Narrated by: Francis Jane Melody. Nineteen-Eighteen (1918) was a good year. It was the year my little sister, Marty Marie Melody, was born, the third daughter to Frank and Esther Melody, my Georgia farm family. Back then, farm girls had to pull more than our weight, but we Melody girls were as tough as we were pretty. From sunrise to sunset, and often under the moonlight itself, we would sing our hearts out while working. I can still see us now, out there in that field under the full Georgia moon. Ours was a good life; we worked hard, ate well, and attended the little white church two times a week. It wasn’t long before we were singing more than the preacher was preaching. People would come from miles around to hear our soulful songs of the south. Annie, who was always flipping her hair, could really belt out the notes, and Marty and I could harmonize like a couple of Blue Jays on a cool summer’s night. Yeah, life was good. That is, until 1929. I was 14 years old, Annie 16, and Marty 12. It was the beginning to the end it seemed, or maybe just the beginning, but one thing for sure; our lives would never be the same!