The cove was clear and cold on that January morning when we packed our few belongings and loaded them on the bed of a stake-body truck for the trip to Tennessee. We were heading for Victor Hultiquist’s farm. Dad said that the tires on our 1934 Chevy were in no condition to make the trip, so he stored the car in our log cabin garage. As it was wartime the military needed all the rubber it could get. That made it almost impossible for poor people like us to buy new tires.
We pulled out of the cove at about nine in the morning. Mom, Dad, and Don rode up front in the cab with the driver. The rest of us kids rode in the back on the truckbed with all of our stuff. When we got to Cherokee, Mom, Betty, Don, and I climbed off the truck and into the bus to Knoxville. Dad, my brother Sibbald, and my sister Helen continued the trip in the truck cab.
This trip to Tennessee was an adventure for everyone. We kids had never been farther from Cherokee than New-