CARMICHAEL
In 1940, Dad choose to move us to Carmichael, then a small community about twelve miles northeast of Sacramento proper. He found a ten-acre plot mostly planted in almonds, with a sizable old house and some wonderful oak trees. By pre-arrangement, he sold five acres to his cousin Harry, who had four kids more-or-less our ages. Harry built a house on his property, but no sooner was it completed that he moved to a new job in Santa Maria: the notion that our two families could prosper together evaporated.
i have long regretted that I never asked Dad why he moved us to a farm: he was the personification of a city-slicker, and there was a steep learning-curve ahead for him. Nevertheless, over the next few years he was able to rebuild and expand the old house; add an addition above the existing garage as a “rumpus room” for us kids; expand the barn so we could have cows, chickens, ducks and rabbits; and still drive to work in Sacramento every day.
Then came the war. Gasoline and many other things were rationed. As a teacher, Dad got a good allowance of gas coupons, and he sold milk from our cows to his colleagues (possibly for “points” rather than cash). We were close to being self-sufficient in food: “chicken every Sunday,” plenty of veggies and even meat when we slaughtered a cow. In general, none of us were all that much put out by the war: we even took long vacations in the summers to places like Lake Tahoe since as a teacher Dad had summers free. Dad was an Air warden, and Mom an airplane “spotter.” We kids, though, were little affected by any of it. We all went to Carmichael Elementary School, and my brothers on to San Juan High School.
Then came an opportunity for Dad to “move up” to college administration in Modesto. California.