Nomads

 

Jonya and Bill

Jonya 

         This summer my sister and her husband have traveled the north central plains states in their RV. Jonya retired from teaching after nearly forty years. To help her adjust to retirement they decided to travel with their cats to keep them company. I can tell from the photos that they send that Jonya and Bill have both taken time to unwind from the working world. Nomadic life looked pretty cool from my perspective. 

 
       

The story written below is of the Stokes family we knew who were real nomads. No cameras no pictures no cell phones were available to them. The atlas was their Bible.  They never owned a home and were on the move in an Airstream trailer after every job that Dale finished. I only wish I could  recall his stories of working from the great Southwest to the Northwest in the 1940's, 1950's, and 1960's.  

         

  One hot humid summer day on E street S.W. when I was seven years old, our house was rattled by the blaring blast of a cow horn coming from a car pulling up in front of our house.  Leaving dishes in the sink, then quickly drying her hands on her apron, Mom rushed to the front porch with Jonya and I following closely.  “They’re here already.  Dale and Elsie are here,” she joyfully pronounced, “I thought they were days away.”

            Jonya and I just stood in the screened in porch watching as a man and woman stepped out of a boxy shaped car that was pulling a sleek silver trailer.  Then we heard Elsie’s enthusiastic voice call out, “Hi girls.”

            “Elsie, “ I yelled, when I recognized her voice and her open arms.  Leaping down the steps I ran to her open hug.  Mom was right behind me giving Dale a hug and then Elsie.  Jonya tugged at me, I turned and said, “It’s Elsie and Dale, remember, mom and dad’s friends from Arizona.”   She was only three, so how could she remember, I suddenly thought.  So I tried to explain, “Remember, Elsie is the lady who loves to swim and play games with us when she visits.”  Just then Elsie stepped over to Jonya and knelt down on the ground eye level, “Hi little one.  My name is Elsie,” then turning and looking up she continued, “This is my husband Dale, and we’re friends of your mom and dad.  We’re going to spend some time with you this summer; playing golf, swimming, and fishing.”  Jonya seemed to catch on and shyly smiled, “Will you play dolls with me?”

 “I’d love to play dolls with you, since I don’t have a little girl to play dolls with anymore.” Elsie answered with a smile that showed her large teeth.

“You’re a few days early, your letter said middle of August to Labor Day.” Mom said rather flustered.”  Before she could continue Dale answered, “I finished my last job early, so we just took off.  Thought we hadn’t seen Johnie and Helen and the girls since their move to Miami, and that this would be a great summer trip.”  Just then I remember that I had slept in their trailer when we visited them in Arizona.  “Can I sleep in your trailer while you’re here?” 

Using a rather firm voice mom said, “Letty, let’s get settled and call Dad at the club before we do anything.  Dale and Elsie come on into the house and have some tea or a beer while we make plans.”

After a cold beer, Dale’s voice boomed, just like his car horn, “Helen, do you have room for our Airstream in the back yard?  We could park it there before John gets home from work.”  “Yes, yes we have a big backyard,” I chimed in, only to receive the stare from mom, that I was to be silent and let the adults decide.

After examining the alleyway and the unfenced yard, Dale pronounced that there was plenty of room.  Without any arguments or advice he drove the trailer around the block and up the alley.  Elsie directed him flawlessly into the yard where he parked the compact trailer.  Then the two of them went to work unhooking the car, balancing the trailer, rolling out the awnings, opening windows, and setting the wooden steps in place by the door.”  By the time Dad came home from work, they’d moved in. 

The neighborhood kids arrived in groups to see what silver bullet had just pulled through their alley.  The Bothwell’s, the Searle’s, and the Hammonds next door all showed up to see the commotion.  Holding Jonya’s hand, we proudly stood outside with them, showing off our newest addition, like proud owners of a new toy.  Since it was nearly dark, Dale and Elsie promised the neighborhood kids that tomorrow they could come back and take a tour of their trailer. 

The Flying Cloud 
Airstream design from the 1950's

That evening the lawn chairs were set up in the backyard, a red metal chest with cold beer set between Dale and Dad.  As they drank a few beers Mother took us inside and fixed our dinner early, as she did most every night in the summer when dad worked till dark.  When we’d finished our meal we were free to play till bedtime, while mom and Elsie joined the men for a few drinks.  Elsie drank beer like the men, but mother preferred Scotch.

  Dad loved to grill outside in the summer when we entertained company.  Pulling the homemade trash barrel BBQ grill away from the house to the gravel driveway away from trees and bushes made the fire breathing dragon seem innocuous.  I sometimes helped by placing the black dry charcoals in a coffee can. Dad would soak the coals in gasoline until he was ready to start a fire.  His fire starting method always scared mom, so she’d grab us by the arms when possible and yanked us back with a comment like, “I don’t want your eyebrows singed.” 

  At last he would place the soaked coals on the grill and surround them with dry coals from the sack.  With a warning cry, “Stand back,” he would light a couple of matches and toss them on the pile of gasoline soaked charcoals.  Like fireworks the flames leaped high above the grill lid and the smell of burning gasoline radiated through the air.  After another drink or two dad would place the steaks on the grill while mom prepared the salad with homemade vinegar and oil dressing, bread and butter,.  By then it was our bedtime and the adults finished dinner and drinks alone.

During the next few days we woke up to Dale’s jovial voice at the backdoor, “Stappie, you got the coffee ready yet?”  Then we’d hear the screen door open and bang shut.  Mother was the coffee drinker, not Dad.  “Coffee is served,” Mother responded.  After the adults finished breakfast, a cigarette and coffee, Jonya and I crept into the kitchen.   Dad left for work, then Dale loaded up his heavy car with tools and drove out to the club to spend the day fixing things for Dad.  

I loved our nomadic friends. Dale was an electrician by trade. He and Elsie traveled the west coast year round looking for jobs. They raised one daughter, and were like family to us.