River Of Earth

You can’t git above your raising. Born in a camp and cut teeth on a tipple. Hit’s like metal agin loadstone. Can’t tear loose. Whate’er you’re aiming to be, you’ll end snagging jackrock.”

Hunger crawled inside of me; though, larger than any hunger, larger than anything, a knot of humiliation grew in my chest.

Mother sat on a tub bottom holding the baby, watching Father notch the spool. “It’s a long walking piece,” Mother said. “Four miles one way. But I allus wanted my young ‘uns to larn to figure and read writing. I went two winters to school, and I’ve been, ever since, a good hand to larn by heart. I never put my schooling to practice though, and I’ve nigh forgot how.”

“I saw Walking John Gay once when I was a child,” Mother said. “Walking John Gay traipsing and trafficking, looking the world over. Walked all the days of his life; seen more of creation than any living creature. A lifetime of going and he’s got nowhere, found no peace.”
“Woman nor chap nor beast he’s got. None to provide for, no mouth to feed, living on bounty and beg. I choose mine work, the trade I know. I choose to follow the mines.”

Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”

“It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth.