Today I would like to reminisce about my childhood
experiences that made me feel such a strong kinship with Laura Ingalls Wilder.
First of all, when I was four years old, my family moved
from Massachusetts to Illinois. I distinctly remember my parents telling me
we were going “west where the cowboys and Indians live”. This made me feel like
a pioneer—minus the covered wagon, of course. I think we went west to the
prairie in a maroon Nash, instead.
Secondly, about the time I was reading the Little House
books, my parents and a group of their friends bought an actual “Little House
in the Big Woods”. This was a real log cabin built in the 1840s by early
settlers, the Root family. It was five or six miles from our home so we kids could ride out to it by
ourselves on our bikes. (Those were the days of “free-range children” and we
really ranged free.)
This log cabin was surrounded by forest and perched on top of an extremely
steep hill that led down to a creek that was very like Plum Creek—mud, leeches
and all. I seem to remember that we kids used to cover ourselves in mud and
play “Monster from the Black Lagoon”. We also attempted to make “pots” out of
the mud like the Indians did. Here are my sister, Carolyn (left) and me (right) playing
in the creek in the best “Mary and Laura” tradition. Only without the
sunbonnets.
Inside
the cabin was a large stone fireplace.
For cooking there was an old-fashioned wood stove. I think it was quite a challenge for my
mother (shown here). I remember that once
we went to the cabin for Thanksgiving and Mom roasted the turkey in this oven. Of course, for us kids, this antique cookstove was as exotic
as anything in the Little House books.
One of the things I liked the best about reading Laura’s
books were the descriptions of interesting things to eat. I tried to replicate these every chance I
got. Whenever it would snow, I would
boil maple syrup (probably Aunt Jemima’s poor imitation of the real stuff) and
pour it on snow. One time, I spotted buttermilk for sale in the grocery store.
After Laura’s description of how delicious buttermilk was, I asked Mom to buy some
for me. It was one of the great disappointments in my young life. Disgusting. Of
course, I also made butter out of cream – I don’t know why I never tried
drinking what was left after the cream turned to butter, which I presume was
technically “buttermilk”. After trying
that stuff from the store, however, I wasn’t quite as adventurous in my antique
culinary endeavors.
Finally, when I reached 8th grade, my teacher was
Mrs. Maybelle Hettrick, who had homesteaded as a child in Oklahoma. She was a
Pioneer Girl just like Laura! Her father worked in town like Pa, while Maybelle and her
mother and siblings lived on the claim. She told us many stories of her
childhood, such as the time she met Geronimo, who had been captured and jailed
in her town. He put his hand through the bars of his cell and patted Maybelle
on her head. He said his daughter had
worn her hair like Maybelle did – in pigtails. Maybelle said that they were always much more frightened of the
cowboys than of the Indians. As I recall (although I could be wrong) her mother
usually had a gun concealed in her skirts to scare off the cowboys when they
rode in the wagon to see her father in town. She also told about the time she,
her mother, her infant brother or sister, and a freshly baked apple pie were making
the trip into town. They had to drive across a usually shallow river to get
there. There had been more rain than
usual and the current was much stronger. The wagon tipped over. Luckily some men were nearby (I think they
might have been surveyors or a crew working on the railroad). Anyway, they were just around the bend and
came to the rescue. Maybelle said they
fished the baby out of the stream. The pie, however, went un-rescued. Maybelle said she was grief stricken watching
that delicious pie float away out of sight.
So between our own Westward Migration, our own “Little House
in the Big Woods”, my "Plum Creek" experiences, my antique food experiments, and a real “Pioneer Girl” for a
teacher, I grew up feeling very close to Laura Ingalls Wilder indeed.