Page 11 - SuperCowboyFlipBook

I took a deep breath of the fresh air coming in the window. It was still cold from the lingering ice and snow, and yet the warm, thawing wind blowing from the south brought a smell that said summer was coming. We crossed the rusty, one-way bridge, and drove along until we came to the old Silverstein place. They had a nice, cozy little home. That’s what my dad called it. My mom called it rundown. The Silversteins were an older couple that had worked hard all of their lives. Old Mr. Silverstein had large, rough hands from years of hard farm work. His skin was leathery from many hours outdoors, even in the winter. Old Mrs. Silverstein had skin about as soft as a saddle left in the rain, and more wrinkled than a flour sack stuffed in a grain bin for a winter. Dad always said that even if their home wasn’t fancy, “a person could feel comfortable there coming in from the cold and putting his feet up.” Home cooking, with smells of bacon, steak, eggs, potatoes, fresh garden vegetables, and homemade bread, hung in the air and drifted in the car window as we pulled into the driveway. Mr. Silverstein stepped out onto the porch, and my dad went to shake his hand. “Here to see what we talked about,” my dad said. “They’re out in the barn,” Mr. Silverstein replied. By this time, the seven of us children had climbed out of the old red rambler and were following them to the barn. I had to trot to keep up. My mother would usually stay in the car with my two-year-old brother, Willie, but this time she bundled him up and brought him along. When we reached the barn, Mr. Silverstein swung the door