My dad could tell you about the cars. But the point is, the family had two.
Sam and John Marty were first-generation Americans, brothers born in the 1800s. By the time this photo was taken, Sam (left) had raised a son off in the navy, buried a wife, and was about to marry again and build a little house across the yard. John (right) had married late in life and had two sons—my dad, the littlest, and Uncle Gaylon, next to him—who would take over the farm.
The country was not yet at war, but much of the world was, and I wonder what it meant to Sam and John that their first language was a dialect of German. The Great Depression was not entirely over, and Dad remembered that having two cars on the farm meant a lot. To Sam, it meant the Martys had arrived, but it was excessive to John, a cause for unease.
My grandmother undoubtedly took this photo. In her album, it's uncharacteristically blurry—hard now to know whether to make it small or large to see better what it contains. In the background, left to right, are the pig house, the big barn for horses and cows, the wooden silo (through the trees), and the old log barn.
Was July 4 on a Sunday that year? I haven't checked, but I know that Sam and John would dress up like this for the Hendrickson picnic with my grandmother's relatives, church or not. White shirts and ties were for special occasions and jeans were for work, not the other way around. The Fourth of July was like Christmas without coats—a feast and fun with cousins and aunts and uncles, honoring immigrant ancestors, celebrating America.
July 4, 1940. Sam, Gordon, Gaylon, and John Marty on the Marty farm. Photo from the album of Viola Marty.
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