Silent Sonora is a life history centered in depression era Scottsdale, Arizona. A tent-dwelling family’s struggles, aspirations, tragedies, and triumphs–are revealed.

Silent Sonora: Life History

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REVIEW: Silent Sonora

Silent Sonora by

Jeffrey Ross

4 Stars

Review by C. L. Kraemer

Mr. Ross has honored the narrator of these recollections from the Depression by leaving the text just as it was presented to him. I felt as if I were sitting with an aunt who answered my questions without hesitation and didn’t sugar coat any aspect of those times.

This was a fascinating read and should be required of all history students. Real life memories give a better perspective of the situation than novels, however brilliant.

Bravo, Mr. Ross.

EXCERPT: Silent Sonora

The Tent Household

About 1930, we were living in two tents, a twenty foot by twenty foot tent, and a sixteen foot by sixteen foot tent. Dad always put our dwellings up in a road’s right-of-way or else worked out an appropriate arrangement with a property owner, like Charles Miller. Mom and dad never paid any rent to set up our tents.

The tents had poles inside to provide support, and both tents had flaps and screened places to let in fresh air. A smokestack stuck through the roof of the larger tent to allow cook stove smoke out. Our tents had been coated with a chemical to make them waterproof. Living in tents was rather primitive, as you might expect.

Our tents were connected by a kind of patio covering my dad created. This covering was quite large, about twelve feet in length. We would sit under the cover to be comfortable. When company came, we would always sit out there. One tent, the smaller one, had the kitchen, the kitchen table, and a small cot for my oldest brother. The table was about nine feet long. Dad made this table much like a big picnic table, with nice benches on each side. The rest of our beds were located in the larger tent.

Early on, when were very little, we’d have to sleep four or five in a bed. We slept in a big double bed. One time, I didn’t know it, but I had rolled down the far side to the floor. Nellie was hollering for covers because she was cold. I had tangled all the covers with me on the floor. Jim woke me up and said, “Hey, get up, you’ve taken all the covers.” John, Clifford, Bill, and Nellie and I were sleeping together that night. Quite a crowd.

We had a back house, a big building, with an outhouse attached. We were the only people living in tents at the time, and our family was often ridiculed for our way of life.

Dad built a “portable” wooden floor for the kitchen area. Whenever we moved and set up the tent, he would water down the dirt area under the floor so the surface stayed hard and dry.

We didn’t have any inside plumbing, and we didn’t have a shower hook-up. I guess my Grandfather Birchett, my mother’s father, was very clean. He would always come home and put on fresh clothes before he sat at the table. But not this Carroll bunch. The boys and my father took a bath about once a week. They would use a big washtub with a little hot water and P & G soap. Grandpa took his baths downtown. I don’t think I ever saw him bathing in the big tub by the tent.

But remember, times were tough in the 1920’s and 1930’s. WW II, a few years later, significantly changed the way we all lived.

We didn’t mind the cold in the wintertime because the cook stove kept us warm.

But during the summer, we would often place damp sheets over us at night so we could sleep. And we tried to sleep outside. We always cooked outside in summer.

We lived in those tents for a couple of years, actually for several years, as we moved back and forth between Laveen and Scottsdale.

Later, dad built a trailer with two beds: one for my mother and youngest brother, and the other for Nellie and me.

Those homemade trailers made us look like gypsies. Ha. One time a group of “real” gypsies stopped by and dad ran them off. Do you find a bit of irony or humor in this gypsy story?

Years later, when we resided in a tin-roofed house north of Scottsdale, our dwelling still had sheds and trailers connected. My room was in a trailer. Even then, we lived so far north of Indian Bend, about a mile, that we didn’t have electricity for a long time

Living in the Tent

What was it like living in that tent? Well, tent life was tough, but it wasn’t so bad. Early in the mornings, my mother would get up and cook breakfast, typically fried potatoes, biscuits, and gravy. My father and Jim would drink coffee. I don’t think anybody else liked coffee. Occasionally, mother would make oatmeal. I never became fond of oatmeal, and I don’t like oatmeal today, either. She had those enameled dishes. Mom had pots made from same material. The coating wasn’t tin, so you had to be careful to avoid chipping. We had forks, knives, and spoons, and those tin cups common to the time. Mother also had big cast iron pots and skillets she used for cooking. We’d use heated water and P & G soap to do dishes. Mom had a big washtub for soaking and cleaning all the dirty utensils, plates, and pans. We always seemed to have dishrags nearby.

My father fabricated a nice cabinet for her dishes, and his creation sure was a nice piece of furniture until wearing out.

Additionally, she had a spatula, a can opener, and lots of wooden kitchen matches. We depended on matches.

Once, later, a small fire started out at the Douross house we were living in because mice bit into the matches, which were stored in an uncovered bowl. The place would have burned down if mom hadn’t noticed and quickly put out the fire. Mom kept the bowl covered after the fire. By the way, revenge was sweet. We made war on those mice and did quite a bit of damage to them.

We depended on kerosene for light. At times, we’d get ice, but we didn’t have a regular icebox. Do you know how mom kept her eggs and butter cold? She had lard buckets covered with wool. Mom would put eggs in the buckets, cover them with wool, and wet the wool. Evaporation would keep the eggs, or whatever she put in the bucket, cool and reasonably fresh. I don’t believe she had a refrigerator until my brothers came home from the war in 1945 or 1946. Of course, we didn’t need to keep our milk cold. We didn’t get milk very often, and when we did, the ten or so kids at home would drink it up rapidly.

ALSO BY JEFFERY ROSS

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REVIEW:

The Auroran

Cold Front Redemption

Jeffrey Ross

978-1-62420-282-7

Reviewed by: Courtney Rene

This is the story of August Nightingale, middle aged, with little success with relationships—and even less in his current work and life in general. The story may begin when he abruptly decides to “leave it all behind,” on a road trip in the snow of winter. The real story is his journey of self-realization. August Nightingale is not the only main character though. Sarah, his neighbor is high up there on the list. When August has a accident on the highway, she comes to be with him while he recoups. They find each other and realize it is never too late to find happiness. This was such an enjoyable read. It was quick and flowed easily all the while keeping you entertained. A sweet romance that tells a real story about human nature and how sometimes we just go along with life unhappy but we don’t have to. We can change it all with a bit of courage and a bit of self awareness. Such a good read.

BLURB

August Nightingale, in late middle age, has had little success with relationships– and not much meaningful satisfaction in the world of work. Abruptly deciding to “leave it all behind,” he embarks on a snowy road trip to visit Civil War battlefields in Pennsylvania. His journey becomes one of self-realization. A mishap on the highway, the kindness of his beautiful neighbor Sarah (who helps him to convalesce), and the friendly people of Aurora change his life and his heart. This mature romance novel shows that it is never too late to find happiness, to experience meaningful love, when souls are honest and open to the truths of human experience.

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