But I remember daddy would take us down on Saturday night and pay the grocery bill, and get those little old sack of candy. And we had a little old jersey wagon. You all call them out here, buckboards I believe, or whatever. And they put some straw in the back. And it'd be cold, and we'd wrap up in blankets, and go down. And it'd be spitting snow. And they'd pay the grocery bill.

I kept moving on. "Oh, I'm not lost. I'll be all right. I'll find my way out." Things begin to look funny, winds close. Snow begin to flying, the little hominy snow, we call it, spitting down.