Out of the Dust and the Farm Security Administration
The Farm Security Administration (initially created as the Resettlement Administration) sought to combat rural poverty in the United States. Its most famous and influential act was its photography program (1935–1944). Eleven photographers were sent to document images of conditions among farmers, migrants, and daily life around the country in an effort to expose poverty and encourage social reform.
Out of the Dust takes place during this era. While it serves as a fictional, written record of dustbowl conditions, it pairs nicely with images documented by the FSA. The authors of this page have paired excerpts from Out of the Dust with FSA images collected by the Library of Congress.
Fifty Miles South of Home (p. 20)
In Amarillo,
wind
blew plate-glass windows in,
tore electric signs down,
ripped wheat
straight out of the ground.
Fields of Flashing Light (p. 31)
I sensed it before I knew it was coming.
I heard it,
I smelled it,
tasted it,
Dust.
Give Up on Wheat (p. 40)
“Plant some other things, then.” Ma says.
“Try cotton,
sorghum. If we plant the fields in different crops,
maybe some will do better,
better than wheat.”
Daddy says,
“No.
It has to be wheat.
I’ve grown it before.
I’ll grow it again.”
Nightmare (p. 63)
I was coming home
through a howling dust storm
my lowered face was scrubbed raw by dirt and wind.
Grit scratched my eyes,
it crunched between my teeth.
Sand chafed inside my clothes,
against my skin.
Dust crept inside my ears, up my nose,
down my throat.
I shuddered, nasty with dust.
Driving the Cows (p. 102)
Dust
piles up like snow
across the prairie,
dunes leaning against fences,
mountains of dust pushing over barns.
Joe De La Flor can’t afford to feed his cows,
can’t afford to sell them.
County Agent Dewey comes,
takes the cows behind the barn,
and shoots them.
Too hard to
watch their lungs clog with dust,
like our chickens, suffocated.
The President’s Ball (p. 115)
And I remember last year,
when Ma was alive and we were
crazy excited about the baby coming.
And I played the same party for Franklin D.
Roosevelt.
Lunch (p. 117)
The government
sent canned meat,
rice,
potatoes.
…
The little ones drank themselves into white
mustaches
Family School (p. 121)
We share it with our guests,
the family of migrants who have moved out from the dust
and Depression
and moved into our classroom.
The Piano Player (p. 134)
Arley doesn’t understand.
“Just practice more,” he says.6126
“You’ll get it back,”
Dust Storm (p. 142)
Brown earth rained down
from the sky.
I could not catch my breath
the way the dust pressed on my chest
and would not stop.
Fire on the Rails (p. 156)
But the entire Oklahoma Panhandle is so dry,
everything is going up in flames.
Everything too ready to ignite.
Blankets of Black (p. 166)
When we got back,
we found the barn half covered in dunes,
I couldn’t tell which rise of dust was Ma and
Franklin’s grave.
Something Lost, Something Gained (p. 200)
His eyes are ringed by the soil that comes from riding trains.
Sources