This is an I-Heart podcast.

And we're back with our American stories.

And we've heard from Marilyn Jensen before when she told the story of her father's harrowing supply run during the Battle of the Bulge.

Today, she brings us a story from an earlier time in his life during a simpler time in our past.

Here's Marilyn.

Music It was a hot August day, probably about 1923.

The Henry and Nora Wax family lived on a small farm, maybe three or four miles from the southwest Iowa town of Climax. Since that time, cars are

affordable to everyone. Country stores and nearby services like blacksmiths are no longer needed.

So the village of Climax, true to its name, reached an apex of activity, breathed a sigh of resignation, and quietly

dozed off.

Climax is now known only by the sign in front of its abandoned church.

The memories of a century ago lie sleeping under blankets of Iowa corn and soybeans.

On a sleepy August morning, the three wax boys, Art 13, Ori 8, and Cecil 6 stumbled into the kitchen.

Lucky little sister Lucille at four got to sleep until breakfast.

Mom was stoking the fire in the cook stove. The boys rubbed their eyes and stared ahead.

Dad crossed his right ankle over his left knee and laced up his leather work boots.

The leg of his blue overalls bunched up, revealing an ugly white scar on his

shin. Cease pointed to it and yawned, "'Is that where the rattlesnake bit you, Dad?'

He knew the answer, but he liked this story, and besides, it would delay the chores a bit.

Yep, Dad replied, straightening the leg.

I wasn't much older than art.

The feller struck me while I was Han.

...