up a fighter pilot and he climbed up, up. 15,- 20,000 feet, 21,000 feet...Small planes weren’t pressurized in those days...they carried oxygen masks. And there it was, a small speck way up there. No matter how close he got, it stayed a small speck.

The pilot had the most difficult job of the war, to fly up and shoot it down. He finally gave up. Came back down and landed the plane. Turns out, what they were looking at was Venus. He sure had the most difficult order of the war, all right: and that was to shoot down Venus!

—Warren Halter


I met Amelia Earhart. Paul Mance gave her flight instruction on long distance flight. It wasn’t the plane, but navigation error that brought her down.

Amelia was friendly, she would talk to anyone within reason. She wouldn’t talk to me, but I had breakfast with her once. I wanted to talk to her but I didn’t want to intrude.

She never was stuck up from what I could see. I remember some movie fellahs walked by her and asked to take her picture and she said “I think I’m more of a pilot than a picture actress.”

—Warren Halter



We used to take people up for thrill rides in open planes, One tough fellah said he didn’t want to fly flat and level but he thought he could bring me some good business. so I took him up and pulled it up into a vertical stall, did a spin, a loop. He was so white-knuckled, his were hands gripping the sides. Don’t think he ever flew again. As I was circling around the field, you could see them all come running on the ground to see what all the commotion was about. He said, Now look. See all the business I brought you?

—Warren Halter


An instructor had his student in the back of the stunt plane. It was well-braced for acrobatics. But the kid shoved the stick too hard and the plane lurched up so hard he was thrown out of the cockpit. It threw the kid up out of the seat. Scared the hell out of both of them. Luckily he slid back and got caught up on the vertical stabilizers, so the instructor held him up as he brought the nose of the plane down so the kid could scoot back into his seat. We all had parachutes, seat shoots they were called. But that kid, I bet he never flew again.

—Warren Halter


During the war, I was not in the military, but I was a flight instructor at Thunderbird Field, training American pilots and also training Chinese students. But it was damn-near impossible due to the language barrier. We had to teach them acrobatics. They didn’t like that very much, to fly upside down, having to right the planes and so on.

Roosevelt & Chang Kai Check had an agreement. We flew C 4s strong enough to climb the Himalayas. None of them had ever driven a car. An American boy might sit in his father’s lap and learn to drive a tractor. Their biggest problem was a lack of depth perception. They could either perform or we’d have to wash them out and we couldn’t do that, wash them out, or they’d lose face. 

I had one pilot who couldn’t land his plane. He didn’t exactly know where the ground was. He didn’t have depth perception. They tested his eyes. He was off the map, his eyesight was so bad. The Chinese officer washed him out immediately. But 2-3 months later, I saw him back in another regiment. I said, “What the hell are you doing here?” He said, “I come back, I come back! I change my name and I come back!”

—Warren Halter


When I was about 4, I had a horse who tried to jump through a fence but didn’t quite make it over the gate. He slammed on the brakes at the last minute and I was thrown. Naturally, we were worried about the horse and wanted to look after the horse to see if it was all right. But the Chinese cook, Jim Chinaman, we called him, would have none of it. See, he was very fond of me. He was so mad, all he could say was, “Kill the goddamn horse, kill the goddamn horse.”

—Warren Halter

Martha Chisholm: Kindergarten, Throwing cabbages off the train, & Trying on a gas mask

In Daly City, I loved kindergarten
When we used to take walks
we’d walk in fields of poppies
You couldn’t take a step
without stepping on poppies
I used to pick handfuls of poppies
I’d bring my mother bouquets of poppies
She’d meet me outside the house
our house was on the way to school
and I’d give her the poppies. 

I loved school.
We used to sing all these little songs
The supervisor went with us to the poppy fields
then we’d have to draw pictures of what we saw
We were awful little to be doing that
but we still loved it.

#

I had a wonderful childhood
We used to meet the train in Colma
They’d throw cabbages off the train
We’d get our little red wagon and collect them
and then we’d sell them for 5 cents each
in our neighborhood.
We’d drag our little wagon of cabbages home
I’d take them down our street
and sell them to everyone on the block

The train stopped where the gypsies lived
it was near the cemetery
They’d all collect cabbages up too
But we were afraid of them
I was always afraid of the gypsies

I never went near to them to find out
But they did never hurt us.
We used to play with their children
People said they would steal children

Martha Chisholm

I remember trying on a gas mask, I was 3 or 4

I remember when my girlfriend broke 

my glass doll, and how I cried. 

I remember when the war that started in Hawaii

We had to cover the windows at night

People were having their property taken

away from them, it was so terrible

It was just weeks after the bombing

It made me so sad. It was the land of termites. 

Martha Chisholm

My uncle was the first one to have a Ford, it was a Model T. He took me to the Santa Cruz Mountains. In those days all the Fords would overheat going over the mountain and had to pull over, but my uncle had a good Ford filled with cold water. We were too excited to sleep, that was a big thrill to go down to Santa Cruz. We loved going to their farm when we were kids. We played and played with our cousins. Something happened when we were playing. My brother got so mad, he locked my cousin in the room. My uncle was furious. We played and played until it was dark. Then my uncle took us home. It was a huge adventure to go over those hills, it was quite a thrill. 

—Martha Chisholm

Catherine Schuler: Nicknames, THE PICTURE NOT TAKEN, A house we lived in, A veteran of life, For luck, eat fish, A manless wedding, When I was 17, Maiden aunt, “Rainy” Thiebaut

Nicknames

My mother wouldn’t let us be nicknamed
because she had a horrible nickname
They all called her Babe.
and it wasn’t just within the family.
All the different cousins had nicknames
Her real name was Katherine—with a K.

Katherine came down in the family
My grandmother was Katherine with a K
and so was my mother.
But when they got to me they said
they wanted to make a difference
and they spelled it with a C.
We wanted to keep Katherine in the family
I’ve a daughter, her name is Kathleen
and my great granddaughter is Katelyn

My mother was a Red Cross nurse,
and when people would come up and say,
“Hello Katherine,” it sounded so strange
that they’d call my mother Katherine.

—Catherine Schuler



THE PICTURE NOT TAKEN

It was Feb. 27th, 1935, Kansas City.
They couldn’t take a picture of me
at my wedding because I fell
all the way down the church steps,
down every single step, I tore my veil
They had thrown rice on the steps
my new shoes were slippery
They rushed down and picked me up
I went to the reception but I was bruised
my knee swollen for a year
Whenever I ironed I had to put my knee up
Everywhere we went—
my husband was a salesman for Lone Star Cement—
they wondered what he did to me...
Now they won’t let them throw rice anymore
That was all because of me.

—Catherine Schuler


FALLING

I can remember a house we lived in
It had three stories with heat & water in the attic
I remember we used to play up there
But one day I walked off the stairs,
there wasn’t a rail on the stairs
So I fell down two flights
I must’ve been seven or eight
I didn’t want anyone to know
I remember that I just lay there for a long time
trying to breathe
When I finally got my breath back
I told my sister and she said,
“Don’t tell Mother!” And so we didn’t
I wonder if that’s why
I have a curvature of the spine
from falling down the stairs like that.

—Catherine Schuler


VENERABLE AGE

It's not readily apparent
I’ll be 95 in December
Every time I go to the Sr. Center Birthday Party,
I win First Prize. I was born in 1909.

I’m amazed by the way my mother
used to take care of us,
the way my father was so much in favor
of us not having any pain.
When he came to the hospital
he cried to see me in pain (I had appendicitis).
I’m amazed that the world is as good as it is.
We’ve had far too many wars
and too many poor people
That nobody seems to care about.

I’m a veteran of life
I don’t know what all I could tell you
but I was a nurse and every one of us,
after we graduated, we always said:
“Don’t lose your first patient
because you’ll lose them after that.”
We had to sleep in the patients’ rooms.
We didn’t want 20-hour days,
We wanted 8-hour duty.
All we got was 4 hours off in the afternoon.
You felt like you were half there
walking around without sleep.
My husband insisted that I quit work
and stay home with my children.

—Catherine Schuler


NEW YEAR CUSTOM

We had a custom when the old year
was going out & the new year was coming in
We had a special kind of fish,
A kind of herring that was smelly
But we made it taste so good
With sour cream we ate it for luck
That was what would make you wealthy
I remember even if we were at a hotel
At dinner we’d always ask for fish
For the New Year, for luck, eat fish
You’re supposed to have wealth
When the New Year was coming in
We’d also go out into the streets in Kansas City
and shoot off all the guns to bring in the year
But now you can’t do that now because of planes
Early childhood memory is like lighting candles
on the Christmas tree, my mother & grandmother
they’d each go round the tree & light each one
fast as they could & we’d all hold our breath,
afraid the tree might catch fire.
It was such a sight, we’d hold our breath.
Oh, what a beautiful tree.

—Catherine Schuler


MANLESS WEDDING

When I was young, we once put on a manless wedding
We called ourselves the Kiwanas Queens
I was a very pregnant bride It was a formal wedding.
Even the shotguns wore white. We were licensed by …

—Catherine Schuler


ALL THESE YEARS

When I was 17
I went to a girl's school
I went a very long way,
I took a bus and a streetcar too
We played games until late into the night

When I was 21 I got married
They threw rice in my hair
my new shoes were so slick
and I tumbled down the stairs,
it wasn't a very good year

When I was 35
and added 2 children to my list
it was about the time the war broke out
I was glad to exist
I was a nurse riding the ambulance
with the sirens going
and the red lights flashing above
when I was 35

I'm mighty glad I've had all these years
like a nice summer's day
with a glass of lemonade
made in the shade
It was a very good year.

—Catherine Schuler


JULIA DEMPSEY’S HOT BREAD

I had a maiden aunt who worked for the telephone company. She had cute little things to play with, a wooden horse, a hen in a basket with baby chicks...She was an only child, we were her family. She was the one who’d light the candles on the Christmas

She went to school with my mother. We felt sorry for her; her mother wasn’t like ours. tree. She was the one who saw that we had a celebration for all our birthdays.

She was my godmother, Julia Dempsey She always had something nice to tell us—stories—and she had such patience. She’d bake us wonderful hot bread. I can almost taste it still.

—Catherine Schuler


RAINY THIEBAULT

My grandfather on my father’s side, “Rainy” Thiebaut, was from France, but he spoke French but he never taught us. He had the strangest habits: if we made ice cream, he’d want it for breakfast the next day.

He was a sextant of the cemetery in Ft. Scott, Kansas, and every day he went for a swim in the cemetery pond regardless of the weather. He loved to argue with my brother out in the fields about potato bugs. He had an edge to him; Eventually one of them had to give in and admit they were wrong. My brother was really upset. He’d come in and put his head down and pretend he was asleep

Rainy used to come and trim our fruit trees—they were beautiful trees. He did a great job. He knew a lot about gardening—something he learned to do in France? There is so much we assume—these things, facts of his life—we assume because he made us feel like he knew what he was talking about, when he didn’t.

—Catherine Schuler


RABBITS

We had a man who boarded at our house and at Easter, he gave each of us a rabbit. Well, you can imagine what happened. Soon we had rabbits all over the yard. But then they began to disappear, one by one We made a cage. My father dug a hole and put screen wire down so they couldn’t escape. But one night the dogs got in and next morning the yard was covered in fur. No more rabbits. We decided that was plenty and enough. My mother was really relieved.

—Catherine Schuler


NO MAN’S LAND

I remember a song 

that keeps going through my head: 

“There’s a rose growing in no-man’s land, 

that’s wonderful to see. 

She’s a Red Cross nurse, a soldier’s dream 

on the battlefield.” Flanders’ Field.

There was a cemetery there, 

where the soldiers remained. 

After the war they came back to visit the graves 

and it was all ablaze with poppies, red poppies. 

red of the blood of the soldiers. 

Just like when we visited LBJ’s grave

It was a sea of flowers, blue bells everywhere 

as far as you could see, in a sea of blue. 

That song keeps running through my mind

 I can’t get it out of my head. 

I wish I could get all the words to it. 

—Catherine Schuler

My mother lived to be 103. 

And whenever anyone asked her age, 

she’d say: in my 80s. S

he broke her hip and died of old age.

—Catherine Schuler


MOUSE HOLE

I went to an all girls’ school, St. Aloisius Academy in Kansas City. I had to ride a street car and a bus to get there. We lived in a 3-storey house, with all 3 storeys finished. We hung our coats under the stairwell. One morning I put my coat on and left for school.

When I was on the streetcar, I felt something moving in my coat sleeve between the coat and the lining. I wondered what to do. I didn’t want a mouse jumping out of my coat when I got to school. So I leaned against the seat and I held it there a long time, smothering it. When I got to school, I told my friend, “I’ve got a dead mouse in my sleeve! How are we gonna get it out?”

We found a hole in the lining and we worked and worked it out until it fell on the floor. We had to get rid of it somewhere. So we found a knothole in the gym floor and we shoved the dead mouse through the hole. I thought about it the whole day. We never heard any more about it. When I graduated I got an A for perfect attendance. I sure didn’t want to find another mouse.

—Catherine Schuler


MR. SLICK

We owned a team of mules
And we had a hired hand who took care of them
My folks rented them (the mules, not the man)
To the telephone company
Building the rural lines
But he went along with them
To make sure they weren’t mistreated
One mule’s name was Gen
The other mule’s name was Maude.
The mules and the man went together.
They were a matched pair.
Gen & Maude, they were stubborn
The way mules really are stubborn.
When they made up their minds
The just wouldn’t do things for certain people
The hired hand had a way with them.
He was the man who brought us all the rabbits
Mr. Slick like to be involved in many things
He would sit down and tell us children funny stories
He could whistle bird songs too.
I don’t know if the stories were true
I guess he told the mules tall tales too
That’s why he got along so well with them
So very well with them.

—Catherine Schuler


JOE HORSE

My mother had a buggy horse, called Joe Horse,
that once belonged to the fire department
and whenever it heard a bell or a dog barking,
or a horse going fast, it would race.
There was a drugstore at the end of the street,
in Kansas City, and when she’d go shopping,
the horse would take off & race all the other horses.
They used to always say: One day she’s gonna go
right through the drug store and upset that buggy.
It would have made a terrible wreck
but she never did. I think she enjoyed the idea t
hat the horse would run so fast,
more than the horse did.

—Catherine Schuler


TORNADOES

I’ve seen cars on top of electric wires in Kansas
I’ve seen straw driven right through fence posts
and telephone poles in Kansas
I’ve seen houses turned inside out,
I’ve seen houses completely destroyed
and all the sirens going, warning people in Kansas.
We had a full clothes line out back.
Next day, we had somebody else’s laundry
in our back yard.
We saw the impossible made possible.
We’d go down to the basement when the sirens went off,
but I didn’t want to go down.
I wanted to see what was going on—in Kansas.

—Catherine Schuler


NAPS

If I could make a New Year’s resolution today
It would be not to take unscheduled naps CS
I think I’d keel over if I got the winning ticket,
I’d have to wake up real fast. 

—Catherine Schuler

SPEECH

I got into public speaking because I couldn't close my mouth. Somebody asked me to do it and I couldn't say no. In the apartments where I lived for 14 years, Newark Gardens, I did the welcoming speeches, the coming home speeches, the farewell speeches too. But I was always afraid. So I took a speech class. Sometimes you don't have good sense and you wonder if people will judge you. I was so sure I wouldn't remember all I was going to say, I was so scared. I was shaking all through the speech. The instructor told me, when you get up to give a speech, look for two or three people in the audience that seem friendly and speak to them to see if they're receiving it well, and it worked.

—Catherine Schuler


GRANDMOTHER O’BRIEN

I remember my grandmother came from Ireland, from Tipperary, she traveled all by herself to America, to Omaha, Nebraska. She didn’t know anyone there. She got a job in the laundry. It was terrible work, the laundry was full of steam, so hot, they were always sweating.

She got very ill and developed scarlet fever. Some woman took pity on her and took her in. She lost all her hair, even her eyebrows and eyelashes. And when her hair came back in, it was all curly. She had the most beautiful auburn hair.

I don’t know where she met my grandfather. Her name was O’Brien. He died (?) She married a second time to another Irishman, Costello. When my mother’s brother worked for the railroad, he used the name Costello too. Costello had a long history of railroading. He was a conductor of the Missouri Pacific.

I was born in 1908, she must’ve been born in 1870? Her brothers came over first. We called them “The Boys.” They were so thin and tall. She had two sisters She came to live with us after her husband died.

I remember when we used to go to see vaudeville variety shows in Kansas City. We’d go home and act out the skits for her. There was me, my mother, my cousin, my sister—there were of us children—two girls and a boy. We had a big house on Fifth Street and she had her own apartment.

After her husband died, we rode on the train to Omaha. I remember the funeral, where my grandfather’s sisters had a sleazy boarding house for all the railroad workers. They had a big huge house and they took in as may workers as they could fit in. It was very interesting too. We got to see some of the rooms if they left their doors open.

I remember when New Years’ came, everything was changed, the linen, the sheets, the bedding, the curtains. It was a huge job and everything was scrubbed down. They got down on their hands and knees and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. My grandmother, she never did get away from the laundry it seems.

HOME CURE

My mother would make a mustard flannel packs, she’d heat them up and slap them on our chests. You had to be careful, or you’d get blisters. Then there was turpentine and sugar for a sore throat. Or Dr. Perkin’s Medicine.

—Catherine Schuler


PIKE’S PEAK OR BUST

When I was about 14, my parents went to Colorado for a month, and while we were there, some friends of ours came and asked if we wanted to hike to the summit of Pike’s Peak to see the sunrise. I’d heard of people talk about doing it. I wondered if I could make it to the top. When the opportunity came up, I jumped to it.

We stayed up all night long in order to be ready to leave by 3 AM. My 12-year old brother and I decided to take the night trip up the mountain but he became a real pain and kept wanting to lie down. We’d say, get up! There’s a bear coming. We’re gonna leave you.” He’d put his head between his legs. He’d lay downhill to let the blood get to his head. You get kinda seasick way up there.

Someone was carrying a lantern. We walked up the cog-line, the train doesn’t run at night. We had it all to ourselves. The idea was to be at the top for sunrise. And when it rose, everything was gold, the clouds looked pure gold, the sky. It was so beautiful.

When you get to the top of Pike’s Peak, you could buy a pennant saying that you hiked to the summit of Pike’s Peak. Only thing was, the gift shop was still closed so we couldn’t get one. The other bad news was that we had to get back down the mountain again. Going down the cog line, it jarred your legs so, on those rails. We were so sore we could hardly walk for a week.

—Catherine Schuler


WHEN I GROW UP I WANT TO BE A NURSE

When I was 7 or 8, I went to visit a cousin who was in the hospital and the nurses were so nice to me because they thought I was afraid. I didn’t know if they were going to let me see my cousin. In those days they didn’t let children into hospitals. They took me someplace special to see my cousin, She didn’t look too bad. She had an appendectomy. From then on, I always wanted to wear a nurse’s cap and cape. We used to wear caps at school. After I finished high school in Kansas City, I went to a nurse training program, a three year course. And that’s where you really learned something. I was a nurse for 10-12 years but when I got married, my husband didn’t want me to be a nurse because in those days we all had “private duty” where we took our cots in to sleep with our patients and there was no time off.

—Catherine Schuler

Mabel Weinberg: Fluffy, & Grateful that I've lived to sing this music and to dance

I have a dog, Fluffy is her name
She’s so very loving, I was tempted
to let her sleep with me
but they said it wasn’t a good idea
My neighbors, they take care of her
They let her sleep with them,
Their son spoils my dog so much
I’ve never slept with a dog in my life
I miss her so much but I haven’t seen her
in a long, long time. I love her so much.
If you think I’m going to sleep with her now,
you’re crazy
Still, I would love to have her here with me
but she’s a barker and we can’t have any of that

—Mabel Weinberg

I would love to have played the piano

and sing to the people

to make them happy

And I'd like see them smile

and enjoy it while

I'm playing or singing

When I was born

I had infantile paralysis

The doctor told my mother

to keep me in bed or I'd be gone

but I fooled them

They said it was a miracle

I lived to tell you this

and I'm grateful that I've lived

to sing this music and to dance.

—Mabel Weisenberger?

In New Orleans everybody’d start shooting guns into the air to drive the old year out & to bring the new year in. They’d throw firecrackers, anything to make a noise & we’d all drink eggnog to sing in the New Year.

—Mabel Weinberg

Joan Butler: They’re all gone now, I got around, & On Vera Street in Ventura

I’d love to put my arms around my mother,
my father, my aunts and uncles,
my grandparents—they’re all gone now
I have a baby sister I’d love to see
Her name was Claire—they’re all gone
I’d love to put my arms around them
You’d better believe it. I would. All gone.

—Joan Butler



I would like to move back to Ventura
if only for one reason
I had a car there, I got around
I’ve nothing against this place.
It’s clean & nice, people are friendly.
But I cant’ get out much, only busses.
If I had a car, I could get around
I once had a car, I knew how to get around.
I’d just like to get out and take a ride
Happiness was going around in my car.
I had a Ford, a ‘54 green Maverick
It was as green as the grass
In it I could out and go bowling
I could go down to the beach
I don’t even like the beach
but I have 2 daughters who loved the beach.
I could work, I’d mow the lawn—
nobody else would do it.
Always had trouble getting the mower started
I’d pull the string and push it around
I’d mow, mow, mow, just pushing it around
That’s the way it was—going to get mowed down.

—Joan Butler



I can remember my home
on Vera Street in Ventura
The front yard, I had a green Ford Fairlane,
the back yard had a peach tree
and an avocado tree too
I remember eating them in green salads
I had a lemon tree too. We made lemonade
And if anyone wanted lemons off that tree
I always let them have them.
The back yard was big, bigger than the front yard
I didn’t mind mowing the lawns—
I mowed the lawns. I mowed them all
I didn’t mind it all. It had to be done.
I had a bird, a green parakeet
And a plain old brown dog named Chiquito
And if anybody came knocking on the door
He’d bark and bark and bark, the way dogs do.
I know I buried him in a shoe box in the back yard
I buried him up close to the house
I buried him right outside the bedroom window.
He was a very good watchdog.
If anyone came to the door
He did what all dogs do good
He’d guard the door,
I guess he guarded the window too.

—Joan Butler