I was six and Cortis was eight in 1925 when this picture was taken. It had to be Sunday morning for us to be dressed like this. We were going to church at Mountain View Baptist Church. Our 100% wool, three piece suit, pants, coat and vests, were our Sunday best. We wore them for about three hours to church, but as soon as we got back home we pulled them off and they hung in the closet until we went back to church. They weren't our favorite clothes. It was Mom's idea that we had to dress up for Church.

The last four children in the Martin family were boys, so the oldest one got the new clothes and the rest were passed down just as long as we could get into them. Clyde wore Charlie's and I wore Cortis' second time around clothes. We traded at Duke at Haddad's. Mom bought the new clothes at least one year bigger than we were, that made them too big the first year, they fit the second year and the third year they looked like Cortis'. The pants and coat sleeves were showing how much we were growing. We said the pants were "hitting high water". That meant that the pants were too short.

We were standing in the south driveway, with the house to the northeast of us. You can see the tire tracks coming from the road west of our house. The fence posts are on the east side of the Perryman's pasture. The Perryman's ran cows on the virgin grass of the prairie. They had brought their herd of cows as early as 1887, built a rock-lined dugout and started their gyp rock corral and barns. Over the years they finished them and kept them in good repair. As they turned from cattlemen to farmers and began to raise wheat the rock barn and corral began to deteriorate. Until the 1970's they were still standing, but in 1994 the barns have fallen down and the corral fence is in disrepair. Only the rock-lined dugout is still as it was in 1887. Not inhabited anymore, but it stands as a reminder of the pioneer homestead.

Some of my happiest memories of childhood is of visiting with Ted and Tom Perryman and playing cowboy and Indians in the old rock corral. We had some good Indian fights over there. We never saw it as an historical treasure. It was the real thing that the wild west was made from and we were real cowboys, hunting those illusive Indians with our make believe guns.

The land was level, across the section, until it rose in rocky bluffs of gyp hills about a mile to the west. As far as you could see across it, were prairie dog mounds. The farmers hated them for they ate the buffalo grass. The wild, little creatures lived in colonies in the burrows they dug. They would come out of their holes and sit on the mounds of dirt, raising up on their hind legs, chattering to each other in prairie dog language. We would sit on the Martin front porch and listen to them.

Prairie dogs are a little bigger than a squirrel and looked like little dogs. We found nothing that they were good for except rifle practice. This prairie dog town was still there after 1945 when Jodean and I came in from the War. In the late afternoon, we would take the 22 rifle and sit on the front porch, when they came out of their hole I'd hand her the rifle and say, "Get him." She could pick them off nearly every time. In time they were eradicated with toxic gas and killed out so the farmers could farm the land. Today you only find them in a few isolated places in reservations. Very seldom do you see them on farmland.

Seems like I can't look at these old pictures without thinking of events and people who were our neighbors and friends. But, that isn't so bad. I think any personal story has to include those people who influenced our lives. Ken looked at the old picture and said, "As I look at these pictures with Cortis and I in them, he doesn't seem to like having his picture taken. I don't remember being unhappy about anything about this time but doing those women jobs. I always thought Mom picked on me more than she did Cortis when she would say, "Kenneth, go get me a bucket of water." Seemed like she never asked Cortis to get the water. I thought she made me get it because I was the youngest and the others all fussed about getting water, so she saved that job for me."

I'm glad that Mom took our pictures in these suits. Whether we were happy about it or not. It would have been a pity to have missed these Sunday suits and caps. Sometimes it takes a long time for you to appreciate the little things that happened in your life. I guess I've reached that place at 75 years of age because I am enjoying all these old pictures that Michael Thompson sent us. Thanks Mike, from all of us.