The Highest Peak

It was sundown. Late fall, 1918. I was four years old. Ma was in the kitchen cooking supper and pop was down in the low ground pulling corn. I was always full of curiosity and I loved watching the chickens in the hen house. As I always did, I looked in the hen house and sitting on the roost pole was a buzzard. "Ma, ma, ma! It's a buzzard in the hen house." "Nonsense child, there is no buzzard in the hen house," she said. "Come look," I told her. "Well, if it is, that means good news is on t...