I was twenty-four when I learned that giving at Christmas time can be one of the loneliest acts that anyone can perform. Strangest of all, society would have called my teacher an ignorant, redneck drunk.
It was 1935 and Roosevelt was in office. Most Americans thought the worst of the depression was over. We were unaware of the total devastation the dustbowl was creating. My father had fared better than most. My sister and I were able to attend college where I met and married Tom Reynolds.
Tom was short, stocky, and confident of the future. His blue eyes gleamed when he told of new techniques to bolster farm production. The subject didn"t enrapt urban me, but I loved him.
The day after graduation, a letter from the U. S. Department of Agriculture arrived appointing Tom the County Agent f
