As an avid fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s work, I felt I had to read Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser. While it is marketed as a new biography and even won the 2018 Pulitzer Prize and National Book Critics Circle Award for biography, it seems to be so much more. In her work, Caroline Fraser not only takes the time to ground very personal decisions made by Laura and her husband Almanzo into the larger backdrop of American history, she takes it several steps further. She analyzes decisions made by Charles Ingalls, Laura’s father, and Rose Wilder Lane, Laura’s daughter, against their political leanings and larger political climate.
Frankly, if a book looks at least reasonably well-written (not fan-fic) and promises new insight on anything related to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s life and work, I am likely to pick it up. However, that doesn’t mean that I agree with everything or there aren’t inherent biases in such work. As much as I enjoyed Prairie Fires, there is one overarching issue I believe is being overlooked.
Before I get into the issue, which, as with all things controversial relating to Laura Ingalls Wilder and her work, involves her daughter Rose Wilder Lane, some background is needed. First, I read this book this past spring. I enjoyed it, and it just fermented for a while. I couldn’t quite figure out what bothered me about the presentation of politics throughout the book, until I happened to witness another conversation about the book.
A month or two after I read the book, I happened to be having lunch with some friends from Mid-Michigan Writers when two other women came to have a conversation with my friends. One woman began gushing over Prairie Fires and stated that she would love to have a political conversation around the book. While I do not know this woman well, her politics proceeded her due to several mutual acquaintances. I didn’t join in the conversation other than to say that I loved the book; however, it finally came to me why I felt something was off.
For those who don’t know, Laura’s daughter Rose Wilder Lane is one of the founding members of the modern Libertarian party and all that that entails. In fact, Rose deserves her own blog post or even series of blog posts. There is that much material. Early in the 20th century, Rose was the famous Wilder. The political legacy she left is messy and quite complex. While my own personal politics lean more towards that of Laura and Almanzo (center-right), particularly when considering fiscal matters, than Rose, I don’t feel that the Caroline Fraser understood any of the politics completely. Caroline Fraser seemed to analyze the political tendencies of the Ingalls and Wilder families through a modern liberal lens.
The most glaring example of this bias for me comes when Fraser implies that Laura is perhaps a hypocrite for serving on a local farm loan board near her home in Mansfield, Missouri while not supporting the sweeping federal farm loan programs of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Actually, I completely get it. Laura and Almanzo favored local control of government. I do as well. The implication and omission of this distinction stood out to me.
If Fraser didn’t understand the politics of Laura and Almanzo, she didn’t know what to make of Rose Wilder Lane. In all fairness, I don’t if anyone will ever completely understand her life. In her life, Lane goes from supporting elements of communism and fascism to standing up for the founding principles of the United States of America. She did all of this, of course, while helping her mother complete her famous series of children’s books.
Perhaps we will never know where Rose’s influence began and ended when it comes to the Little House books. It is an enduring debate surrounding the series. Fraser comes right out and describes the mother and daughter writing relationship as “incestuous.” I came to a stop for a minute at that description, silently accusing Fraser of sensationalism. Then I thought about it. As I stated earlier, there is no way to know precisely what role Rose played in the series. While I do not believe that Rose largely wrote the books, I do believe that the books would not exist in their current form without her influence.
Ultimately, I enjoyed the book. Political bias aside, Caroline Fraser extensively researched her material. Prior to reading Prairie Fires, I found Rose Wilder Lane to be a fascinating character. After reading the book, I left even more intrigued. As a fiscal conservative with libertarian tendencies, I can relate to some of Lane’s political ideas. I love the fact that she promoted individualism, personal liberty, and self-determination. Those ideas still hold value and are needed today more than ever in the face of increasing collectivism. Can individualism and self-determination be taken too far? Absolutely, and so can collectivism. We need a balance.
By the way, I find talk surrounding the book to be politically divisive. You can read a Slate review here (the reviewer really doesn’t get the politics). In the book, Lane’s political activism is compared with the other two “mothers” of the libertarian movement: Ayn Rand and Isabel Paterson. You can read more about them here. If you are interested in Laura Ingalls Wilder, American history, or politics at all, Prairie Fires is a must-read.
I recently read Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis per my sister’s recommendation. Actually, it all started with the meme above. I then found out that my sister loved the book. Of course, it immediately moved to the top of my to be read pile. I love the fact that I belong to a family that shares and recommends books!
Here are a few gems from the book and my thoughts. There are many more I could share here, but I will leave you to discover them yourself. I highly recommend the Kindle version of the book as it allows the reader to highlight important passages without defacing a physical book.
Sometimes choosing to walk away, even if it means breaking your own heart, can be the greatest act of self-love you have access to. – Page 53.
This just seems to sum up the process I put myself through this summer. The sad part is that I should have definitively learned this lesson years ago. I wish everyone, women and men, knew this before heading off to college – or shortly thereafter. It ultimately would have saved me so much time and heartache.
I knew I was letting my fear control me, that the worry about giving my heart away again only to have it stomped on kept me from taking a next step. In the midst of such heartache, it’s hard not to worry. I cried so many tears, thinking, Lord, why would you put this desire on my heart if it wasn’t ever going to come true? And, God, if we try again, you’re not actually sending my heart out to be slaughtered, right? – Page 108.
Oh, have I been there! More than once. There are times when I still wonder how I will ever be able to trust again. It is not easy to pick ourselves up and try again. Yet, we must.
I want you to see someone who kept showing up again and again, even when it was tearing her apart. I want you to see someone who kept walking in faith because she understood that God’s plan for her life was magnificent – even if it was never easy. And even if it wasn’t easy, she was bold and courageous and honest even when the truth was hard to share. – Page 173
I admit, lately I have struggled to have faith that God does indeed have a plan for my life. I am currently slogging through it all to figure out exactly what that plan is. If I am meant to have a family of my own, why haven’t I been able to make it work yet? Why is that the big unnegotiable of my life if, indeed, it is impossible? I ask myself questions similar to this all the time. Ultimately, it is not my timing, but God’s. It will eventually work out. Until then, I just need to be patient and keep working. It will never be easy.
As you can see, I loved the book. It is a great example of a book that came into my life at the exact time I needed to read it. I happened to read it just as I was struggling with these questions. While I would recommend the book to every young woman I know, it doesn’t mean I think the book is perfect.
If fact, in one sense, the book left me feeling unsettled. It is a feeling I get whenever I get too involved in anything related to religion. What no one seems to address in organized religion – and Rachel seems to unintentionally fall into this – is that not all women will end up married and become mothers. Singles in the church, particularly those no longer in their twenties, seem to get left behind. Whether explicit or implicit, the focus always seems to be on marriage and family.
While I think Rachel was right to spend much of her book focused on marriage and motherhood – after all, this book shares her life experiences – she doesn’t address what happens if you do end up alone. She doesn’t even seem to acknowledge the possibility even though she goes out of the way to address situations not her own. This may not be true, but it appears she assumes everyone will end up married and a mother. A simple acknowledgement would have served the book well. Then again, maybe I am reading way too much into this and too sensitive. It doesn’t matter. The book itself is great, and I highly recommend it.
By the way, I love how she addresses adoption in this book. I am so glad I read this book before I started the adoption process. Her family’s story related to foster care and adoption is not an easy one, but it does have a wonderful outcome. In the end, that is all that matters.
Ah, fall. Mine is off to a great start. I am eager to get writing once again. Lately I’ve given a lot of thought to what I would like to share here and where I would like to take my blog. I’ve come to a few conclusions.
I would love to once again cultivate a blogging community and share some of my favorite finds here. The issue becomes my favorite blogs seem to become inactive or disappear altogether. It has happened more than once. We will see. I’m not exactly sure where I am going to take this.
I will continue to write about my reading life and books I love and hate. Actually, I can’t think of a book that I hate, but that is beside the point. I have several books I need to review at the moment, so look for those book reviews soon.
My favorite writings involve music, and sadly, I haven’t written about music in years. I may just have to bring it back. The easiest money I ever made happened to be from writing articles about my favorite songs (and the memories I attached to them) for a now-defunct online magazine called JamsBio. I need to revisit this concept. I am a firm believer in learning about others through playlists and book lists.
As the last few days have brought with them the first signs of the fall to come, I can’t say that I am sorry. I am eager for this summer to be over. I can practically hear my grandmother yelling at me from the grave not to wish my life away, but I can’t help it. Nothing about this summer – or this year – has been easy. Somewhere along the way, I mistakenly believed that I would have some of the major pieces of my life in place by my mid-thirties. I don’t. I am still trying to find my place in the world.
If anything good did come out of this summer, it is the fact that I finally got a resolution to something I let go unresolved for way too long. In the process of finally telling this man how I’ve felt about him (for years), I realized why it never worked with any of the men in my life. None – and I mean none – have been the right one. I finally came to the realization that I somehow managed to reach this age without ever having truly experienced true love. It is the awful, unvarnished truth – and it doesn’t erase the ten years I wasted in a doomed, loveless relationship.
As rough as most of this summer has been (most of which I haven’t even addressed here), the last few weeks included some fun. Two of the highlights involve a good friend. She moved downstate this winter, and we haven’t really had a chance to catch up since. We finally met up for dinner and caught up on months’ worth of news. As this friend experienced infertility as well, the topic naturally came up during a discussion about my decision to become a foster parent. The resulting conversation made me realize all over again that having a child in your arms doesn’t make infertility issues go away. In fact, the entire thing is worth its own blogpost.
Then there is the river. Everything seems to be put in perspective when you are on the river tubing, at least for a while. This same friend and I spent an afternoon/early evening tubing and continuing our catching up from the previous week. For one of the first times all summer, I felt that things will work out eventually.
Now for the picture … This picture brought back so many wonderful childhood memories that I had to share. It is simply my niece and nephew playing at the landing by the river. I spent hours at that exact location as a child making moats, pretending that river was an ocean, letting the minnows nibble my toes. The week my brother and his family spent camping at the campground brought back so many long-forgotten childhood memories. I can’t wait to create similar memories with my own family.
I’ve struggled for nearly two months to write this post. It is time. Back in mid-June, I spent the afternoon in East Lansing with my friend Lauri. While it was not our only intent, we sought the memorial brick my cousin Lugene’s family placed on campus in her memory. If it weren’t for Lugene, Lauri and I probably would have never met. Spending time with Lauri searching for Lugene’s memorial brick seemed fitting. After all, as dedicated genealogists, Lauri and Lugene spent countless days researching in Michigan cemeteries. Here we were searching for Lugene.
When we did finally locate her memorial brick, it completely caught me off-guard. It is located near the gardens where I found myself on a first date with a guy I dated briefly while at MSU – a very fun first date. I had completely forgotten. While MSU is far too big for me to legitimately say that I have a memory in every part of campus, I certainly have my share. They all seemed to come flooding back to the point where I couldn’t keep up.
What it comes down to is this: I need to visit my alma mater more often. I avoided MSU after my friend Derrick died back in 2009, and Lugene’s death made it even worse. Lugene took pride in her MSU alum status, and it was a part of her personality. As much fun as I had visiting, I also felt out of sorts. I hope one day I will be able to visit without feeling such a sense of loss.
I’ve finally concluded that it isn’t just the loss of Derrick and Lugene that I was feeling that day. I also mourned the loss of the college girl I once was. While I wouldn’t quite say that I was fearless as a freshman, I came close. I thought nothing of pursuing whatever my heart desired while at MSU. What happened? Maybe I can find her once again.
The links above lead to posts I wrote concerning Derrick.
It was unbearable. The whole thing. Every second worse than the last. I just kept thinking about calling him, wondering what would happen, if anyone would answer. In the last weeks, we’d been reduced to spending our time together in recollection, but that was not nothing. The pleasure of remembering had been taken away from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we’d done were less real and important than they had been hours before.
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (Photo credit: theunquietlibrary)
Dear D.,
I’ve been meaning to write you all this past week for the obvious reason: August 15 would’ve been your 31st birthday. It pisses me off I can’t directly tease you about becoming a dirty old man despite the fact I am older than you. I still feel cheated out of years of memories of us. I suppose I had such a clear vision of us still arguing over memories in our 70s and 80s, just like your Great Aunts E. and G. and my Grandma, I still can’t quite believe it just wasn’t meant to be.
The passage above describes well what I feel nearly three years after you passed away. I’m afraid those quirky memories we made in childhood, high school, and then college will die if I happen to forget. I just don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to forget. I’m glad I read The Fault In Our Stars by John Green before I tried to write anything. Now this letter has a purpose.
That is what is so aggravating. Every time I think of you, what I want to say to you, or memories of us, it just seems to go nowhere. Without you here, who is left to really care, besides me? No one. Once I come to that conclusion for the hundredth time, I realize how futile writing a letter to you is. And yet, I can’t help it. I have to do something. There were way too many things left unsaid.
By the way, don’t get the impression that I’m the only one who remembers you. I can only imagine the hole left in your family. Just the other day I came across a post Carla posted on your Facebook wall. I know she misses you just as much as I do, as does Jelly. Some time ago I saw Jelly when I ordered something at Tony’s, and we just didn’t even know what to say to each other. It was the first time I saw her since you passed away. We talked about anything and everything else, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t first and foremost on our minds.
So here it goes. Here are a few memories of us:
High School –
Freshman Year. You ended up getting hours of detention for picking on me in Freshman English. It became so bad Miss V. quipped that you and I would probably end up married someday, we were that practiced at nagging each other. Every time I think of Friends, Romeo and Juliet, or Great Expectations, I think of Freshman English and you. I can almost feel you tapping me on the shoulder and hear you make some smartass remark about people trying to look like Courtney Cox. By the way, I know you knew you had it all wrong. The haircut was called the Rachel for a reason. You just liked to play dumb to get attention. I still find it amusing that you ended up with detention and I didn’t.
Prom. I will never forget you on Prom Night, senior year. You ended up taking my cousin K. (Rusty) as your date, and she became Prom Queen. I’d never seen you so incredibly happy. You had to tell everyone that you were the date of the Prom Queen and were genuinely happy for her. I know it is stupid, and I never admitted this, but until I saw you that happy, I was envious of K. If you’d asked me to the prom, I doubt I would’ve said yes. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t imagine it. It could’ve made up for years of us being ostracized by our class. We could’ve spent all night making snide remarks, joking around, and just proving everyone wrong. In the end, I don’t think either one of us had the guts.
Kayaking and Guy. I’ll never forget your Aunt L. and Guy visiting from Texas one summer. Somehow I was pressured into taking Guy kayaking. I don’t think I ever paddled so fast in my entire life. The entire trip was strange. I just felt like I had to show him up, he was that cocky. You were very right about him. I can understand why you two weren’t exactly friends. I’m trying in vain to remember whether or not you went with us. Maybe you just came to the Livery and didn’t go kayaking? It doesn’t matter. We did talk about Guy and came to the conclusion that he was a little too wrapped up in Friday Night Lights.
State. I distinctly remember the day we received our housing assignments for our first year at Michigan State. My jaw dropped when I realized not only were we going to attend the same university, we were assigned to the same dorm complex, Snyder-Phillips. Quite frankly, I wasn’t happy. I just wanted to start fresh as MSU, and there you would be, a reminder of school years I would rather forget. In the end, I’m so grateful for that simple twist of fate. Quite simply, college would not have been the same without you.
A National Championship and the Flintstones. I love the fact that we somehow found each other among throngs of people in Cedar Village after MSU won the 2000 National Championship. I think about that April night a lot. How could I not? That picture of us outside Cedar Village – you smoking a cigar and your arm around me, me smiling like my life depended on it – is among my favorites.
2nd Floor, Snyder Hall. You used to love hanging out on my floor in Snyder Hall. I’ll never forget the crazy 3 AM political conversations we had, Kim included. I just can’t wait until we have the first female President of the United States. I’ll smile, think about how you just lost a bet, and carry on, thinking about how very wrong you were the entire time. Sexism doesn’t pay.
Where were you? I’ll never forget getting a call from your Mom freshman year at State. She couldn’t get a hold of you and simply wanted to know if I knew where you were. I didn’t at that moment, and the entire thing broke my heart. I wish I could’ve helped her – and you.
Capstone. We’d lost track of each other during those years I studied abroad. Nevertheless, you found your way back into my life. You just wanted me to look over your résumé and rekindle our friendship. It worked. You once again became a fixture in my life.
Crunchy’s and a Broken Heart. D, I have no idea what your true feelings for me were, but you must have truly cared for me on some level, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not. During the spring of 2004, as my life was endlessly shifting under me before I could even regain my footing, you somehow knew how heartbroken hearted I was. You knew that I simply needed a night out with an old friend who understood just how upset I was. I wanted that job in Austin desperately, not to mention the mess that was my personal life at that point. Many things happened that evening, of course , and even the next day. I’m not going to talk about them here, but I need to say this: Thank you! You knew just what I needed, even if I didn’t.
Brian. That same spring, 2004, I began my relationship with an old friend, Brian. Your teasing still makes me laugh. Some of it was so spot on, especially those jokes about how I could never have any fun while living in Arenac County. You basically stated that any night of debauchery in Arenac County would become common knowledge before I even made my way home. So very true. I got the sense that you were happy that I finally had a man in my life, my first true romantic relationship. Those were some wonderful days for Brian and I, and I think you could sense just how happy I was at that moment. If only I could live in those moments forever.
Aftermath.
A phone call or two. It still upsets me that we weren’t closer in those first few years after I graduated from Michigan State. I thought we would have time. Unfortunately that is what we didn’t have. There were several times I wanted to call you up and just lay everything on the line. I wanted to know what your feelings for me were. That was one thing I could never figure out. I wanted to know why you had so many issues with your Mom and brother, especially your Mom. I wanted to know what was really going on with you. Unfortunately we never had those conversations. I didn’t realize just how wrong things were until you were gone. It was too late.
Great Auntie G.’s Funeral. Of all my memories of you, your Great Aunt G.’s funeral stands out. It was the last time I ever saw you. It started immediately. We just gravitated toward one another. I suppose that’s no surprise as we were the only people under 50 in the room. Then, of course, my Grandma asked us to go get her a package of hearing aid batteries. We may have been at a funeral, but it sure didn’t take us long to start laughing our butts off once we were out the door. You either laugh or cry, right? You have to admit: It was the perfect excuse for us to catch up. After picking up the hearing aid batteries, you and I just drove around and reminisced. We covered a lot of ground from Standish to Omer. I’m so glad we had that opportunity. In a way, it was almost as if you were saying goodbye. The last time I saw you, you and your Dad were leaving the funeral home and walking toward the Granton. It angered me at the time, but I suppose everyone deals with death in their own way. I just never figured out how to deal with yours.
You have no way of knowing this, of course, but I never made it to your funeral. I ended up having to work. I suppose it is just as well as I would’ve been an absolute wreck. A few weeks after your funeral, I tried to find your grave. There were things left unsaid (most of which I am writing here today) and I wanted to get it all off my chest. There is so much in our hometown and in East Lansing that will always remind me of you.
And yet, there is one thing that still bugs me. What was our relationship? Whatever it was between us was much deeper than simple friendship, and yet we never had a romantic relationship, not even close. The closest thing I can come up with is that we were family without actually being related. We knew how to get on each other’s nerves, we knew how to make each other laugh and cry, and above all, I think we both cared. Was it really as simple as that? I like to think so. I love you and miss you.
Linds
PS – Oh, and one last thing. Your Mom. I never told you this, but your Mom happened to be my Grandpa’s favorite nurse. I know that you didn’t have a good relationship with her and it never was any of my business, but I am grateful to her. She took great care of my Grandpa when he was dying. I wish I could simply tell her thank you. I wish I could talk to her about you.
Sometimes writing is so timeless that it needs to be shared again. Recent events have brought back a flood of memories, and I thought that I would share some of my favorite old blog posts. You can find the original here.
Dear D. –
After all these years I still miss you horribly. I just got a new cell phone the other day, and I realized I couldn’t bring myself to delete your number, your e-mail, nothing. It will always be there. There are so many times I’ve wanted to just pick up the phone to talk to you for a minute or two. Like my little brother, you could always manage to put a smile on my face. You’d laugh your butt off at the hot mess I’ve gotten myself into, as usual. And yes, Diet Coke still runs through my veins.
I will never forget you and always love you.
Linds.
PS – I haven’t been able to bring myself to go to East Lansing over the last few years. So many memories! You were always there when I needed you most.
Due to a variety of circumstances over the last few weeks, this subject continues to be in my thoughts. It is so disturbing to me how it is permissible in our society to treat others so differently based on something so arbitrary as height and weight. Why is this acceptable? I am so sick and tired of people not realizing that there are many complicated factors that play into eating disorders such as anorexia, bulimia, and obesity. There isn’t a quick fix. Food can be an addiction just as powerful as drugs, sex, alcohol, or gambling. Bullying just makes things infinitely worse.
I’ve discussed it before, but I was relentlessly bullied about my weight and height early in elementary school – grades K-3 – particularly in gym class and at recess. At age 5, classmates commented daily on how short, fat, and ugly I was. The funny thing is that while I may have been a stocky child, I was not fat at the time. At some point, I started to believe them. How was I ever supposed to feel good about my body?
Later in elementary school, I learned that I would never have children naturally. I refuse to say children of my own. When I do adopt, my child (or children) will most certainly be mine. At age 10, it devastated me. To make matters worse, one boy in my class found out about my diagnosis of Turner Syndrome and what it meant. He proceeded to call me a deeply disturbing name as a result, making it clear to me that he knew what I perceived at the time to be private.
It changed me. I vividly remember balling as soon as I came home, refusing for a time to even tell my parents what had happened it upset me so badly. Today, looking back at what he called me, it is almost funny – at least from an adult perspective. After that incident, I owned the fact that I had Turner Syndrome. While I didn’t go around telling everyone, I did explain when asked what it meant. I didn’t hide from it anymore, even though I had only recently learned of the diagnosis myself. Unfortunately, it reinforced the shame I felt towards my body.
As an adult, I find it difficult to deal with my body image issues while dealing with the emotions that come with infertility as well. I can’t deny it: I don’t know when I will ever be at peace with my body when, in my mind, it has fundamentally failed me in what should be a basic function. Somehow, I will have to come to terms with it. I just don’t know how.
In the meantime, I am done. I am done trying to please anyone other than myself. I continue to refuse to play the games society demands of women young and old. There are way too many young girls today who feel as if they are not enough, that their worth is determined by their weight (and/or height). That is why I am sharing something so deeply personal. I want anyone struggling with body image to know that he or she is not alone. Weight and diet are not as simple as we make them out to be.
It breaks my heart to see my Facebook feed full of beautiful women struggling with body image and eating disorders and mothers at a loss on how to help their child rebuild self-esteem through bullying. I see it daily. Frankly, this topic scares me the most about parenthood.
It is no secret that I am a stubborn person. For those that know my family, I clearly inherited that trait from my dad. Frankly, I am proud of that fact – and it goes deeper into my family history. My paternal grandmother, Grandma Reid, was every bit as stubborn as her son. I have no idea if my dad’s father was stubborn or not – sadly, he passed away long before I could meet him – but I am certain Dad inherited at least some of his stubborn nature from his mother.
After my senior year of high school, I spent the summer working with Dad and Grandma at the canoe livery, just as I had all throughout high school. That summer, however, continues to stand out. I normally didn’t argue or disagree with Dad. I had learned to trust his judgement and accepted that he had reasons for the way he did things over the years. That summer, I bristled. I no longer wanted Dad to tell me what to do, even if he was my boss. I couldn’t get to Michigan State fast enough. To complicate matters, Grandma wouldn’t budge, set in her ways over the decades. She didn’t always agree with me or Dad. In fact, Dad and I had to make her get out of the office and enjoy herself. That is how much she loved to work.
By August, things came to a head. The three of us were not listening to one another, and we all thought we were right. All these years later, I couldn’t even tell you what our disagreements were about. Really, all that mattered is we loved one another, even if we were getting on each other’s last nerve. Of course, things vastly improved once summer came to an end and I set off for new adventures at MSU.
While I consider myself close to Mom and her family, our stubborn natures somehow brought Dad, Grandma, and I together. For me, it goes beyond stubbornness. It is a drive to succeed. It is a drive to lead a full life no matter what is thrown our way. It is survival.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 