Friday November 27th Dear Diary, As winter comes, I realize that things are becoming harder and harder for my family. The apples are bad and there are lots of worm holes in them. This winter, they’d be no pies. The crops were lean. My dad tries to go out early to buck deer, but there is no deer. He even sat in the cold rain waiting for there, he got a rattling cough from that. He even stopped sleeping with Mama. He slept in the barn. We have no food and no money.

Saturday November 28th Dear Diary, Today I walked into the barn with my father. He started to sharpen the butchering tools and he brought them over to Pinky’s stable. I turned my back, I couldn’t bare to watch. Then I heard that sound, of crowbar striking flesh. I hate him. I hate my father. I hate him for killing Pinky. I hate him for killing hundreds of pigs. I roll Pinky onto her back, my father starts to continue the job. I see blood pumping out onto the snow. I can feel my beloved Pinky quiver in death.

I see Pinky’s guts on the snow. We drag her into the boiling water. Pinky has no more hair and then saw her in half. My father told me I have become a man today. I tell him that my heart is broken and I find out his heart is broken too. At this point, I break down crying. I loved Pinky, she was something I could call mine. Not anymore. My father comes to me. He doesn’t have to say he is sorry for killing Pinky, watching his hands wipe away the tears from his eyes, says it all. I forgive my father. This is the first time I have seen him cry.

Tuesday May 3rd Dear Diary, You may think I’m a bad person but I’m not. Everyone thought dad would not live through the winter. But he did. He was always awake before I was. But when I went out to the barn, where he was sleeping, he was all still. Even though I know he is dead, I still call his name just once. I did all the chores and went to the kitchen. I break the news to them as politely as I could. Mama put on the nicest clothes we had onto my father. I went out to find some friends and neighbors to invite them to the funeral. I told Mr. Wilcox, a good Shaker man,

Who took care of our dad. I came home and started to dig a grave in the family plot in our orchard. I walk into the track room, I noticed the handles of Papa’s tools. They were dark with age, and their handles have turned a deep brown color. Where Papa put his hands had made that spot lighter in color, almost gold. I gave my speech. I said “ ‘Haven Peck, devoted husband and father, a working farmer and a good neighbor. Beloved by wife, four daughters and one living son. We are all grateful to know him. And we ask only that his soul enter the Kingdom Hall, there to abide forever.’ ” (Robert Newton Peck, 147). As soon as the coffin was down, we began to shovel soil into the hole. When everyone left, I sent my Mama and Aunt to bed. I went outside and gave one final goodbye to my father.