Oct 18, 1941
Ft. Bragg, NC

Dear Dad,
I got your card last Thursday after I had already started a letter to Mom so I just went ahead and finished it to her. I got the box this morning, and boy was that cake good, at least the company B ‘truck drivers clan’ thought so, they said she could send more anytime. Tell Mom I (we) said thanks a lot.
I went out to the store before truck inspection this morning and bought this tablet, envelope, pen and ink and thought I better try them out. The pen scratches a little, I guess it needs grinding already.

Was glad to know you had gotten the beans in. I was afraid they wouldn’t get ripe in time the way the weather has been here. It’s hotter than hell in the daytime and cold enough to appreciate two blankets at night.
We haven’t been held up any by rain as that is something it doesn’t seem to do here but once a year. I guess it really does then by the looks of the erosion. Some fields have gullies 15 to 20 feet deep all over them.
I’ve talked to quite a lot of the farmers around here trying to find out a little more about the country and farming methods here.

The crops are always planted on contours and out of about 20 rows of cotton, corn, etc., two rows are planted to some kind of deep-rooted grass or a place is skipped when the field is plowed which is also done on the contour.

The principal crops are cotton, corn and peas used for hay. The season was so dry this year that nearly all of the cotton had to be replanted so it is only about knee-high. I have some blossoms and cotton to bring home. The blossoms are pink, yellow, or white; I don’t know the season for different colors. There aren’t any barns in the whole state that I’ve seen anyhow. The peas (hay) is cocked. They build a frame like a pyramid and put the pea vines around it, about 6 to 8 foot diameter at the base and about 12 to 15 feet high coming to a point. They open a feed bag and put it over the top, weighting it with bricks or stones tied to the corners. The stuff seems to keep good in the field though some bale it after it cures. There are but a few tractors down here but a lot of trucks. They keep a cow or two, a half dozen hogs, 8 to 10 chickens and teams of mules on most of the farms which are run by whites and worked by negroes.

What they call the house here looks about like our old hog pen without any paint, windows (which are not needed here because the cracks are so wide) or floors.

The sand is ass deep to a tall Indian (and me with short legs) and it’s so dusty that it rolls off the windshield like rain. I have to stand on the running board mile after mile to see where I’m going. It’s a son of a gun driving at night without the lights, can’t even see the fenders.

Well I guess I’ll close for now this is the longest letter I’ve written in a long while.
Love, Wayne