Editor's note: Maxine Clark continues part II of a story about her family's road trip to Oregon during her youth:
We stayed in a motel while a mechanic fixed our car. The rings in the car had not been correctly installed.
The motel consisted of separate little houses with beds in them. Bathrooms and showers were in another building.
We arrived in Grants Pass on Tuesday. On Wednesday I went to school with our friends’ daughter Juanda, but I didn’t have to answer any questions if I didn’t want to. The basement of the school was a large playroom for recess on rainy days.
Juanda, Willard, and I played games and picked wild blackberries that grew alongside the hilly road.
For the big Thanksgiving dinner we sat around a large table at another friend’s house. “Aunt” Juanita was not well. The adults talked, and talked. Everyone had a good time. It was worth the trip and car trouble to see our friends again.
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When we left, “Uncle” Luther prayed for our safety, and “Aunt” Juanita gave a small gift to Mama and said, “Don’t open it until Christmas.” We took turns hugging, and promised to write.
As we drove away, we waved as long as we could see them. Mama got out a tablet and pencil. “What are you doing, Mama?” we asked.
“I’m trying to see how many words I can get out of ‘grass pants’”.
“Do you mean ‘Grants Pass’?”
Mama laughed and said, “Yes.”