“1930 was the year of black storms, no one had ever seen anything like it.  I remember one that came up about the time school was let out. Mont dashed in saying he was going to see if the youngsters got home.  Soon my house was full.  The coal oil lamp was useless.  One little girl had run west, across the Bruce place to Mr. Berg’s.  Mont rode all over looking for her and finally heard her crying by the lakes.  He put her on his horse with him and took her home.  Of course, this was just the beginning of the dirty thirties and the bad depression. We worked hard.  Mont drove as many as twelve heads of horses in the field and we always had enough grain to feed them through the hard work in the spring.  We drove a team on a buggy and cutter, so the gas companies made no money from us.  In 1937, we had fifty acres of oats that went 100 bus. 

When we were married, we had bought the homestead from Mont’s father.  It had a barn with a thatched roof on it.  It had been repaired once, with rye, grown, and cut then flailed out in the old driveway.  The straw was tied into bunches or small bundles and then fastened to the roof in the same manner as shingles, with the rows overlapping and a wide board for a ridge board.  This was a very big job so as time went on boards were nailed on as patches until finally, the thatch was all removed.”