The road we traveled was a state highway with a macadam surface, common for the time, which made for a smooth enough ride, puntuated occasionally by the coughing of the eight cylinders pulling the truck,which I imagine now was miles past the need for new spark plugs.
The road followed Paint Creek, which is actually a medium sized river. The day was sunny and warm, as we traveled beneath an almost solid canopy of branches, hanging from the hugh maples lining the road. I was beginning to feel much better about the experience. After a time, we slowed to a stop, at a filling station/grocery store which was at the intersection of Liberty Hill Road, where my father got gas, and went inside the store. He wasn't long in coming out with a small paper bag in his hand, rounded from the contents inside, and twisted at the top for a handhold.
We proceeded onto Liberty Hill, onto a much rougher road surface,of gravel, which revealed much of the ground beneath. My ride was getting choppier, and I needed to hold to the side of the truck bed, to stay in one spot. I could look into the rear window, at my sisters, and see that their ride wasn't much better than mine.
We came to a rather steep hill, with two sharp curves, and deep ditches on either side, and I saw we were riding the center. Fortunately we were the only ones traveling here at the time, and my father was accustomed to all the bumps and holes we were passing over.
We never made it to the top of the hill, as we turned onto an even smaller, rougher road, without even the pretense of modification, so now we were basically on a dirt trail. This was Trego Creek Road,known more colloquially, as "Slop Creek" which I was to discover later, and also the origin of the descriptive name. A few miles up the road, we stopped at the front of a small white church, with a hand painted sign by the door, boasting the name, "Happy Valley Church of Christ in Christian Union" My father got out and motioned for us to join him in circling the church, proudly proclaiming his part in the construction. It was a lovely little building, and I and my sisters were visibly impressed.
We got back in the truck, and soon we turned into a cut from the road which was the driveway to a two-story house, with a cement porch completely across the front, with four wide tapered pillars holding up the roof. I was in awe, my sister Barbara was simply staring, but looking back now, I think that my sister Rosemary, who had just turned thirteen, must have had the thought,"So this is where the child support went"