Happy to be proven wrong

I'll be honest--when I bought this book I did not expect much from it other than the fun of diving back into the world of the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder that I’d loved so much as a kid. The idea of rediscovering a familiar story by seeing it from the mother’s perspective instead of the child’s was intriguing, but as for whether or not the book would deliver, I wasn’t so sure.

My previous experience with historical fiction has been a familiar pattern of romance and disillusionment. At first I get swept away by the thrill of experiencing another time period in history and all the fascinating little details that go along with it…but inevitably, the novelty wears off and I find myself frustrated by the mediocrity of the writing.

Enter Caroline. This unexpected gem, which I found this summer at the Laura Ingalls Wilder museum in Pepin, WI, amidst all the refrigerator magnets, overpriced doll clothes, and various “country store” trinkets in the gift shop, has defied all my expectations. It gave me history, personality, and poetry all bound together in a masterful way, and when I reached the last page and had to say goodbye to the Ingalls family I felt truly sad. It seemed I’d only just gotten to know them… and that’s saying a lot.

In the summer of 2016, I had read Pioneer Girl—the newly published version of Wilder’s original memoir, which she wrote for adult readers before her editor convinced her to repackage it for children. Supplemented with photographs, maps and many, many footnotes, it’s a large, heavy book but is absolutely worth a read if you’re interested in history, the writing process, the Little House series, or in my case, all three.

Soon afterwards, I began reading the series with our kids as bedtime read-alouds, and that summer we took what we all recall fondly as our “prairie road trip vacation," the highlight of which was the Ingalls homestead near De Smet, South Dakota where we stayed overnight in a covered wagon (which was much roomier than the 1870 version would have been).

Caroline includes all the familiar stories from the series’ third book, Little House on the Prairie — the family fording a high creek with their wagon and horses and barely making it across, the surprise visits from the Indians when Ma and the girls were alone, the malaria that everyone thought was caused by watermelons rather than by the mosquito-infested creek.

But each one of these stories came alive for me in a new way because I could imagine myself in Caroline Ingalls’ shoes. A woman on a long, challenging road trip with her husband and young children. Struggling to stay positive about the unwanted move, for his sake. Anxious about the health of the unborn child she’s carrying. There are so many things she would have felt that her young daughter could not have known about. I get it, I kept wanting to say, as if I were sitting down over a cup of homemade ginger water with Caroline in the log cabin, swapping stories and laughing.

For example, in the Little House books, Laura describes Ma’s cooking, often in great detail, but being a child she wouldn't have understood how much creativity and hard work was involved, or how many disappointing meals lay behind every memorably good one.

Imagine trying to put together homemade meals for your family while traveling, not just for a couple of nights but for several months. The kitchenware and pantry ingredients you had room for in the wagon are very limited, and your learning curve stays steep because each night’s campfire is a different “stove.” The heat may be too low or too uneven to fully cook the beans for that night’s soup, or the cornbread may turn out burnt on the bottom.

In those days, everyone would have eaten what was on their plate no matter what; there was no “we’ll just get takeout”, or “let’s see what we have in the freezer.” Starvation was a real possibility, and refusing to eat what was served would have been not only impolite but terribly foolish.

But some things are still the same, whether you’re wearing hoop skirts or skinny jeans. What if Ma was a person who, up to this point, was often praised for her good cooking and prided herself on it? How frustrating and humbling those months of travel meals would have been for her.

This is just one example of the little dashes of personality and backstory Miller so skillfully adds in to make Caroline Ingalls seem less like a museum piece and more like a real, flesh and blood woman. One who might savor the memory of two crisp dollar bills being placed in her hand at the end of her first week as a schoolteacher, or the dark green delaine skirt she was wearing when she met Charles Ingalls at a cornhusking dance, how it swirled around her while his hands held a steady grip around her slim waist.

Here’s one passage in particular that impressed me. I never would have thought about the change in what they used to fill their mattresses after arriving in Kansas, how the softness or the smell of the prairie grass would have been so different. But I can relate to that delight of having a new thing in one’s home, a simple change that feels transformative, and I love how Miller incorporates some of that nineteenth-century attitude of restraint that would have been in the back of Caroline's mind all the time, limiting how much she allowed herself to feel or to express. Yet where Laura only saw what Ma wanted her to see--a well-mannered woman, quiet, capable and strong--this book allows the reader to see all the thoughts and feelings that might have been hidden within.

“Then came the night after Charles finished the bedstead, when she could not think of one thing more comforting than the feel of that bed against her back… The prairie grass beneath her was finer than straw, with a warm, golden-green smell somewhere between hot bread and fresh herbs and it enveloped her like broth welcoming a soup bone. Her hips and shoulder blades, which always seemed to sink straight to the floor, floated above the rope Charles had strung between the framing slabs. She shifted deeper, and the rope sighed and the grass whispered. ‘I declare, I’m so comfortable it’s almost sinful!’ she said and closed her eyes, the better to savor every inch of the sheets cradling her body.” (p.217)

I always love being surprised by how good people can be, and the same goes for books. This one has definitely earned its spot on the living room shelf, and maybe even a re-read someday.