Why Does laura Love Ponies?

Nice article from the Rapid City Journal
Why does Laura love ponies?” my 3-year-old daughter nonchalantly asked me as she climbed into my lap.

“Laura who?” I thought to myself, "and what ponies?"

“Remember when she rides Trixie?” she pressed. Then it dawned on me; the Laura in question was Laura Ingalls Wilder and the pony, Trixie, was from the last of the “Little House” books.

She’d been in the room many times when I had read aloud from the series, but she usually had a stack of her own books or a few toys with her. I hadn’t realized she’d been listening, but she clearly had heard enough to understand Laura’s passion for horses.

My boys, ages 7 and 5, also had listened to me read the “Little House” books, although almost always amid some other distraction. They’d pour out their Legos on the coffee table and build — and squabble — while I read.

Sometimes, one of them would sidle onto the couch during a particularly exciting description. They liked the moments of high tension best: the night when wolves had encircled the cabin, the harrowing trip Cap Garland and Almanzo Wilder made to find wheat for the starving townspeople and the narrative describing how a tornado had ravaged a neighbor’s homestead.

While the stories held the attention of my younger children, the books have almost become an extension of my 8-year-old daughter. She’s been wearing patterned dresses that she has deemed “calicoes” and has been toting around a tin lunch pail and a slate.

She’s already planning to be Laura for Halloween, asking me to braid and pin up her hair in the meantime.

It’s not surprising that the “Little House” books captivated my children as they did. After all, these books have only grown in popularity since they were published. What did surprise me, though, is how much they captivated me.

I had read the books as a child, and had watched the “Little House” television series for many years after that. But the stories hadn’t affected me then as they did this time around. I imagine I was a lot like my daughter when I first encountered Laura and her family, choosing to see the romance of life in a quaint house on the prairie.

This reading, I couldn’t help but see the story through the lens of motherhood. My heart broke over the crop failures and the general uncertainty of life. I thought about my own daughter, wondering what it must have been like to send a 15-year-old to a schoolhouse 12 miles away, not to be a student, but to serve as a teacher.

For the first time since I became a mother, I thought seriously about what it will be like to have my children leave my home someday.

My family recently drove east, across the South Dakota prairie where the Ingalls and so many other families had built new lives. As I surveyed the expanse, I thought about the kind of strength and courage that it must have taken to move into unknown territory.

I periodically saw the crumbling remains of a house perched on a grassy knob. Did that family pin their hopes on that patch of ground? What made them leave their home and land behind?

As if reading my thoughts, my daughter interjected, “Mom, do you think that house was a claim shanty?” I imagine Laura would have been happy to know her books could encourage such questions. But these books have done more than charmed us — they have done what only the best literature can do: They have changed us.

Very nice article!

awesome.

I, too, saw the books in a different light when I read them as an adult versus when I first read them.

Davetucson wrote:

Nice article from the Rapid City Journal
Why does Laura love ponies?” my 3-year-old daughter nonchalantly asked me as she climbed into my lap.

“Laura who?” I thought to myself, "and what ponies?"

“Remember when she rides Trixie?” she pressed. Then it dawned on me; the Laura in question was Laura Ingalls Wilder and the pony, Trixie, was from the last of the “Little House” books.

She’d been in the room many times when I had read aloud from the series, but she usually had a stack of her own books or a few toys with her. I hadn’t realized she’d been listening, but she clearly had heard enough to understand Laura’s passion for horses.

My boys, ages 7 and 5, also had listened to me read the “Little House” books, although almost always amid some other distraction. They’d pour out their Legos on the coffee table and build — and squabble — while I read.

Sometimes, one of them would sidle onto the couch during a particularly exciting description. They liked the moments of high tension best: the night when wolves had encircled the cabin, the harrowing trip Cap Garland and Almanzo Wilder made to find wheat for the starving townspeople and the narrative describing how a tornado had ravaged a neighbor’s homestead.

While the stories held the attention of my younger children, the books have almost become an extension of my 8-year-old daughter. She’s been wearing patterned dresses that she has deemed “calicoes” and has been toting around a tin lunch pail and a slate.

She’s already planning to be Laura for Halloween, asking me to braid and pin up her hair in the meantime.

It’s not surprising that the “Little House” books captivated my children as they did. After all, these books have only grown in popularity since they were published. What did surprise me, though, is how much they captivated me.

I had read the books as a child, and had watched the “Little House” television series for many years after that. But the stories hadn’t affected me then as they did this time around. I imagine I was a lot like my daughter when I first encountered Laura and her family, choosing to see the romance of life in a quaint house on the prairie.

This reading, I couldn’t help but see the story through the lens of motherhood. My heart broke over the crop failures and the general uncertainty of life. I thought about my own daughter, wondering what it must have been like to send a 15-year-old to a schoolhouse 12 miles away, not to be a student, but to serve as a teacher.

For the first time since I became a mother, I thought seriously about what it will be like to have my children leave my home someday.

My family recently drove east, across the South Dakota prairie where the Ingalls and so many other families had built new lives. As I surveyed the expanse, I thought about the kind of strength and courage that it must have taken to move into unknown territory.

I periodically saw the crumbling remains of a house perched on a grassy knob. Did that family pin their hopes on that patch of ground? What made them leave their home and land behind?

As if reading my thoughts, my daughter interjected, “Mom, do you think that house was a claim shanty?” I imagine Laura would have been happy to know her books could encourage such questions. But these books have done more than charmed us — they have done what only the best literature can do: They have changed us.

Very interesting! Thanks for posting!