Through the eyes of a five-year-old, one can see great wonderment and mystery in everything. We lived in a two-room house in a quiet rural town in Oklahoma. There were two old majestic elm trees in the front yard that swayed with the wind and bowed with the blowing snow. My mother's white rosebush was winter dormant at the north end of the porch. Snowflakes were falling. The snow was deep on the ground, all was beautiful; however, this was a time of war. In addition to the Great Depression and Dust Bowl of the 1930s, World War II had left a tragic mark on our nation. During these times, my parents of Cherokee decent, with four small children, would constantly strive to furnish the necessities of life. There possessions were few, but they had faith and trust in each other. They appeared to have had no doubt that when they began this new task together, once completed, it would provide some monetary relief for our family. Quiet observance of some folds of blue and brown, eventually, turned to memorable realization.