I have a confession to make: I was 50 before I read Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie series. I can hear the collective gasp of all the shocked women reading this post. Blasphemy, I know!
In my defense, when I was about the age when all the other little girls were madly absorbing these books, playing "Holly Hobbie" dress up and dreaming about being Laura, my local librarian marched me over to the adult section of the town’s public library and handed me an Agatha Christie novel. I never stepped foot in the children’s section of the library again. Looking back, I’m not sure what I was doing when the television series came out because I didn’t watch that either. Oh, I saw an episode or two, but without the background of the books, I just really didn’t get it. Maybe it was just too “girly” for me; I hated pink, didn’t play with dolls, and was the only kid in my neighborhood with a complete football uniform, shoulder pads, and all. Needless to say, my husband was more than a bit skeptical when I suggested driving up to DeSmet, South Dakota, for a “Little House on the Prairie” weekend.
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AuthorI am the 8th photographer in 4 generations of my family. Back in 2006, my husband accepted a job traveling, and I jumped at the chance to go with him. Categories
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November 2024
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