The summer when I was married to Roger we lived on the farm. He brought a goat home once and his father made him get rid of it, saying the goat would eat the tar paper shingles off the side of the house. This was in Wisconsin, and my parents weren't talking to me because I had disgraced them so.

We went to Kenosha to visit his brothers and Roger bought an old Buick that had twin carbs in it but one was not hooked up. Buick had designed the model just before WWII, but produced it with only one carburetor connected because of fuel shortages. One Sunday afternoon we took that Buick out into the 40 across the road from the home place and chased some pigs his brother was raising.

I had fun with Roger, but he didn't want to be married. After the baby died and all the other trouble, I moved back to my parents' house and got a divorce. My folks tried to keep me there but as soon as I was 21 I went to the city and that was the start of my moving around. I've been pretty much all over the world.

If the baby hadn't died I'd probably still be in Tipler, chasing pigs.