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Back Come Again No More Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover
  3. Title Page
  4. Contents
  5. PART I 
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. PART II 
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. PART III 
  38. 31.
  39. 32.
  40. 33.
  41. 34.
  42. 35.
  43. 36.
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. PART IV 
  48. 40.
  49. 41.
  50. 42.
  51. 43.
  52. 44.
  53. 45.
  54. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  55. Touchstone Reading Group Guide

After he had run off the entomologist, Newinger was apologetic. “I expect I was too hard on that fella, but damn! He’s the third or fourth one has been up here. Not one of ’em can tell me how they propose to put a stop to these damned plagues. It is a thing right out of the Bible, Eli. You see it and you want to get down on your knees and get your prayin in before Judgment Day.”

That Sunday, Eli and Juanita paid another visit to the little church. This time, the Reverend Barnwell took a more optimistic theme for his sermon from Isaiah 58:11:

And the LORD shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not.

Still, the waters failed. The rain did not come and the great black dusters rolled across the plains, some of them hundreds of miles wide and ten thousand feet high. Children, old people, healthy young farmworkers died of dust pneumonia. Where waist-high buffalo grass had once stretched to every horizon, there was nothing left but grit and dust and Russian thistle and empty grain elevators tipped over by the wind. Farmers went to milk their gaunt cows and found that what was in the pail looked like chocolate milk and tasted like dust. Ceilings collapsed from the weight of the dirt in the attic. Children were lost and suffocated in dust storms. In their sod houses and shacks and dugouts, farm families shivered through icy winters and boiled through one scalding summer after another. Heat lashed the High Plains from Alberta down to Texas, from the spine of the Rocky Mountains east to the Mississippi River and beyond, a furnace of scorching drought that scalded crops, parched the land, dried up the creeks, turned sagebrush into rags of flame. Cattle and horses and old cowboys died from the heat. Bankers peered out windows on Main Street and saw thermometers stuck at temperatures they had never dreamt they would see: 115 degrees in Iowa, 118 in Nebraska.

From Montana to Texas, the earth dried and cracked. Barley stalks turned a ghostly white, drooped and died. Water tanks silted over with dust. Dying cattle leaned against the hot metal, bawling for water where there was none to be had. Tumbleweeds sailed over dusty land where no crop grew, ripgut thistle flourished and poison ivy died on the vine. Farm women squinted into the wind and dust, bit their cracked lips, wondered how a body could go on. Then they went on.

PART II
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HARD TIMES

1931—1936

13.