June 6, 1922
My dearest homefolks:
We start on our vacation to Bulape day after tomorrow, so I want to get off a letter to you now so I can be sure of one. If we get to having too good a time, I may not get to write much. But please don't think I forget you, for I never do that. If you only knew how often I really do think of you and love you.
I have just been sitting on the porch thinking about what a good time we had before I left. It just seems wonderful to be out at home with you and Daddy, Hickman and Nettie and Aunt Hon and John like we were the day and night after we married, but you know I was thinking too much of my new husband to appreciate it then as I do now. It seems like everything just went off so perfectly lovely at the time of my wedding and that whole month we were there afterwards. I often wonder if anybody's mother is or could be as sweet and good to me as mine is. Oh! I just love you and Daddy so much, and sometimes I think you don't think I do, and I don't think I have ever been as expressive of my love as I should or could have been, but I'm learning a few things in this old world. This letter sounds like I'm homesick. Right? Does it not? But I think really I'm just waking up to a few things. I'm very happy out here, and especially just at this time, as we are planning our trip. I am looking forward to it with so much pleasure. It seems like B. M. and I are together very little comparatively here on the station. We were rather sorry at first to spend our vacation with the Hobsons, but if we can only be friends, I'd be willing to give up most anything. I know we are going to have a good time, though.
I certainly was sorry to hear that you have appendicitis. Hope you won't have another attack. Do the Dr.'s say you should have an operation or do they think you will be all right now?
Thursday, June 15, 1922 On lake at Bulape
As well as I can remember without reading it over, this was more of a "love letter" than anything else, but now I'll start on narrating our trip.
We started from Luebo just a week ago this evening and stayed at Kampunge about two hours from Luebo. Georgia came that far with us to spend the night and left the next morning at six o'clock, in time to get back to her school for eight o'clock writing lesson. She certainly seemed to enjoy her trip, and we wished she could have come on with us. B.M. also left at six in order to hunt monkeys in the forest and keep out of the noise of my hammock men. I left at six thirty. It was very cool, but I had on my heavy khaki suit, made a middy for the skirt we got in Brussels and my sweater on top, so I was very comfortable. I had heard how hard a long hammock trip was, and how tired out we got, but I enjoyed every step of the way, only pushed my helmet back too far on my head, so I could rest my head against the back of my hammock and when we got to Ibange at 12:00 had such a hard headache that I had to take some aspirin before I could get comfortable. Still some people say you don't need a helmet in Congo, and even some of the Doctors.
Our stay in Ibange from Friday noon to Monday morning was very pleasant. B. M. hunted guineas some, but didn't kill any, and I read a book by Gene Stratton Porter, "The Song of the Cardinal," and started "Laddie" by the same authoress. B. M. preached on Sunday. You know Ibange used to be one of our stations, but was abandoned on account of its nearness to Bulape and Luebo. There is a very nice mud house there which could be made a very nice place to live in, with only a little work. There are lots of rose bushes which Mrs. Edmiston planted there; you know Mr. and Mrs. Edmiston just as much as made that station by themselves, and they were very much hurt when it was done away with or abandoned. There is a nice church shed there which Mr. Edmiston built and several other houses. The one we stayed in is still good.
Will continue in another letter, as this is getting too long for one envelope. Hope you won't get out with me for not writing regularly, as it's been quite a while since I mailed you a letter. Time just slips by these days, it seems like. I love you just the same and think of you often, even if I don't write.
Lovingly,
Dorothy
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