Dear Son:

I'm writing this slow 'cause I know you can't read fast. We don't live where we did when you left. Your dad read in the paper where the most accidents happen within twenty miles from home, so we moved. I won't be able to send you the address as the last Arkansas' family that lived here took the numbers with them for thier next house so they wouldn't have to change thier address.

This place has a washing machine. The first day I put four shirts in it, pulled the chain, and haven't seen'em since. It only rained twice this week. Three days the first time, and four days the second time.

The coat you wanted me to send to you, Aunt sue said it would be to heavy to send in the mail with them heavy buttons, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.

About your sister ... she had a baby this morning. I haven't found out whether it is a boy or a girl so I don't know if you are an aunt or an uncle.

Your Uncle John fell in the whiskey vat. Some men tried to pull him out, but he fought them off playfully. So he drowned. Last Monday, we cremated him, he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pick-up. One was driving, the other two were in the back. The driver, Ned Eller's son, got out,he rolled down the window and swam to the shore. The other two drowned, Elmer and Clivous Summ's, Mat Summ's two boys, they couldn't get the tailgate down, poor boy's. Mat's take'n it real hard.

Not much more news this time, nothing much has happened.

love,

Ma

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