Depression Era Lunch Poem

Oregonian shares poem about depression era lunch as a child

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A poem about the depression era:

Depression days in Oklahoma
A time when cash was rare,
A homemade lunch to carry
But we really didn't care.
No store-bought box had we
To hold our meager fare

Of biscuits holding fried eggs
Or home-grown slabs of meat,
Perhaps a baked potato
Either Irish, white, or sweet.
In fall there'd be an apple
Which was a special treat.

A lard bucket or syrup pail
Would hold whate' er we took
To feed ourselves at noontime
Break from poring over our books.
"What's in your lunch today?
Mind if I take a look?"

Warm days we ate outdoors
Clustered with our pals.
Grassy plots or on the stile
Were favorites of the gals.

Some carried milk in a jar,
A thermos was unknown.
Boiled eggs were often cracked
On a friend's noggin bone.
There were some schooldays
When lunch was bread alone.

We enjoyed what food we had
Never knowing we were poor.
Each day the lunch kept us
Until the farmhouse door.
We'd made it through another of
Those "good old days" of yore.

Nova Felkins Bailey
Beaverton, Oregon


Back in 1955 a call went out from the editors of the then Capper’s Weekly asking for readers to send in articles on true pioneers. Hundreds of letters came pouring in from early settlers and their children, many now in their 80s and 90s, and from grandchildren of settlers, all with tales to tell. So many articles were received that a decision was made to create a book, and in 1956, the first My Folks title – My Folks Came in a Covered Wagon – hit the shelves. Nine other books have since been published in the My Folks series, all filled to the brim with true tales from Capper’s readers, and we are proud to make those stories available to our growing online community.