To: Allen Lindsay, Jr., Lawrence, KS

From: Virginia Lindsay, Wilsey, KS

January 15th, 20+5

Dear Allen,

Greetings from home. It’s been so long since we’ve – I’ve heard from you. But then, it’s been so long since I’ve written you, too.

We’ve been lucky this winter. Except for a very brief cold snap at the beginning of the year, it’s been so mild here. The wind still howls, and will only get worse in the coming months, of course. But the Halsey boys rode out early December and sealed up the leaks in the house’s windows and doors. They even brought me half a cord of wood – good hedge wood. Should see us – me through the end of winter, anyway. Mrs. Halsey herself died just a couple months ago, a day or two after Thanksgiving. Flu. I don’t know whether the Halsey boys were carrying it, or what it was particularly, but I came down with something nasty a few days after they worked on the house. Terrible sweats and chills. For three days I could scarcely find the strength to feed the fire and keep the stove going. Couldn’t even get the lids off any of my canned goods. Wouldn’t have done any good, anyway – couldn’t keep anything down but hamhock broth, and barely that. Oh, but I’ve been through worse. Sitting by the stove, listening to the wind (and being thankful that it was kept outside) and leafing through some old photo albums was not –

Anyway, Barb Halsey. You still remember her, don’t you? She lived right in the middle of town, at 4th and Lyndon. The nice limestone house with the wrought iron gate. Taught you and Anne piano lessons. I know you were always a good student, Allen, but I think Anne skipped more than she went. Barb charged all the same, though. Ah, I can’t hold that against her, such a minor thing now. She was a nice gal. I think a bit of her husband rubbed off on her, but she was still a basically good person. And her boys. Well, see above. They’re both living in the house, now. Karl has a wife and a son and daughter – chubby little towheads, so ornery – and I think Marty has a pretty steady girlfriend.

I’ve been toying with the idea of moving over to Council Grove this spring. Just a few miles. I’m getting to the point where it’s a little difficult to make it out to pump water several times a day. It’d just be so nice to have semi-running water again. They’ve set up or somehow re-fitted the windmills as pumps over there, and the reservoir and lake are still plenty full. Or so I’ve heard, anyway. Of course, a few of the more imaginative gossips in town (Meg Barnes, particularly) say that Kansas City has gaslights and trolleys now. But since Council Grove is pretty close I’m a bit more prone to believe about the windmills.

Woke up yesterday morning to the sound of the piano. It was the strangest thing. I bundled up and went downstairs and found one of the cats tramping all around the dining room. I’m not happy about them staying inside, but I guess it is winter and there’s been coyote and even some cougar sightings. Not surprising, I suppose, what with the huge deer population explosion a couple years ago. I wouldn’t want to be stuck outside, either. Of course, the tomcat disappears for days and even weeks on end. Haven’t seen him for almost half a month now. It was the mama cat on the piano.

I still remember working in the kitchen and listening to the plinking and plunking coming from the dining room as you practiced. You rarely seemed to get exasperated with it, even though you inherited such short fingers from us. Don’t think you ever went the entirety of your prescribed practice sessions, however. Either that, or the timer we used ran mighty fast.

Aside from the illness I had in December, I have been eating quite well. The summer harvest was fine – plenty of tomatoes, beans and zucchini. The fall harvest, though. Well, I’ve never really seen the like, even when we had sprays and fertilizers, irrigation, etc. The corn alone took the whole town two weeks of sunup to sundown days to harvest. It’s all drying, now – most of it will get ground up in the spring for meal. What’s left will go to hogs and the few cattle around here. Probably the cattle more than anything, as the hogs are pretty happy eating acorns. Vernon Mitchell broke a forearm falling out of one of the apple trees – a nearly-matured seedling – while harvesting in his orchard and had to get ridden into Council Grove to get patched up by Doc Saw. (I can’t say that the apples are all that tasty to eat out of hand, but there are a lot of them, and they make good juice and apple butter.) And, I’ve been eating on a half a hog since October! Nice as they are, I didn’t trust the Halsey boys to slaughter it right. They’re carpenters by trade. So, I had Art Muncy and his daughter Lill out to help slaughter, dress and cure it. They really did almost all the work. Art’s a... well, kind of a layabout now. Grows marijuana and some not-so-great squash and pumpkins, but he used to work in Emporia at a meatpacking plant and knows his way around a carcass. Never cared for him so much, but Lill’s nice. Still cute, too – sweetest smile – and unattached. Just saying.

I sent them home with almost half the pig. I know what you’d say to that, but look – just deal with it. Everyone – everyone in this town, at least – gets fed. Half a pig’s a lot for one old lady, anyway, especially when you add it to the abundance of everything else. Have you been eating half as well as us?

(And anyway, Art grows superb weed.)

I don’t know, maybe it’s just been so many years – how many? five or six now? – since we had such conveniences as pesticides and combines and the rail and satellite TV. I guess there was a lean year after everything went kaput, but we bounced back. We have so much here – decent food and plenty of it, a roof, a stove, water – that I can’t say that I miss very many things anymore. Maybe just pineapple for upside down cake from time to time, and your father.

Have you heard from Anne lately? Last I knew she was up in Junction City. I really don’t know what she’s been up to for the past couple years. Going on three now. I mail her from time to time, but I’m not sure the new delivery service really knows what they’re doing. They charge so much, too; it cost me two pounds of corn meal and a jar of crabapple jelly for just a 50 mile delivery, for one letter! Well, I guess the riders need it – they’re so skinny. (This is coming from Meg B of course, as the riders only hit the major junctions. But, after riding to and from town on that old Schwinn for these several years – it’s only a half a mile one-way – I really will take her word for it this time.)

If you hear from Anne, let me know please.

You know, I really do enjoy the quiet here, but it got to be a little too much last August and September, so I dug out the old RCA that belonged to your grandfather. Your father never listened to much music – the radio was always tuned to market and weather reports. But he always had a soft spot for the Beach Boys, so I put them on the player and wound it up good. Endless Summer. The record played back just a little bit slow – the spring or whatever makes it go is probably losing its shape, and it made Brian Wilson’s voice a little huskier than I remember – but it sounded fine to me.

All in all, though, I prefer piano.

With love, your mother Genny

P.S. - Depending on when this arrives – two weeks, three maybe? – happy 37th birthday!