Chapter 9

Tenant farmers sort through generations of tools and gear, dragging plows, harness, and seeders from barns to sell for scrap prices. As buyers lowball them, the men recall work, horses, and seasons embedded in each item, warning that buyers are also taking their bitterness along with the junk.

After the sales, the men walk home stunned, trying to believe they can start over in California. Their thoughts turn grim: the land and the years have shaped them, and the eviction and tractor’s blow remain part of them. The chapter predicts that such accumulated bitterness, shared by many, will one day move together.

Meanwhile, women inventory the household: stoves, bedsteads, pictures, letters, small keepsakes. They select only what a migrant camp can hold—pots, mattresses, lanterns, tools, ropes, and a rifle for protection and pride. Children negotiate over dolls, bows, and sticks, dreaming about California while clinging to talismans.

Pressed by time and fear, families grow desperate, then decide to burn what they cannot carry, fixing the lost objects in memory before the flames. They load the remaining essentials, seat the old on mattresses, and drive away in a cloud of dust that lingers after the cars have passed.