My name is Peep Holler, and contrary to popular belief, I’m no spring chicken. Well, my Pa would say otherwise because ever since I can remember, he called me his little chickadee. My real name is Virginia Ann Holler, and when I got older I demanded people call me Ann, or Ginny to those near to me.
I was born in the winter, November 11, 1920, to be exact, and I was on the cusp of those dreaded teenage years when the mighty winds of dust tried to blow our house down in 1933. Now, I’m old and feeble, but I’ll never forget those Oklahoma Panhandle years of choking on dust and praying I wouldn’t get dust pneumony.
Dust pneumony was a phrase introduced in the song called, Dust Pneumonia Blues, made popular years later by a singer named, Woody Guthrie, who was a fellow Oklahoman I might add. It was a condition where dust settled in your lungs and caused a rattle, much like the death rattle you may hear when someone is near to dying. It was an awful condition and one from which people actually did die.
The beginning of the Dust Bowl years was a terrible time to start puberty and pine for a handsome boy to give you your first kiss. The weather was cruel, unlike any had ever experienced. It was such a big concern that it consumed everything we did. And on top of that, America was facing its worst economic calamity as people did whatever they could to survive.
But, luckily, I had my best friend, Jodi Bluecoat, who was the same age as me. We were able to share with each other our deepest secrets, fears and desires. I have no idea why her last name was Bluecoat because she preferred to wear pink ones. In a sense, you could say we were like sisters. I needed her friendship because my Ma died from giving birth to me. If it wasn’t for Jodi’s Ma helping my Pa during the early years of my life, I don’t know if I would even be alive. Jodi seemed to have the perfect farming family: two loving parents; a brother, Tom, who was three years older than her; and, a little brother named, Luke, whom she deeply despised.
In addition to Jodi, I had my faithful black Labrador retriever, Diddybitechu, who comforted me when I was ill, lonely or afraid. Pa got me Diddybitechu when I was five. That’s right. His name was Diddybitechu, and no one ever forgot it. I think Pa named him on account of him trying to bite everybody who tried to pet him − except me, of course. I guess Diddybitechu felt he was protecting me, but from what I don’t know because we were quite the peaceful farming community. That is, we were until the decade of dust with its sinister storms.
Sometimes, the dust storms reached blizzard proportions. They destroyed, or almost destroyed, all that we held dear: our land, our family and friends, and our way of life. Many people chose to leave the Oklahoma Panhandle during the worst decade in American history, but not us. We were among the few who remained to weather those storms and were alive in the end to talk about them.
With all of this in mind, I welcome you to my home, when I was 12, in Cimarron County, Oklahoma − the place of mystic dreams and dusty roads.
