So our time in Yoncalla was drawing to a close. In planning to take the O’Connor children to Florida, there was this small problem of what to do with a couple little girls of 4 ½ years and 2 ½ years. However, if you are my mother, the solution is actually quite simple.
You put them into a tiny little white clapboard house and put the fear of Satan in them if they open the shades, answer the phone, answer the door or go outside. Looking back, it truly is a miracle that nothing happened to Susan and Diana while mother was away.
With that little problem resolved, we packed the ole wagon,
hopped in and were cruising the highways again.
Since Aunt Paula was with us, mother had to be at her best behavior so the trip was actually fun and I remember having a good time. There were four things in particular that really stuck with me though.
Since it was still Winter, the snow wa still thick and covered the land, trees and roads going through the Dunsmuir pass in the Mt. Stasta, Calfornia area.
Mt. Shasta was spectacular and majestic against a deep blue sky. When the wind whipped arund the mountain, it would scoop up the powder snows and the mountain was surrounded by shimmereing halo.
When we went through the Southwest, you had to keep a sharp eye out for those gila monsters. We were told they would sneak into your hotel room at night, and gobble you up while you slept. Now that made for sweet dreams.
Then of course going through Arizona and New Mexico we kept a keen look out too for the giant jackalopes. These huge critters were a cross breed between a jack rabbit and an antelope. Some were so huge, we were told, they could actually kick over a building. We sure didn’t want them jumping onto the highway and kicking us off the road. 
I was also fascinated by the seemingly mile after mile of those oilrigs along the Texas and Louisiana coast. They seemed to go on and on and sang in unison with their rhythmic ka-thunka, ka-thunka as they sucked the precious oil from mother earth.
The trip was a whirlwind event, and was over almost a quickly as it had begun.
After a few days of driving long hours, we arrived back in Florida. Our first home there, was to be with Uncle Jake and Aunt Louise who owned a huge farm outside a sleepy little Southern town called Cottondale.
The farm was beautiful with lush woodlands and deep green pastures set in gentle rolling hills. There was also a small river that ran through the farm that we children loved. One end was ideal for fishing and the opposite end was perfect for swimming.
It was also large enough so that Uncle Jake had a number of families that worked for him, with some actually living in houses on the property. He raised corn, cotton, peanuts, hay and a sundry of other cash crops plus hundreds of beautiful prize Black Angus cattle.
We settled in quickly and were promptly enrolled at the local elementary school. It was a quaint and typical ancient country school. It was two story, made of red brick darkened by enduring sixty years of changing weather and the school yard was filled with giant live oak trees with enormous boughs of swaying Spanish moss.
I made news friends easily and it wasn't long before I had a best buddy, Cliff, to hang with. Our special treat each day was either a real orange juice popsicle, one of those real lime juice ones or the all time favorites, a fudgesicle. They were a mouthful of delight for only one nickel.
