In 1930, on our small farm in Oklahoma, our lives suddenly changed. I was six years old then. After the stock market crashed in 1929, Pa was stressed out all the time. It was hard for him to sell goods like corn and wheat, and Ma seemed to yell at Pa often; arguments became more and more commonplace. And whenever that happened, I crawled into a corner off the kitchen  and covered my ears.
One sunny May morning Pa woke up early to plow in the fields with Ma. I could hear them yelling at each other.  It had already reached 90 degrees outside, so I decided to get a drink of water from the kitchen. That’s when it hit me. We were in a drought. A few other plain states like Texas were also suffering in this drought. Suddenly the door opened, and Pa came into the house, muttering to himself, drops of sweat pouring off his face.
“Pa, may I please have a drink of water?” I hesitantly asked as a shiver ran through my spine because of the frightening look that was written on Pa’s face.
“Tommy, don’t get a full glass. Take only the amount you need,” he warned, as I reluctantly poured myself a cup of water.
For the next two years, our crops failed to grow because there was not enough rainfall. The soil was loose and very dry, and the air was filled with dust like one sees in Death Valley, during a wind storm. One day, I walked outside, observing Pa’s crops. The radiant sun shined down on me as I looked at the brown soil. Withered, dried up crops poked out of the ground like baby birds hungry for their mother to nurture to the nest with food. And when I looked further into the fields, I tried to shield my eyes from the harsh rays of the sun where there were once prosperous fields, now as far as the eye can see, all had been turned into a dried up wasteland.
“Tommy, come inside now! Its too hot outside for you to play!” ” Ma shrieked in a feverish voice,
The stock market crash, the Great Depression, and now our corn and wheat aren’t growing, I thought as I ran home. I opened the door and sat on the couch. Bored, I decided to pick up a small, oak-stained wooden horse from the table that Pa had made for me years ago. Delicate paint strokes were imprinted onto the wooden animal which looked as if it were embodied with pride, majesty, and power. The horse came to life as it galloped across the plains. With the wind flowing through its brown mane, it galloped freely under the gentle rays of the sun. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality.
“Ma...will everything be okay?” I asked anxiously. I put the wooden horse down, and turned to Ma who gave me a forced smile; a smile that hid beneath it a world of fear and disappointment.
“It’s okay. Let Pa and Ma take care of that,” she told me. To be honest, I didn’t believe her.
So I nodded, I turned my back her as I held the majestic wooden horse in my hands.
Summer came and went but the drought never left. It was now November, and it was cold. Freezing cold. I shivered, pulling the bed sheets over me in hopes of finding warmth. It was an unsuccessful attempt. I crawled out of my bed  to sleep with Ma. When silently, I  tip-toed my way out of the room, feeling my heart skip a beat as I noticed a dark figure at the kitchen table.
“Pa, you scared me,” I exhaled.
Pa didn’t answer me. His back was hunched over the table, columns of papers surrounded him.
“Pa?” I asked, but he still didn’t reply. It was quiet, and the only noise that was heard was the sound of Pa’s writing instrument as it scratched the paper.
What is he doing? I thought as I cautiously walked towards him. When I got close enough to him, I tried to look over his shoulder.
“Pa, what are you doing?” I asked. But a long silence followed, and I could feel his sense of resignation.
“Go to bed, Tommy, Pa’s got to do something,” he mumbled as he grabbed a stack of paper from the “Great Fortress of Paper’s.”
At least he gave me a response, I thought. When I turned around to leave, I accidentally nudged a pile of papers, and one whole column feel right on top of me.
“Tommy!” Pa yelled furiously.
“I’m sorry, Pa!” I replied as I picked up the papers, “I’ll clean it up.”
“Just leave it,” Pa muttered as he stood up from his chair, and walked over to me. I picked one papers,  and tried to decipher what I could before Pa snatched it away from me.
“Pa. Are we in debt?” I asked.
“Go to bed!” he screamed impatiently. I ran to Ma’s room, fear running through my veins. Though it was dark, I could see the shape of Ma’s body in the bed. I closed the door behind me and cuddled next to her. Why are in debt? I thought as I stared into the darkness of the room. Images of our dry wasteland kept popping up in my mind. Is it because our crops didn’t grow and Pa is unable to sell wheat and grain? Finding it all too complicated, I closed my eyes. What I didn’t know then was that the morning sky would be covered by pitch, black darkness.
The next morning I woke up to the smell of oatmeal in the air. I jumped out of bed to open the windows and to feel the morning breeze against my face.  Last night’s incident was forgotten, as I run into the kitchen where Ma was cooking oatmeal. Pa was nowhere in sight.
“Ma. Where did Pa go?” I asked curiously. Ma seemed overly worried.
“Pa is coming back. Don’t worry,’ she said curtly.
I nodded as I sat down at the kitchen table, ready to eat my morning meal. That’s when last night’s incident replayed in my head, and I began to worry.
“Time to eat,” Ma chimed and put the bowl of oatmeal in front of me. I grabbed the spoon and dug into Ma’s homemade oatmeal. It tasted plain, but I ate it anyway, aware that money was an important - if not discussed- concern. After I finished eating, I put my bowl in the sink only to hear the door opening. Pa frantically ran inside, his face reflecting terror.
He slammed the door shut, rushing to find Ma. While he ignored me, I wondered what was happening. Did it have something to do with the debt we were in? I thought.
Pa pulled Ma to the side and pointed out the window toward the North,”We all need to take cover. Now!”
I looked to where Pa was pointing, and my eyes widened, fear swelling up inside me. The sky was almost entirely painted in black. Dust swirled around the black funnel cloud as it trudged along the farmland. It was like a wave of darkness, destroying everything in its path. The poor animals tried to run away in fear of being swallowed by the dirt and mud. I stared motionless, in complete and utter shock. Pa grabbed my hand and placed  a wet cloth acrocss my nose and mouth.
“Tommy, keep this over your mouth!” he screamed at me, handing a cloth to Ma as well. He grabbed one for himself.
While I was staring at the sky, Ma hugged me tightly, and made sure my mouth was covered with the wet cloth.
“Ma...I’m scared,” I whined in a soft muffled voice.
She hesitated. I could only read worry and fear on her face.
“D-Don’t worry. We’ll be alright,” she hushed into my ear as I felt her body tremble.
Then it happened. The strong black torrent wind broke a window, soon stirring the whole house. I heard Ma’s muffled scream and Pa’s yell for help. I couldn’t help but cry. I felt dust cover my face. Even with the wet cloth Pa had given me, I tasted sand and dirt in my mouth. I tried spitting it out, gasping for air. The sound of strong winds echoed in my ears as time seemed yo stand still. The dust storm eventually stopped, and I was reluctant to open my eyes; they seemed to be glued shut by the sand, dirt, and mud. I tried rubbing my eyes with the wet cloth to see whenther that would solve the problem, but sadly, now it did not. I observed my surroundings. It was as if a tornado had struck us. Our little house was a junkyard. Broken pieces of glass, shingles, and chimney bricks lay scattered on the ground. Our front door was torn apart. It looked as if our house had been plowed through by some mythical creature destined to destroy all in its path.
“M-Ma?” I asked in a dry voice. There was no answer.
I slowly walked outside. The sky was cloudless and the fields lay bare. I was met with an overwhelming silence. All at once my body and my mind felt as if it were drying up from the heat, yet I felt frozen in place. Where are Ma and Pa? Looking at the ruins around me, I decided to search for them. As the sun  slowly faded away, I walked onto the porch that was now covered by sand and tiny rocks. When I strolled past the kitchen table, I glimpsed remnants of my wooden horse. I picked it up, caressed it in my hands, and tried to wipe off some of the dust. The horse, as I knew it, was a fragmented mess. Some of the mane was chipped off, and the paint was covered by soil. The once majestic, powerful horse had fallen apart. So, too, had our lives.
“T-Tommy?” I heard a faint voice call my name. I turned around slowly to see Ma. She was covered in dust, and her face was blood-stained from cuts.
“Let’s find Pa,” she whispered to me  as we kept stepped out among the ruins of our old house.
*
After the devastating storm, more than one million people migrate west from the plain states. In masses people from all over searched for jobs; some more lucky than others; some  find themselves  experienceing discrimination. That’s what I heard the men from the squatter camp say when they sat around a campfire last night. They talked about how some of the locals had raided a squatter camp not too far away. In addition, I heard that the West was having trouble providing employment jobs to the new arrivals.
These thoughts cross my mind as I look over the dry wasteland of our squatter camp. Ma and the other woman are preparing supper as the children are playing. Horses pass us by kicking up dust as they trot on. I see Pa from a distance, chatting with some of the other male workers. My gaze turns to him. His face is dark, and his eyes are hidden under the brim of his hat. Sweat falls from his forehead like water from the spigot. The harsh conditions of field labor wears him thinly down.
I look over the barren squatter camp - no trees, no grass, no flowers, no weeds. Just a lot of sand and dirt. The squatter camp reminds me of a big sandbox with tents put up here and there. A small little field lies at the top edge of the left side of the sandbox. A small, slow running  river runs south of the camp.
It has been three months since we arrived in California. We are still living in our make-shift tent that we built out of dirty rags, blankets, and reeds from the river. These past few months have been a living nightmare. The black blizzard has ruined our lives.
When we found Pa, he had broken his left arm and was yelping in pain. He was under a pile of rubble. With the help of our neighbors, we managed to free him.
I halt my train of thought as I walk back to our tent. It is going to be another long day at the squatter camp. My daily job is to make sure that the younger children are not running off to far in the fields, and tha they are not fighting with one another.
The next morning, everyone is woken by a man’s joyful announcement.
“It rained! It rained! In the plain states!” His yells echo throughout our camp. At first people doubt the man’s statement. But soon people began to rejoice. Maybe we can return to our little farm in Oklahoma and make a new start? The thought of my life returning back to normal excites me. I rummage through my pocket, finally finding what I am looking for my toy horse Pa made for me years ago. Somehow, knowing that the horse is able to once again gallop majestically across the terrain of its homeland gives me a small ray of hope.