Sunday, Apr 8, 1945
It was a perfect day for me. I got to play outside while Mommy and Daddy raked, hoed, swept and labored in the yard. Mommy wrote home that by late afternoon our yard looked “as neat and respectable as any on the street. Now we can see that there are half a dozen rose bushes, a grape vine on the fence, and a full-grown apple tree which is due for its bumper crop this year. In the afternoon we all took baths because we were so dirty from the hard work.” I was covered head to toe with mud, she wrote, because I was fooling around with the garden hose while Daddy was planting seeds.