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UPDATE: Yesterday I uploaded the story below. I've since found a 47 year-old photo of my grandparents, Mr. & Mrs. Orville Holland, holding me as at age one.  I have also since learned that my grandmother's stay in the barn was even more harsh. Apparently the cow* that she was allowed to milk to feed her babies was wild - and she had to chase it down and catch her to collect the precious milk.

Thanks for the kind comments on the original story. It is gratifying to know of the sacrifices my family made to provide a better life for their future generations.

-Richard Holland, Phoenix, AZ

>>>Original post:

My dad, Bob Holland, was born at the height of the depression, in

1933. His dad, Orville, was a printer in the midwest. After years

of poor harvests coupled with the dismal economy, Orville

could no longer support a family of five when there was just no

printing work left in his small town.

The Hollands loaded up whatever they could pack, and set off

in a Ford Model T to find work. At some point during the journey,

the car broke down, literally in the middle of no where. The family

picked what they could carry out of the car and began walking -

never to see their car or their belongings again.

They came upon a farm worked by a Native American family. The

Hollands were allowed to sleep in the barn with the animals in the

hay, milk the cow* and pick vegetables from the garden. Leaving his

wife, infant son and two daughters, my grandfather continued his

walk for work.

During his absence, my grandmother washed laundry in a huge

iron pot over an open fire. When some long-forgotten illness

restricted her ability to walk, she dragged herself through the

garden on her elbows to gather food for her children.

In those days, telephones were few and far between across the

Great Plains, and months elapsed with no word or money from my

grandfather. The coming winter was a serious concern as they

considered the threat of living in the unheated barn.

As fall approached, the story continues that my grandfather

returned in a borrowed car. He had walked, hitchhiked and perhaps ridden

the rails until he secured work, saving every penny to finally

rent a place for his family.

As the depression gave way to World War II, business picked

up and my dad's family slowly raised their standard of living such

that my dad eventually graduated from college and raised his own

family, including me.

In the late 1980's my grandmother peacefully passed away. As

her childen were preparing her tiny house for sale, they discovered

her bed sheets were literally patches upon patches. However, in her

top dresser drawer were pristine, unused sheets yet to be removed

from their packaging. According to the sales receipt, the new

sheets were at least 10 years old. Obviously to her, the sheets on

her bed still had enough useful life that she hesitated to splurge

by treating herself to the replacements.