The Life of a Gypsy or a Way Farer

 

A picture from the Past.   WE travel like millionaires compared to my parents in the 1930s (Other than the above, the pictures are from the internet and the depression era, not my family but similar) For Today: We sorta consider ourselves gypsies. We have traveled many years. Our coach is self sufficient and we have stayed free in Alaska and on Bureau of Land Management Lands (BLM) in the desert.  We stay in the least expensive RV parks we can find. Growing up I knew a man, Dugan, I thought he was a bum. Most every year he came by our house and stayed a week or so.  Shirley and I would give up our bed.  How he found us I will never know. I once asked my dad if Dugan was a bum? “No son he is one of the few  ‘Way faring  men’  left.”  He went on to explain that the Great Depression created people who were homeless,  but made their way by selling a product or working door to door and town to town. Dugan’s product is needles and pins and some thread.  Your mama always buys from him.” Your mama and I were wayfarers back then ourselves. Your older brothers and sisters were babies and we left North Georgia and traveled to Hollywood Florida so I could work for the WPA or CCC.  Your mama and I were raised to always save something for a ‘Rainy Day’ so we had enough money for gas but nothing else.  To get to Florida we had to stop at farms and work for food. Our tires on the A model were stuffed with rags grass and dirt, because they were worn and would not hold air by the time the trip was over.  I cleaned barns, plowed and chopped wood;  mama would help milk cows, clean houses and cook.  We normally slept on straw in the barns. Seldom but every once in a while we would get a  dime, quarter and once or twice fifty cents. So when Dugan stops by, he gets the royal treatment, and it reminds us of how good God has been to us. You can imagine how amazed and proud I was that my family was that tough.  I was in the 2nd or 3rd grade when dad told me that. I asked a lot of questions over the years about my parents’ lives, but I know now, I never asked enough….   Nite Shipslog PS:  AGAIN THANKS for reading the  Shipslog. Life is better knowing YOU!