Laura and Her Family Battle Hardships With a Smile in Little House on the Prairie

With my mom recovering from surgery, we’ve been watching a lot of television this summer. One series that has captured our attention is Little House on the Prairie, a series that has been referenced in formats as disparate as the latest VeggieTales video, which spoofs it, and LOST, in which snarly cynic Sawyer secretly considers it one of his favorite shows. While both of us had seen various episodes before, many of the episodes in the first season, which my friend lent us, were new to us, and the repeats were still entertaining the second or, in a couple of cases, third or fourth time around.

Little House on the Prairie is the long-running television series that is rather loosely based on the beloved autobiographical books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. The show, which takes place in the late 1800s in the tiny town of Walnut Grove, centers around the Ingalls family, though individual episodes sometimes focus more on other townspeople. Still, at least one Ingalls is usually integrally involved in the story.

Laura (Melissa Gilbert) serves as narrator in some of the episodes, a device that harkens back to the books. This spunky pig-tailed child has a heart of gold but a knack for getting into trouble; her tomboyish tendencies are part of the reason she shares such a powerful bond with her pa, who calls her Half-Pint. Michael Landon is a bundle of warmth and humor as Charles Ingalls, though he has his stubborn and ornery moments as well. His relationship with the practical but fiery Caroline (Karen Grassle) is the cornerstone of the show, and theirs is a model marriage, albeit infused with a more modern flavor than the Ingallses we see in the books.

Less prominent than Laura but still a major player is her older sister Mary (Melissa Sue Anderson), who is ladylike and studious and often irritated by Laura’s behavior, though never for long. She’s a bit of a goody two-shoes, but there’s nothing mean-spirited in her outlook; she’s just not usually quite as fun as Laura is. Completing the Ingalls family is toddler Carrie, played by twins Lindsay and Sidney Greenbush. Because she is so young, she never has much of a role in anything that is happening throughout the first season, and most of her dialogue consists merely of repeating the words of others.

Beyond that core family, however, are many colorful residents. Chief among these are the Olesons, the owners of the local mercantile who stand as a sort of antithesis to the Ingallses. Richard Bull is wonderful as Nels, a hen-pecked man with a good head for business but also a kind heart and a sense of fair play. He’s a decent fellow who seems to envy Charles his devoted wife and well-mannered children. Poor Nels is stuck with Laura’s nemesis, haughty Nellie (Alison Arngrim), and her destructive little brother Willie (Jonathan Gilbert). Worst of all, though, is his shrewish wife Harriet, the scourge of the town who is played with devilish glee by Scottie MacGregor in the most consistently laugh-aloud funny role in the series.

Other recurring characters include warm-hearted Doc Baker (Kevin Hagen), whose gentle bedside manner and hearty sense of humor give him the perfect disposition for his difficult job; jovial Swede Lars Hanson (Carl Swenson), who owns the lumber mill employing several of the town’s residents; even-tempered Reverend Alden (Dabbs Greer), who ministers eloquently to his yearning congregants; and disheveled Mr. Edwards (Victor French), an earlier acquaintance whose gruff manner Laura adores and who is the only character on the show with his own theme music. While most stories focus on recurring characters, some involve characters who only turn up in that particular episode. In many cases, these are just people passing through. For instance, Red Buttons turns up as a one-man circus peddling peep shows and placebos. This storyline, which primarily involves a phony powder he passes off as a miracle drug, amused me since Buttons went on to play a similar role a couple years later in Pete’s Dragon.

Because of the harsh conditions and plentiful opportunities for injury, many episodes have a grim streak to them, and it’s not uncommon for at least one character to die. In one episode, an elderly widow on the cusp of her 80th birthday concocts a plan to pretend that she has died in order to get her children into town for the funeral. In another, Laura and family dog Jack are feared rabid after both are bitten by her pet raccoon. In the most morbid episode of the season, a typhus outbreak causes life in Walnut Grove to grind to a halt as residents begin dropping off. The sense of peril is acute, and it’s easy to imagine that even the most beloved characters could fall victim to the whims of the harsh landscape.

Nonetheless, levity is hardly hard to come by. The music of Landon’s laugh rumbles through most episodes multiple times, and Laura’s antics often elicit a chuckle, to say nothing of the calamitous occurrences in the Oleson household. It may be a time of simple pleasures, but those pleasures are very visceral. There’s genuine joy in the pick-up baseball games and the picnics that are such a favorite after-church pastime, with homemade goodies spread out over blankets under a sunny sky. The faith of these hard-working and hard-playing residents helps sustain them as they move along toward their next set of challenges.

And of course, there is love. The Ingallses are a model for the whole community in this regard, both in terms of the familial relationship and the strong partnership between Charles and Caroline. The Olesons model a very different sort of marriage, but love is present there as well, as evidenced by the conclusion of the episode in which the two of them have an explosive fight and nearly split up. We see puppy love when Laura falls for an older classmate, who, in a later episode, falls for a burlesque dancer he meets when he decides to run away from home. The romantic storyline that intrigued me most involves Doc Baker and Harriet’s visiting niece forming a swift mutual affection for one another, only to be thwarted by an unfortunate circumstance, though not the one I expected.

The first season includes several iconic episodes, including Harvest of Friends, in which the Ingalls family sets up house at Plum Creek and becomes acquainted with the townspeople, and The Lord Is My Shepherd, the two-parter in which Caroline has a baby who dies and a guilt-stricken Laura, who was bitterly jealous of him, literally heads for the hills in an effort to convince God to swap her life for that of her baby brother. This episode covers a span of at least a year, which throws the timeline off a bit. For instance, in the Christmas episode, Mary mentions that this is the first Christmas at Plum Creek, but it would have to be at least the second. Nonetheless, it’s a powerful episode and one of several in which Christian faith plays a significant role, which is one of the reasons the show is so popular with people like my grandma, who bemoans the lack of traditional values on contemporary television.

Little House on the Prairie is a wholesome show that blends the old-fashioned with more modern sensibilities. Charles and Caroline sometimes seem a little too hip for the 1880s, and some of the topics they broach seem to reflect the 1970s more than that earlier era. It’s definitely a different animal than the books, but if you enjoyed reading about Laura’s pioneer adventures, chances are you will like watching the stories that unfold in a mildly fictionalized version of that world. And if the old-timey setting doesn’t appeal to you, give it a try, and you may just find that the residents of Walnut Grove are not so very different from us.

A Widow and a Teen Learn to Love Again in Love's Unending Legacy

I’ve always enjoyed pioneer stories. Janette Oke is an author who has built a career on penning such tales for the Christian market, and several of her books have been adapted into made-for-TV movies. Recently, I watched Love’s Unending Legacy, the fifth in a series of eight Oke telefilms. I’d seen the first, and I’m not sure why I stuck the fifth in my queue without having seen the three that preceded it. While the movie mostly works as a stand-alone – and my mom, who had seen more of the series, filled in some gaps for me – I’d definitely recommend watching the series in its proper order. There were times when I did feel as though I was missing something, or at least that certain scenes would have had more emotional impact if I knew the main character better.

That main character is Missie LaHaye (Erin Cottrell), a recently widowed schoolteacher setting out to make a new life for herself with her young son, her stepmother Marty (Samantha Smith) and her father Clark (Dale Midkiff). While she doesn’t believe that it is possible or even desirable for her to ever be truly happy again, she decides to try to make the best of whatever lies ahead for her. No one is more surprised than she is when she finds herself opening her home to a surly teenager named Belinda (Holliston Coleman) who arrives with a trainload of orphans looking for a place to live. Though Missie treats Belinda with nothing but kindness, she receives scorn for her efforts. Is Belinda a hopeless case, or could she be just what Missie needs to help her learn to live and love again?

Several kinds of love permeate this story, with bonds of family and romantic threads interwoven to create a touching tapestry. At the heart of it we have Marty and Clark, a model of a wholesome, supportive marriage despite getting off to a rocky and unconventional beginning. Then there’s Missie’s love for her husband Willie, a sheriff who died tragically in the line of duty. While it’s a beautiful thing, it also is holding her back, as any thought of really enjoying life again makes her feel guilty. She especially bristles at the attentions of Zach Tyler (Victor Browne), also a sheriff and a truly upstanding guy, much as Belinda rejects Missie’s overtures, seeing her as an unwanted replacement for the father she’s sure is coming. Belinda saves her affection for Jacob (Braeden Lemasters), a fellow orphanage adoptee, who must endure life with an abusive farmer and his harsh wife, and Missie wonders why this particular youngster is of such concern to the otherwise standoffish teenager.

The movie has a made-for-TV feel to it, though that’s not really a bad thing. It’s the perfect type of movie for the Hallmark Channel, and with no objectionable content and main characters spanning three generations, it could make for good family viewing. I suspect that kids may find parts of it rather dull, but there are several exciting scenes, not to mention an adorable litter of puppies, to add interest. Faith comes up in the movie quite a bit, with a compassionate pastor encouraging the townspeople to take in the orphans and with various characters struggling with their faith and lack thereof. Those who have enjoyed Little House on the Prairie or Christy are likely to find Love’s Unending Legacy appealing – particularly if they watch it after the first four movies in the series.

Janet Lunn's Young Protagonists in One Hundred Shining Candles Are Laura Ingalls-Esque

We’re in tough economic times right now. Nonetheless, that won’t stop millions of Americans from emptying their wallets this holiday season, all in an effort to create an extra bit of Christmas happiness. The spectacle of brightly wrapped presents spilling out from under a dazzling tree is one to which many have become accustomed. That includes me. But Janet Lunn’s One Hundred Shining Candles, illustrated by Lindsay Grater, takes us back to a less extravagant time.

This story takes place in the forests of northern Canada in 1800, so while it’s not quite the same years or locations recollected in the Little House on the Prairie series, it’s close enough for this story to fit in well with those of Laura Ingalls Wilder. The main character is Lucy, a creative, passionate girl of ten whose long, dark braids are yet another reminder of little Laura. She too has a sibling close to her age, but it’s a younger brother instead of an older sister. And instead of a dog, Lucy’s family has a cat. They all live together in a cabin, and though her father works hard, they haven’t any money to spare.

Ma does insist upon one extravagance as December draws to a close. She must have flour to make two loaves of Christmas bread, one for the family and one for the birds in the forest. Her generous example evidently rubs off on Lucy, because the girl hatches a plan to craft an extra-special surprise for her parents, and seven-year-old Dan soon becomes her co-conspirator. They both heard the schoolmaster’s dreamy remembrance of the time he saw a hundred candles all lit up for Christmas. Now their task is to try to replicate that scene at home, albeit on a smaller scale. But that means creating the candles from scratch, and procuring the needed materials. Are these two kids up to the task?

One neat thing about this book is the way it instructs children on a very specific handcrafting process. It’s so involved that I doubt many children will be inspired to give it a shot themselves, but it might make them more appreciative of all the hard work that goes into creating everyday items. There are other aspects of the story that may teach kids a thing or two about history, but just as important are the lessons Lucy and Dan learn about perseverance and selflessness.

Lunn is rather verbose; several pages feature multiple paragraphs, and some of the words might prove a challenge, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The pictures, which were made with colored pencil and watercolors, are not on a level with Garth Williams, who illustrated the Little House series, but they evoke the setting well, helping readers to root themselves in a particular time. As Paul Simon might say: “A time of innocence, a time of confidences.” A time when a treasured penny could help provide a small Christmas miracle.

For Those Too Little for Little House, There's Christmas in the Big Woods

Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books have been enjoyed by children and adults alike for decades. While her original novels continue to be popular, some have discovered this plucky youngster and her pioneering family through adaptations. Not only have there been films and, of course, the long-running TV series, but there have also been simplified versions of the books published for an especially young audience. One such abridgement is My First Little House Books: Christmas in the Big Woods.

Taken from Christmas, the fourth chapter in Little House in the Big Woods, this story describes the Christmas that Laura and her family spend in their log cabin in Wisconsin. Though they are fairly isolated most of the time, the holiday brings company that fills the house with merriment. With four adults and six children under one roof, they set about making their Christmas as joyful as possible with their limited resources.

One of the nicest things about this simple story is the way it emphasizes the excitement Laura and the other children feel over the meager gifts they receive. Each child gets a peppermint stick and a new pair of mittens, and that is enough to make them “so happy they could hardly speak.” Whether it’s homemade candy or pancake people prepared by Ma Ingalls, the children savor each good thing they are given, knowing that such treats are scarce.

The chapter in the book is about 20 pages long, whereas this book contains only 14 paragraphs printed over illustrations covering two pages. Thus, most of the dialogue is lost, along with some of the more detailed descriptions of items, such as the doll Laura receives. In the novel, half a page is devoted to her physical appearance, but the picture book whittles it down to just “a beautiful rag doll with black button eyes and a pink-and-blue calico dress.” Then again, we get to see the doll, dubbed Charlotte by Laura, in full color on several pages, so to some extent the illustrations speak for themselves.

Renee Graef makes a great effort to keep her work consistent with that of original illustrator Garth Williams, and some of her spreads are clearly inspired by specific pictures in Little House in the Big Woods. There’s the girls making molasses candy with their mother, playing in the snow and trying to get to sleep on Christmas Eve. My favorite picture in the chapter, of most of the extended family snuggled together, is stretched out in Graef’s imagination in order to make it fit two pages. I prefer the intimacy of Williams’ drawing, in which both dads are receiving hugs from one of their daughters, but I like the way Graef incorporates every member of the family, even the dog Jack.

Additionally, despite the trimming, several bits of writing are lifted directly from Wilder. For instance, both the book and the chapter end the same way: “Christmas was over. But what a happy Christmas it had been!” Ending on this appreciative note again emphasizes the importance of being grateful for one’s blessings, and keeping so much of the language similar ensures that Wilder’s writing will feel familiar when, hopefully, the children who read Christmas in the Big Woods decide to move on to the novels.

Leslie Connor Celebrates Immigrants in Miss Bridie Chose a Shovel

Last month, I read Leslie Connor's Waiting for Normal, an excellent middle grade novel about a pre-teen girl whose optimism allows her to rise above the adversity of her chaotic home life. At one point in the book, the young protagonist, Addie, is given an album containing songs about people emigrating from Ireland to America. When I went looking to see if Connor had written any other books, I discovered that immigration was at the heart of her picture book, Miss Bridie Chose a Shovel.

This book, which is illustrated by Mary Azarian, reminds me of Donald Hall's Ox-Cart Man, about a pioneering farmer who spends his year working the farm in anticipation of his big trip to town to sell his goods, thus earning enough money to get through the next year. In this case, the central object is not a cart but a shovel. Bridie is the name of the young woman who heads for America in 1856 with just one object in tow. She can take only one thing with her, so she chooses something practical, and the book demonstrates how the shovel is of use to her throughout her life.

Its uses are many: to lean on when the waves get too rocky on the boat ride to America; to help her dig a little garden behind the shop where she works upon her arrival; to heap coals into the stove in later years when she is cooking for her family. It's because she has the shovel that she is able to clear away the snow on the pond in the city park, making an ice skating rink where she first catches the eye of the man who will become her husband. Every significant landmark in her life is somehow tied to that tool, for which she finds so many purposes.

Azarian's illustrations have an old-fashioned look to them and are somewhat stylized, with thick outlines that make the pictures remind me of stained glass windows. Each page has between one and three fairly long sentences, all narration. There's a nice circular pattern to the book, with it starting and ending with essentially the same sentence and with Bridie using the shovel for similar purposes in her youth and old age.

"She could have picked a chiming clock or a porcelain figurine," Connor writes, "but Miss Bridie chose a shovel back in 1856." Offering that contrast emphasizes Bridie's work ethic and practicality. Had she taken some type of heirloom, she might have been able to sell it and use the money to help establish herself, but we never get the sense that she regrets her decision. She makes do with what she has, using it to help create a thriving homestead.

This book covers a span of many years, so not only is there the sadness of Bridie leaving her family behind, there is also a death toward the end of the book, not to mention a fire that wipes out the barn. There is a definite harshness to the book, but as in Waiting for Normal, the protagonist's resilience keeps readers from getting bogged down in despair. Miss Bridie is a woman who perseveres no matter what challenges come her way, and her story is a tribute to generations of hard-working immigrants.

Nancy Hanks: Kentucky Girl Offers Insight Into Lincoln's "Angel Mother"

"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." So said Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth President of the United States. Though Nancy Hanks Lincoln died when her son was only nine years old, she had a profound impact upon his life, which makes her a fascinating subject of historical study. Though I can't remember a time when I wasn't intrigued by Abraham Lincoln, my knowledge of his mother's life was pretty limited until I recently read Nancy Hanks: Kentucky Girl, written by Augusta Stevenson and illustrated by Gray Morrow.

This 200-page book is part of the series Childhood of Famous Americans, which includes dozens of simple biographies of historical figures. When I checked this book out of the library, the librarian gushed, "Oh, I loved these books when I was growing up! I must have read them all!" Seeing this musty volume which had been tucked away at an outlying branch brought back all sorts of memories for her and encouraged me that this would be an engaging read.

The first thing I noticed about the book was the large print, which reminded me of those kiddie adaptations of classic novels that I used to find at the dollar store. There are 14 chapters, most of which include at least one illustration taking up all or most of the page. These pictures use a color palette of either bronze or crimson; they're not very colorful, but they're effective at dramatizing important scenes.

The book is a fairly breezy read. The chapters are lengthy enough that you could read one at a time and feel as though you'd consumed something substantial but short enough that you could read the whole book in one setting pretty easily. It took me about three hours. Stevenson's primary source of information is Nancy Hanks Lincoln: A Frontier Portrait, written by Harold and Ernestine Briggs. Her book is written with an immediacy that makes it read more like a novel than a biography. The chapters tend to be dialogue-heavy and keep most of the focus on Nancy and her young friends and cousins.

Among the interesting tidbits I picked up about the future Mrs. Lincoln were the following. Nancy lacked formal schooling but was passionate about literacy. She had a gift for storytelling. She loved animals and was especially fond of replicating the calls of birds. She had an eye for details, and her keen observations were sometimes very helpful to others. She demonstrated her commitment to compassion and honesty in sometimes dramatic ways.

There's nothing especially striking about the writing style. It feels a little old-fashioned, particularly in terms of certain word choices Stevenson makes, but by no means is it too antiquated to be accessible to modern-day youngsters - or not-so-youngsters like me who could use a quick overview of the life of a woman who helped shape a legendary leader. A woman who first was a girl who faced a unique set of challenges but whose personality was not so different than many a modern child.

A section in the back relates events in Nancy's life with historical benchmarks. It also suggests relevant activities such as building a cardboard pioneer settlement or learning some songs that Nancy and her friends may have sung when they were growing up. There's a list of other books focusing on Lincoln, his mother and their times, and a glossary of unusual words finishes out the book. This book would fit in wonderfully in an elementary school library or classroom; I can so clearly picture it on the bookshelves in my fifth grade class that I wonder whether it was actually there - though if it had been, I can't imagine that I wouldn't have read it. If I had, I would have gained just a little more insight into my favorite president and a deeper appreciation of the mentors who were so instrumental in shaping his life.

I'm thinking a lot about Abraham Lincoln these days. He's always been a favorite historical figure, and because we happen to share a birthday, whenever mine rolls around I 'm inclined to think about his too. This year is especially significant. February 12, 2009 marks his 200th birthday, and in celebration I'll be spending the month reading up on Lincoln, watching movies about him and doing whatever I can to study this man and contemplate his legacy. I invite my fellow members to join me by submitting one or several reviews on the subject of Lincoln. Books are particularly fertile ground; they number in the hundreds. But that's hardly the only relevant category. I hope to post reviews in Movies, Music, Kids and Family and Travel, and there are all sorts of possibilities. The Lincoln link doesn't have to be overt; there should just be some sort of connection. And I welcome Writer's Corner posts as well. If anyone would like to join in my Lincoln's 200th Birthday Bash, please leave me a comment or drop me an e-mail and I'll link you up. Happy February!

A Boy Builds a Barn and a Life

I've been reading several of Avi's books lately, sprightly tales about lively forest creatures with cute faces and distinct dialects. On my last trip to the library, I picked up one of his books that was very different.

The Barn is narrated by Ben, who, as we learn at the end of the book, is 79 years old at the time of the telling. But the action of the story occurs in 1855, when Ben is nine and the most promising student at the school where his father has sent him, making good on a promise he made to Ben's mother just before her death. But Ben is forced to take leave of his education in order to go home to his Oregon farm and help 15-year-old Nettie and 13-year-old Harrison care for their father, who collapsed in a field one day and has been catatonic ever since.

This is a harshly realistic novel about a boy forced to grow up too fast, to switch roles with the parent who nurtured him so attentively all his life. We get to know Ben's father through Ben's memories; the man we are introduced to seems little more than an empty shell. Even when Ben devises a way to communicate with him via eye movements, he can do nothing but indicate "yes" or "no". There seems little hope that his condition will improve.

But then Ben recalls that Nettie said his father wanted to build a barn, and looking over the old lean-to where their animals sleep, it's no wonder why. They need a sturdy, permanent structure where their beasts can be comfortable. Their father needs it, and if Ben can convince Nettie and Harrison to help him build it, he's sure that the father he used to know will return.

The Barn purports to be a story of hope and survival, but it's a pretty grim and gritty account. At only 106 pages, broken into 29 chapters, it doesn't take too long to read, but there's an oppressive feel to it that weighs down the reading, so despite the age of the protagonist, I think most nine-year-olds would find the book a bit much to take, too little light in too dreary a tale.

The book's primary value is educational rather than inspirational. It shows in detail the sorts of problems that frontier children faced, thereby encouraging modern children not to take simple comforts for granted. And not to shirk hard work, which does not always reap the intended rewards but may positively affect the laborer in unexpected ways.