By Lois Monroe
I used to love to sit at my Grandma Fern’s feet and hear her tell the stories of my Grandfather’s wonder lust, as she called it. Grandpa Oscar just couldn’t stay put too long. He couldn’t work at any job too long before he would get itchy feet, as she would call it, and they soon would be movin’ on. The depression era fell right into this lifestyle. Jobs were hard to find and usually didn’t last long. It was inevitable, I guess, that they would become migrant workers, following the harvest of crops across the United States, east to west, north to south, living in tiny close quarter huts.
Grandma was a small but mighty woman and very determined that where Grandpa went, the family went. With four little tigers in tow, she would harvest the fields right beside him. Shed find a nice shade tree and put the four little boys at play as she would work close by.
These memories came to me again recently as I was bemoaning packing boxes to move again. Now, my lifestyle is nothing compared to Grandma’s, but her values and principles permeated by being and brought her to mind as I prepared again to stand by my man. I would never presume to say my life paralleled hers in regards to hardships, but only in respect as to moving. In our children’s growing years, we spent 21 years in the same homeplace, but when everyone graduated from high school, our wonder lust began.
Johns call into the ministry meant our feet would not find rest long enough to root. I guess, like Grandma, there is a certain amount of intrigue and adventure and loyalty in me that tells me my place is at his side. I can certainly understand though, why migrant workers carried only the necessities in their transitory lives, as I watch the movers unload a semi of our accumulated goods.
By Lois Monroe
U S Legacies Magazine April 2006