– 10 –

The little things continued over the years, my mom showing that decisions were not for the young. Mom was there to protect and direct at all times, and that did not just mean pointing the way. It meantbeing the way. Mother became my model for everything, including how I dressed. In particular, how I dressed for one event.

Sometimes Dad didn't travel alone to town. I don't know whether Mom just needed to see other faces or whether she was itching to see the kinds of things other people actually bought. On the rarest occasion, she'd splurge and pick up some lipstick when she was low, but that was about it.

So from time to time, we all piled onto the horse wagon and made our way those five miles into town. These were the best of times for me—scenery, sure; buildings, yeah, and people. Especially people. It was almost hard to remember that there were people besides Mom and Dad and the family living across the creek from us.

Beckermans was the only general store in town. Besides Beckermans, there was the post office, a blacksmith shop and a grain elevator. A hamlet of fewer than twenty-five people really couldn't support much else. The general store carried all the staples my dad went to town for, and the other knickknacks people might want—toiletries, perfume, shoes, clothes, tools…you name it.

When you pulled up to Beckermans, you'd see one of those old gas tanks outside, the kind with gas inside the glass container up top. You had to hand crank the thing to fill your car. It was always a little dark inside the store because they didn't have any wired electricity, just a generator in the far corner to run a few dim lights. There were oiled wooden floors, shelves everywhere, and a payphone near the front. Through a door in the back were the living quarters. My dad seemed to like Mr. Beckerman. They shook hands the way men should, with a smile, looking eye to eye.

I didn't know what they spoke of in the store because they spoke in English, and we only spoke Ukrainian at home. That was still the native tongue for both my parents, and it was the only thing I was exposed to. So while they batted away tongues, I stood in awe of the rows and rows of canned goods and the barrels of dry goods scattered through the store.

I remember the first time I saw a wheel of cheese there that I called my dad's attention away from Mr. Beckerman. “What is it?” I asked him.

Dad took the can that Mr. Beckerman was handing h