This weekend my admiration for Caroline Ingalls, known as Ma to fans of the Little House on the Prairie series, grew by leaps and bounds. Perhaps strides and stomps would be more accurate terminology. Because Saturday my son, new daughter, husband and I spent the day striding and stomping across bits of prairie in south central Iowa.
Well, my son and husband did most of the prairie striding and stomping.
More often than not, my daughter and I eyed the wet, waist-high grass and stayed by the car or walked along more civilized footpaths, talking about the two guys striding and stomping all over the place. Judging by the number of ticks pulled off the son, the husband and the dog, we were the wise ones. Especially after they each pulled off a deer tick, the nasty little critters that carry Lyme disease. There’s a house guest we don’t want cluttering up our carefree, empty nest. No sir.
But back to Ma Ingalls.
During my repeated childhood readings of the Little House Series, spunky, little Laura was my hero. Mary was my paragon of beauty. Jack the brindle bulldog was my dream pet and protector. Pa was one tough and tender dude, shooting supper every afternoon and playing his fiddle in the moonlight.
But Ma?
She always hovered in the background, tying hair ribbons, changing Baby Carrie’s diapers, and worrying about boring stuff like whether they would starve during the winter, die from malaria, be massacred by Indians, be able to buy fabric for clothes and shoes, find a school for the girls, or find a church.
Talk about a fusspot.
But after our day of stomping, striding and deticking, Ma Ingalls took on superhero status. She couldn’t hang back and wait by the wagon or walk along footpaths. No, she either waded through the grass or ride in a jolting, rocking wagon while holding baby Carrie whose diapers weren’t waterproof.
Yuck.
Think of the ticks she pulled off Jack, who trotted behind the wagon all day. And off spunky little Laura who got out and walked to stretch her legs. And off Mary. And Pa. And off herself, cause we know she had to wade through the grass to go potty now and then, even though the call of nature is mentioned not once in the seven book series. No way she could have held it that long. Though she probably wanted to, since they didn’t have toilet paper.
Double yuck.
Ma Ingalls was one tough cookie. Our day of prairie striding and stomping proved she’s unsung superhero of the Ingalls tribe. In my opinion, she deserves her own series. However, I’m not writing it. Research requiring tick-picking, diapers that aren’t waterproof, and potty breaks without toilet paper doesn’t interest me.
Any takers?
