My Grandpa was born in 1930 and was a child of The Great Depression and when he was just a small boy his parents loaded him and his siblings up into an old Dodge to move from Grants Pass Oregon to Southern California. They Would follow the harvest and pick vegetables and fruit and be known as Fruit Tramps.
Their new nomadic life would lead them to pack that old Dodge to the gills and fill it with all the things the family of five would need to survive. Their new home would be a canvas tent and their furnishings would have to be versatile and mobile. Knowing this my Great Grandparents decided to take only one piece of wood furniture with them and it was the family’s dining table.
Made from White Oak and very modest in size the table would be their gathering place their hearth and their reminder of home. My Great grandpa had to cut the legs down so that it could fit in the tent and be the right size for sitting on the floor. Once that the table was finished my grandparents placed it on top of that old Dodge. Strapped to the roof it was ready for the trip and they were on their way.
My Grandpa shared with me many memories made around that table. He told me of bologna sandwiches and the sweetest oranges he ever ate. He told me how his dad would smell like oil from manning the smudge pots in the orchard and how he would have to wash up outside in cold water before he could come to the table. Christmas at the table held the Joy of the children’s socks being filled with ripe and fragrant fruit and dark and woody nuts and a box full of copper pennies.
The table lovingly became known in our family as the Depression Table and has been passed down from each generation along with all of its history.
It sits in my Living Room now and I love to look at it and remember all of the memories I have made around it like eating Sour cream Christmas cookies, drinking coffee and opening presents. Wine and cheese while visiting with close personal friends and tears poured over it mourning the loss of our son.
The table has made it through four generations of our family and many celebrations and changes that rerouted lives. I love to run my hands over its at warm oak patterns and remember the people I came from all the people that worked so hard to survive to put food on the table and to see their children prosper. Without all my families hard work and faith, I would not be here. They were amenable to change. They were strong of character, they were gritty and true. Most importantly they feared God, valued family and counted themselves blessed.
The Broken Sinew 