From the Kentucky Hills in a Time of War
A book of unrhymed sonnets based closely on the letters of a young, newly-married woman to her husband in the training camp at Quantico, Virginia in 1917, shortly before he was shipped overseas. Written mostly among the isolated hills of her childhood home in Wolfe County, Kentucky, the letters are tender and touching with some lyrical passages, but also unsparing in their naturalistic descriptions of hardship and dysfunction.
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every detail is true
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 8, 1917
Apart from Aunt Nora who's just as kind
as she can be, all the old women here
are spiteful and mean and even make fun
of the way I talk, but I don’t much care.
They say I am foolish to promise myself
to a soldier who’s going straight to war,
but I said I would marry no one else
for if a man doesn’t have life enough
to fight for his country he isn’t likely
to fight for me. — Another old lady
said what a disgrace it was that I
should get myself into trouble like that.
What trouble? I asked, but she wouldn’t say.
I no longer listen to them at all.
But my little cousins all like me fine.
They snuggle up close and sleep with me too
and follow me everywhere that I go,
but the older women just criticize.
They say my dresses are much too short
and more becoming to a girl of twelve
than a woman of twenty. The young girls here
go around all day on Sunday with
their sun-bonnets on, but I refuse
to wear them at all. And in one house
where I visited there was one little girl
so drunk she could hardly stand up straight.
She was only three years old. That hurt me
worse than anything I have seen.
And Al, the chickens just strutted around
on the table, scratching and pecking for crumbs
like they owned the place— and then I met
a young husband and pretty wife so poor
they had to make do in a chicken coop.
— I would have given most anything
if you could have been with me yesterday
and seen the old cabin where I was born.
I couldn’t find it at first, so hidden
in nettles and horseweeds as it was.
I thought I would step inside for a bit
and say hello to an old ghost or two,
but it was so dark and smelled of old dirt
and the sadness was more than I could bear.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 9, 1917
I don’t know if you will get this or not.
You thought you would maybe leave on Monday--
you didn’t say where, but I suppose France.
I got some sugar and nuts yesterday
to make you some candy but now I don’t
know whether or not to make it at all.
If you do go to France, you shouldn’t worry
about finding some way to send me your pay.
I can get along all right, as you know—
but how are you? I expect you’re completely
worn out for you looked as if you could hardly
sit up when I saw you last on the train.
They work you so hard it’s a wonder you ever
manage to get any bedrest at all.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 10, 1917
I may send you a box next Monday
if you are still there, but I can’t before then
as I can’t get to town until Friday.
I went up there the other day and got
a pound of nuts to make you some treats
but when I got home and looked in the sack
they were moving around and if the man
won’t give me my money back I will throw them
right in his face. I am going after
some apples now and may send you some.
I know how you worry about me, Al,
but I’m doing all that the doctor said
and becoming stronger, I promise you.
They are waiting for me. I have to go.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 11, 1917
How I wish you’d been with me yesterday
when we went for apples and had to climb
a hill so steep that our wagon and mules
nearly spilled over backwards. The little road
was so narrow there wasn't any room
to walk alongside to drive and the banks
so high the mules couldn’t possibly
turn out on either side — so we simply
let go of the reins and followed behind.
Never seen such a road in all my life
but, Al, the apples were just wonderful
and I’m going to send you some. I got
a bushel for 50 cents and fourteen
more for a dime, so I did pretty well.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 12, 1917
I got a letter from you today which
was written on Tuesday in which you said
you would ship out soon. I'm going to send
a box anyway and I still don't know
if even one of my letters has reached you.
You said you were only about as well
as could be expected and just holding on.
--Oh, Al, I also hated to leave you
beside the train in the dark that night.
It was the hardest thing I have ever done,
but no more than thousands of other girls
are asked to do, and I am no better
than any of them, but still . . . it is more
on certain nights than I think I can stand.
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America's stepmother to America / Poplar, Montana / October 15, 1917
Got your letter that said you was married,
but no use to ask how you like married life
as you don't know yet. I couldn't help
but bawl when your letter arrived. — I never
thought Al would take you away so soon.
I thought he would wait, but I was wrong.
I thought of all our past days together
and your high school days that you had to leave
when you got so sick, and now I am anxious
to know what it is you intend to do,
spend the winter there in Kentucky or
take nurse's training or go back to school
or move in with Mrs. Appenheimer
or wait until summer before you decide.
Oh how I miss you and wish you were here!
Had a letter from Al this afternoon,
who told us he had received his orders
for what to pack aboard ship, so I guess
he will be sailing soon. — Now remember,
you musn't go into the mountains once
the weather turns — if you get up there
and get sick or have trouble with your heart,
there is nothing that could be done for you.
But if you should go to Tabor, would you
please to look after my sister's grave?
It has a small stone with her name upon it.
Please clean it up just as nice as you can
and leave her some wildflowers in a jar.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 16, 1917
I still haven't sent you those apples yet —
I can't find a box anywhere in town.
Now, my husband, when you arrive in France,
whatever temptation you may meet,
remember your promise to me and try
to overcome it. I know you believe
that you could be tempted by nothing, but
I have been told that the temptations
awaiting the boys over there are greater
than most of them can resist, and if you
are invited into a home don't hang
your conduct up with your hat but always
remember to treat any woman you meet
as you would have other men treat your wife.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 17, 1917
I'm afraid you are gone by now. I didn't
hear from you yesterday. — Once you get
to France, send all of your letters home
to Vortex, Kentucky. And yes, I got
that letter from you. One of my uncles
stopped in at the post office and got it
and gave it to me this morning. I also
received our proofs and the spoon you sent me.
I can't hardly decide what pictures I want,
but I have decided to take the ones
where I'm smiling and looking down at you.
In all of the others my face looks like
a turkey egg. — I will close as I want
to make sure this goes on the evening train.
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America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 18, 1917
I am glad you liked all the things I sent.
One of papa's brothers sent the yellow
apple and one of his sisters the jell.
I sent all the rest myself. I'm sorry
the cake didn't look so good, being burned.
I climbed the tree, picked the apples and payed
a dime for them. And I made the candy.
I am glad you got them before you left.
I sure had some time getting everything
collected all in one place together
and I had to carry that box a mile.
I'm afraid for you sailing so far away.
Even if my heart could speak I wouldn't
know how to write it, so good-bye for now.
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