Fannie and I danced every dance that was called during the entire picnic. I was wearing high button shoes that for the first day or so had held my feet, but toward the last my ankles were so tired that they turned under me. When the fun was over, we got back into our calico dresses and riding skirts and headed home, both plumb tuckered out. Those three days had passed mighty fast, and we had a heap of things to digest, such as meat and pickles and adventures. We had both got acquainted with several farm boys who lived some distance away, and that was something. We rarely met strangers. Fannie didn’t feel handicapped any more with the boys, because by this time her hair had grown a good length to curl. One of the boys we met stuck right to me all through the barbecue. Texas produced as good-looking girls then as it does now, [1939] and I couldn’t figure out why this fellow took to me. There were plenty of good-lookers at the barbecue. But for some reason or other he did, and even asked to see me home. That seemed a little too much all at once, and I refused. I figured I’d had enough excitement for one trip. Josh Handley was his name, and he told me he worked on a big farm as foreman over the other hands. He rode a good horse and also owned two mares and a couple of shoats. That set him up as sorter looking ahead a little, in case anything like getting married showed up. After the barbecue we began keeping company and went together all that fall and winter. Every week he would ride over on horseback, and we would go to a dance now and then. Sue Sanders, Our Common HerdNew York: Arno Press, 1980