I do not remember how I explained my presence or my camera to her, but I do remember she asked me no questions. . . . I did not ask her name or history. She told me her age, that she was thirty-two. She said that they had been living on frozen vegetables from the surrounding fields, and birds that the children had killed. She had just sold the tires from her car to buy food. There she sat in that lean-to tent with her children huddled around her, and seemed to know that my pictures might help her, and so she helped me.
—Years of Dust,
Albert Marrin
