April 17 1913
Dear Jessie:– No doubt you are wondering if I am going to write. I hate to make explainations [sic] and excuses but really I didn’t get your letter till last night things have been so disarranged. I have not been home since Sunday, but after this it will be different. You ask me which days you were to write. Above all days get one to me on Sun. The other any time, along about Thursday perhaps.
I am about to think you misunderstood my letter, when I commented on yours. But you ought to have known what I meant We mustn’t and we won’t misunderstand each other will we, dear. We can’t afford to. Another thing, you ought not to have thrown that up to me about (other girls) that hurt. I’ll admit writting [sic] to (other girls) but that’s in the past why not forgive and forget. I think only of the future and the times when with you. Little girl I almost live on (our yesterdays). They are my day dreams “night and day believe me.” See I still remember, also you saying “yes and you, ick!” “forget it!” I hope that’s our last one.
There are three meadow larks just out side calling to each other. It sounds so pretty. I would rather hear a meadow lark than any kind of a song bird. No doubt they know I am lonely for that reason they sing so sweetly. But I am going to say it is my heart calling to yours Because I can understand better what is said. One says “I love you, love you dearest” the other returns “I love you to [sic]”. What an imaginative mind I’ve got. Yet one can’t help but like to think of things like that. It seems to me one could sit for hours and dream like that. I know I can of you, “because I’ve tried it.” I can hardly imagine what kind of a world this would be if it were not for you. I wouldn’t I couldn’t be the same, the same Harold that you know. I would be but an atom in this great world. Whereas now I know but one world where you and I are the sole occupants.
In my imagination it is a paradise where nothing but happiness and love is allowed to enter. We live each day for one another. (Further picture drawing, if you are interested.)
And as we stand in the rays of the setting sun in the midst of a garden of roses and hedges with my arm around you, and you with a playful smile on your face telling me the unusual happenings of the day. Why I’m on the verge of creating an ideal for myself. But if you were not interested I’ll lay it to the fact that I can’t write like I can talk.
Another of my ideals is that essay on love in “Their Yesterdays.”
I sometimes wonder if that is not what I’m made of, ideals I mean. It undoubtedly constitutes a large part of my being just at present.
But what is life for if it isn’t for expectations and hopes.
Everyday that goes by I see something more in life to hope for. Something more to expect, and get as my rightful due. I am optimist enough to believe that if ambition is directed in the right way one can attain to almost anything. I tell you though little girl it is a little hard to cling to the highest of ideals and live a life like this. I have in mind a sentiment of Elbert Hubbard. He said “Grand is the man who can take the lemons that fate hands out to him and start a lemonade stand.”
Well for the love of Mike (pardon the expression) it has started to rain and it has actually thundered. Lin and I are going over home now after grain. We are getting along fine.
Well a few more interruptions. I have had three since starting so if this is a little disconnected lay it to that. I should have written this yesterday but couldn’t. Am so sorry. Wish I could see you ever so much but love you just the same. Write soon and long ones tell me more about yourself.
With worlds of love Hal__
(Photo of Western Meadowlark from flickr.com/photos/kevcole/2327954530/)