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November 12, 1948
Dear Journal,
Harvest came and went. Our farm continues to grow stronger and better crops every year. It is amazing the amount of money we have in the bank. We may be the most successful farmers in Brindleton Bay. I would like to use some of that money to redesign the house once I turn eighteen and take over the financials. Shirley turned eleven this year, she is growing into such a creative and lovely child. You should hear the stories she weaves sitting down by the fire at night. If she had been born a man, she could write stories for the radio shows. The Daugherty’s have been struggling a bit. Hank and Dottie have been coming over for dinners so that they are less of a burden on their father. Hank and I took this harvest off from school so that he could help me get everything in before the first frost. I made sure he was paid handsomely for his time. Mr. and Mrs. Daugherty were really happy with the extra added income. I would like it if Hank continues to work for us even after we finish school. I ask mother why I need to go. What is the point in learning arithmetic and literature when all I am going to do is work on the farm with my life? She says that I never know what life holds and that I need an education. Talking that way, I was half concerned she would send me away to college. But school has never been for me. It is in the fields that I feel at home. I was born to be a farmer, and maybe I will grow our land even more. I do not see the point in keeping the swimming hole and the old barn that we only use for storage. Why not take them both out and put more plants there? Mother and grandmother both say that our fields are enough though. That we would need even more hands for all of that, and we are so content with what we have, why grow more?
I get scared at night though journal. I am haunted by these dreams of another war coming to claim my life as it did for my father and uncle before me. I want to live this life and I am terrified of dying young like they did. Mother says that father got to live thirty one years and that is more than his sisters, and she is sure he is grateful for the years he got on this earth, but, I do not understand that. Why would he be grateful that he did not get to see us grow up? Mother says he is looking down on us from Heaven, but that does not make any sense. When a plant dies, it is just dead. It is an organic material that returns to the earth, and so are we humans. When we die there would not be an ever after. That makes no sense. I believe it is just wishful thinking on her part. And she continues living her life. I think she is going to marry and leave us. I hope she understands that this is my farm and I will be staying here.
I lost track of my thoughts though. At night these dreams torment me, in order to shut my brain off before bed, I have started drinking a whole bottle of whiskey before bed. But then I wake up with my hands shaking, and I must sneak a few sips out of the next bottle before I head off to school. It seems to be working so far journal.
Jack