The Great Depression was a time of stress. Stress on families, stress on farms, stress on the government. Black Tuesday didn't affect us at first down in Oklahoma. We were small town folks who worked hard everyday to make a living. It wasn't until later on that we got hit hard. Fewer and fewer of our crops were sold. Soon the seeds to grow the crops cost more than the crop were bringing in. We became poor, more poor than we already were. Unfortunately, no matter hard we hoped, the worst was yet to come. It brings goosebumps to my skin to think of the Dust Bowl. How everyday we would breathe dirt, eat dirt, and sleep in dirt. Us children thirsted for the sun more than we thirsted for water clean of grit. My Papa didn't want to leave the farm where is father was born, where he was born, where we were born. He felt that if we fought harder, stayed longer, that it would rain again. The dust won when my baby sister died. She was no more than a week old and her little body could no longer work hard enough to breathe the dirty air. My mom didn't cry. She buried my sister in a shallow grave that would be blown away then yelled at my father for hours. The next day we were on the road. California or bust some would say. The ride was long, but it was better than what lay behind us. We made it to California and made a new life. The rain eventually came and some moved back. We didn't my Momma said she could go back to the place where her little one died. The dust eventually left our lungs, but it never left our hearts. It left a mark on us that no amount of water can wash away.