Dorothea Lang ,Photographer?

She took a photo in the 1930s of a woman and two children the woman was called Florence Owen , what a beutiful woman she was dispite being in the middle of the great depression, anybody know anything about her and what happened to her and the children

The photo was called Migrant mother

Florence, born in Oklahoma and of Cherokee Indian descent, married farmer Cleo Owens on St. Valentine's Day in 1921.[1] In 1922, Florence and Cleo Owens moved to Shafter, California. In 1924, they moved to Porterville, some 50 miles (80 km) north of Shafter, where Cleo and his brothers had found work at a sawmill. But the mill burned down in 1927, so they moved 125 miles (200 km) further north to Merced Falls. There was no "Falls", but there was a sawmill, a strong river to carry logs down from the hills, and a small town. Merced Falls sat on the eastern side of the California Central Valley in the foothills and consisted of five or six streets, one store and one school. In September 1929, Florence gave birth to the fifth of her seven children, a girl named Ruby. In the same year, the Wall Street stock market crashed.

Cleo lost his job at the sawmill in 1931, and the family moved to Oroville in northern California, where Cleo joined his brothers and sisters working in the fields picking peaches. Cleo died from a high fever at the age of 32 soon after moving, and was buried in Oroville. At the time of Cleo's death Florence was expecting a child. During the next two years, Florence stayed around Oroville while her husband's family followed the crops around the state, returning to winter at Oroville.

In 1933, Florence discovered that she was expecting another child. Afraid that the father's influential family would take the child if she returned to her mother's home, Florence bolted with her children back to the Akman farm in Oklahoma.

Florence moved back to Merced Falls in 1934, leaving the infant, Charlie, to be raised by his grandparents. As families started leaving the town, Florence moved with her children from one town to another, from one camp to the next. Florence remembered that "when Steinbeck wrote in The Grapes of Wrath about those people living under the bridge at Bakersfield鈥攁t one time we lived under that bridge. It was the same story. Didn't even have a tent then, just a ratty old quilt.