prairie wishes

I remember a big sunny room and a lentil colored couch.  I was curled up on one side of my mom and my brother, Matty was snuggled in on the other.  We spent hours like this,  a lot of them reading the blue Bible story books and the yellow Little House On The Prairie series. Those two genres flavored my whole childhood.  


The strong images of family life on the prairie stuck with me.  I wanted to travel by covered wagon, and churn butter, have beaus and wear poplin.  I became convinced that I was born in the wrong era and longed for the romance of pioneer days.  I so wanted to be Laura in that cutter flying through the snow.  Or Laura in the buggy with Almanzo riding through wild prairie roses.  I dreamed of this life.


I didn't realize that these yellow books did this to a whole generation of little girls until I read Wendy McClure's book The Wilder Life

"The Wilder Life is a loving, irreverent, spirited tribute to a series of books that have inspired generations of American women. It is also an incredibly funny first-person account of obsessive reading, and a story about what happens when we reconnect with our childhood touchstones-and find that our old love has only deepened.  McClure writes about the fantastic realm of fiction, history, and places she's never been to, yet somehow knows by heart."

McClure talks about how she grew up longing to -

"Make candy by pouring syrup in the snow.

Sew a seam with tiny and perfectly straight stitches. 

Have a man’s hands span my corseted waist, which at the time didn’t seem creepy at all.

Twist hay into sticks.

Eat Royal's pancakes.

Ride on the back of a pony just by hanging on to its mane.    
Feel the Chinook wind. 
I say I wanted to do all these things, though that may not have been what I truly desired."

I couldn't stop laughing while I read this, as they were all things I had wanted too, even if I didn't even know what most of them meant.

It took years before I  began to appreciate some of the modern conveniences my life offers.  The Laura books never mention the Ingalls having to go to the bathroom.  But I am completely sure that I would never trade my heated bathroom with clean white porcelain, deep bathtub and scented candles for an outhouse on the prairie.  I think about Ma Ingalls' scrubboarded hands when I am doing four washes a day, throwing my boy's clothes in the washer and then the dryer.   I think about her when I wander through my fully stocked grocery store, and when I eat fresh Florida oranges in January.  

Yesterday I was buzzing around in my blue Subaru.  I had met interesting people at work, bought Indian take-out for dinner, and ran into Barnes and Noble to pick up a new book.  It was a cold day so I wrapped my new green angora scarf around my neck and slowly sipped my Starbucks skinny mocha latte.  And suddenly I wondered if Laura Ingalls would think of my life as romantic.  Maybe from her bumpy wagon seat, my little white Mac laptop, my pink cell phone, my full closet and loaded bookshelves might seem very glamorous.  I realized again what freedom, independence, variety and options my life holds.

I like this Frederick Keonig quote.  "We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have."

I'd still like that buggy ride through the wild June roses.  But in the meantime, I will enjoy peeking at my life through Laura's eyes.  And feel very grateful.