Barefoot in an Oklahoma Sticker Patch: Memories from Childhood in Rural Oklohama County

A heavy rain fell on Vinita, Oklahoma, most of that day, October 21, 1920. By nightfall, the storm had turned into a "gully-washer," flooding the creeks and streams that washed the countryside. Next morning, the sun burst through the clouds, and the temperature rose to fifty-seven degrees.

Sometime that morning, James Monroe Johnston hitched up his wagon and started to town for Dr. Evert. His wife, Katie Lillie, was about to give birth to their third child. The couple had moved here to the Miers farm just a few months before to sharecrop for the husband of Katie’s sister Zula. Now as Monroe climbed into the wagon seat, he glanced at his sister-in-law.

"Zula, look to the boys. I’ll be back directly, if I can git across the creek."

Zula nodded. "The boys’ll be all right, but that baby is a wantin’ to get into this world. Best ye hurry."

Later, Monroe returned with Dr. Evert following in a buggy. A short time after their arrival, Monroe walked across the dog run to the Miers’ part of the house and called his two sons, Lorne and Tom, to him.

"You have a baby sister," he told them. Lorne was almost four-years-old and Tom would be two in a few days. "Your Mama wants to call her Geneva," Monroe added. "I reckon you wanta see her."

He crossed the room to the "pie-safe" cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out a checkbook. With an indelible pencil, he wrote a check payable to Dr. Evert in the amount of three dollars.

Dr. Evart moved away from the bed in the corner of the dimly lit room and said to Monroe, "She’s lost some blood, but she’ll be all right if she don’t over do. The baby is wiry, with good strong lungs."

Monroe nodded in understanding and handed the check to the doctor. "This here’s fer yer trouble."

The exact date of my birth was always a point of contention between Mama and Dad. Mama insisted I was born on October 22; Dad argued for October 20, the date he wrote on the three dollar check. My birth certificate sided with Mama.

Dad was not one to care much about what day it was. He worked from sunup to sundown every day of the week. The seasons rather than months marked time for him. But after my birth, he never failed to take note of October 20th.

"Today’s Sis’s birthday," he said, the twinkle in his eyes belying his seriousness. He looked at the three dollar check dated October 20, which he had taken from the cigar box where important papers were kept. He kept that check not so much to prove his argument with Mama about my birth date, but as a source of pride...money in the bank.

My family was poor, but not "poor" as the term is understood in the 1990s. Though destitute of money my parents possessed a wealthy store of pride grounded in the work ethic which became my heritage. It was never a goal of my parents to pass on to their children anything of a material nature or monetary value, but it was their plan to provide the necessities and an inheritance of self-reliance. They never thought it was the duty of their children to care for them in their old age, but maintained a hope of providing for their own life span without becoming a burden. I am happy to know this goal was accomplished.