A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

I was 10 years old now and the oldest kid of them all. I had my parents, my younger brother and my younger sister, my dog, and also my grandma. My grandpa had died in War World I. Even though we were white we were pretty poor living on our farm. I loved living in the farm land. It was a quiet place but we also had our own farm and house. There was a nearby church that we would go to every Sunday, and ;earn about God. Luckily for us we lived in Alpena Michigan and we could be able to travel to Lake Huron and get water.

We had cows chickens and only one horse. We loved him to death because he would help us go from one place to another to get curtain goods that we didn't have. I was young but my father always made me milk the cows and catch the chicken. My father was nice, but when it came to working he always pushed himself and even me to the point where we can't work anymore. After everyday of hard work we would eat some bread and go to sleep, and do it all over again. The only time we would eat chicken would be on Sunday's. We only ate chicken on Sunday's because we liked to save our food and not waste it quickly.

I couldn't really do a lot of playing because I had to work with my dad and unlike my younger brother and sister they could play around because they weren't 10 years old yet. One of the rules in our house was once your ten you have to start learning to work so when your older you know what to do. I didn't really care sometimes because it was fun when i had to milk the cows. Every Sunday that I made it I thanked God for letting me live another day with my family and horses and and letting me eat some really good chicken and pie that my mom and grandma made every Sunday.