It was 1933. Karen was living on a tiny farm in Oklahoma. The first few years on the farm were wonderful, but this year was hard.

There had been no rain all year, and the winds blew the dusty ground. The dust came in through the cracks of the house.

Karen wiped her finger along the table in the living room. It left a clear line in the layer of dust. She sighed and looked out at the dry fields around the house.

Karen unfolded the bedsheet she was holding. She climbed onto a chair and carefully pinned the sheet over the big front window.

“Maybe this will keep out some of the dust,” she said aloud.

It seems like the entire state of Kansas is covered in dust. There is no rain. Not one stick of corn will grow, and without corn, we can’t make money.

We had to leave. Albert sold the tractor. We said good-bye to our friends. Everything we own is in our little car, and we are on our way West. We hear there is no dust out there.

Around noon, we ran out of gas. We were just outside of Augusta. Albert walked into town, bought the gas, came back, and we went on.

Then, before we had gone a mile, a tire went flat. The man from the garage helped us again. This time when Albert asked for the bill, the man just said, “Best of luck on your journey, folks.”

That turned our day around. The car acted great, and we were in great spirits. We found a wonderful campground where we’ll sleep well tonight. And I’ll dream of rain.