I never smelled, touched, wore, or ate so much fine sand in my life! Sand is everywhere here. I wonder after one year here at Heart Mountain how much sand I have taken in. Of course tar paper walls are not made to keep out the dust or air. When we first moved into our room here at Heart Mountain, the sand blew in in gusts through the holes in the wood posts and the cracks in the tar paper. My uncles worked for five days straight scavenging the camp for scraps of wood and paper to plug up the holes. Now, a year later we have small rooms within our 20 by 24 foot room house here. Mama has made it as pleasant as she can with small art pieces we have all made at school placed around the room. We have three make shift shelves above the beds that hold a few family photos and knick-knacks we brought from home. There is a picture of all of us in front of the farmhouse in Sacramento by the door, and I look at it often and compare in my mind our home with the green Almond trees and the rusty red chickens to this place that is rough and dry and every shade of brown.
Our first winter here was so cold, I wasn’t sure if we would be able to endure it. Sacramento always had pretty mild winters, but that first January here the temperature fell 30 degrees below zero. We spent the winter huddled in the evenings for warmth, three people to a bed just to stay warm. Our little shiny black stove pipe heater ran as often as we could find wood and kindling to create a fire. Often Mama would bundle us up at night in blankets, and we would save the wood for late at night or early morning. A trip to the latrines in that kind of early morning cold is very unpleasant. Summer means scorching heat and dust. Our first summer was so hot, Mama had to put wet strips of old sheets on our chest and faces at night, and Mama laughed and called us her little mummies. She sang to us that night an old Japanese lullaby song called “Chugoku Cjiho komoriuta,” and Papa sat in the corner of the room with his eyes closed, smiling. I almost was back in Sacramento in our bedroom. It could have been a hot August night at the farmhouse with Mama and Papa there sitting quiet and calm in the warm night breeze.
Mama has made curtains for our windows with some old sheets that Mrs. Ikeda gave to us. Mama used the sewing machines at the high school to make curtains for our barracks and she even had some left over for Mrs. Ikeda. The curtains help to keep out the dust in the summer, and some of the cold in the winter. During the day, Mama washes our clothes and bed linen, and hangs them up to dry on rope that crosses the short side of the room. She irons Papa’s shirts with an old iron and small ironing board, so that Papa has freshly pressed clothes like he did in Sacramento. I think she wants Papa to feel as normal as possible here, and pressed clothing is her small way of keeping things as normal as possible. She takes pride in her ability to make that old iron do magic on
his shirts.
Papa worked this past spring to plant a vegetable garden. He makes $21 a month to grow food for the camp. When the camp administrator found out that Papa owned his own farm, he asked Papa to gather people to create a large garden. We now have beans, peas, carrots, watermelon- things never before grown in Wyoming- all due to Papa’s ability to grow anything in any conditions! People in camp were thanking Papa and his crew of “farmers” for the fruit this summer. We are now enjoying many of the vegetables at the mess hall. Last night we had steamed carrots and peas in a stew with tiny chunks of meat. It was the night they offer us a meat ration, and there was happiness on many faces at supper.
