Because everyone loves a good story
Robin Hood and a New (to Me) Author
Eureka! I’ve discovered an author!
He’s not a new author at all; he’s just new to me, like all my clothes, appliances, vehicles…well, you get the picture. I’m always a little bit behind the times, but it doesn’t bother me one bit, especially when it comes to literature. If a book is still in print decades (or centuries) after having been written, that’s more reassuring to me than 10,000 bandwagon reactions to a brand new book.
Don’t get me wrong—new books can be awesome! I’m hoping to add my own drop to the bucket one of these days. I’m merely pointing out that if a book warrants multiple editions over multiple decades, it’s probably worthwhile. And in this case, that’s definitely true.
THE AUTHOR, REVEALED!
So the author’s name is ::drumroll:: Stephen R. Lawhead.
All right, I see some of you rolling your eyes. Maybe I’ve just stumbled across someone you’ve been reading since then ‘80’s. If that’s true, then you’re 40 years superior to me, and I applaud you. Really, I do! I wish I’d discovered him sooner. He seems to write about stuff I really enjoy—Christianity, King Arthur, and Robin Hood, to name a few.
Lawhead has churned out over 30 novels, many of them set in ancient Britain. His books feel so accurate that I was surprised he’s from Nebraska. He and his wife live at Oxford now, so I’m sure that makes his research easier and more enjoyable. I was less surprised, however, to find that he’s a Christian. In the books I read, the religious representation was accurate and non-ironic, which I really appreciated.
THE SERIES, REVEALED!
So how did I stumble across this gem? I was perusing some posts by people who follow the Rabbit Room and saw Lawhead’s King Raven Trilogy recommended several times. The titles were simple enough: Hood, Scarlet, and Tuck. I’ve always been partial to ol’ Robin, so I borrowed the first book from my library’s audiobook app and got started. Thereafter, the trilogy was my companion while I folded laundry, vacuumed floors, and did endless hours of meal prep. (Housework can be a goldmine for audiobooks.) King Raven and I have kept the house in order for the past couple of months, but sadly our journey has ended. Now I’d like to introduce him to you.
WHAT I MOST ENJOYED
Authentic Setting
I narrowed down the things I enjoy about this trilogy into two categories: authentic and entertaining. First, the books felt authentic to me. While I’m not British, the majority of my books are from over the pond as opposed to our all-American variety. In general, I find their humor more humorous, their wit wittier, and their intellect more intelligent. (Please forgive the blatant and unfair generalization. I’m just relaying my opinion.) Also I got to teach British literature for nearly a decade, and I never tired of their authors or their history. I’m proud to be an American, but part of my soul belongs to Albion.
Authentic Story
I’ve always enjoyed the legend of Robin Hood, and Lawhead did a great job retelling the story. He kept it fresh and interesting without reinventing the wheel. The storyline is definitely grittier than, say, the Disney version with Robin as a green-capped fox. But despite the depictions of invasion, deprivation, and war, Lawhead never wallows in lurid descriptions. He keeps it classy. He also depicts the religious aspects realistically. A book set in ancient Britain cannot honestly ignore the influence of the church. I mean, their entire history is one of religious war, persecution, and revival. Lawhead’s story weaves the presence of the church with the characters and plot in a believable yet unobtrusive way.
Entertaining Style
Lawhead’s style is natural and descriptive. The story glides past, and you don’t even notice you’re reading (or listening). It doesn’t feel stilted or forced even though the characters often speak French or Latin. As vexing as it was to listen to sections of untranslated French on an audiobook, I took heart in the fact that it was authentic.
The story is set shortly after the Norman invasion of 1066, so the native Welsh and the conquering French were as different in language as in everything else. At least some of them had Latin in common, as it was the universal language of learning and religion. But to write a realistic book, an author would have to include the language barrier as well. To me, it somehow lent character to the storyline.
Now, you may remember that I’m not usually an audiobook lover. As convenient as they are, they can never beat the feel of paper in my hands. But as I’m a little pressed for time these days, I was happy with the audio option. The story moves along, the plot progresses, and the perspective changes frequently. Even so, it isn’t too confusing to keep up with, even via earbuds.
Entertaining Characters
The focal character seems like it would be Robin Hood throughout the series, and in a way that’s true. But each book shifts a different character into the foreground, as you can tell by the book titles. The second book, Scarlet, is initially a little jarring since it’s written from the first-person perspective of death-row-prisoner Will Scarlett. It takes some time to get used to the conversational tone, so different from the classic narrator style of book one, but I found my bearings quickly enough and enjoyed the change. You wouldn’t think there would be enough source material about Friar Tuck to base the third book on, but you’d be wrong. Tuck plays a major role in the unfolding and conclusion of the tale, and it’s enjoyable to see this God-fearing, mead-drinking, staff-wielding churchman in action.
NEXT UP, MORE LAWHEAD
I’ve recently started one of his most well-known books, Byzantium, and I’m enjoying it already. I will most likely delve into his Pendragon Cycle afterward, since I’m a sucker for all things Arthur. If you’re between books or just looking to add a few new titles to your library, consider the authentic, enjoyable works of Stephen R. Lawhead.
Just make sure you’ve got Google Translate handy.
My Fair Lady, Metamorphosis, and McDonalds
I don’t get out much, but when I do, it’s to see a Broadway play in Detroit.
For my birthday this year (as with most years) I couldn’t think of anything I needed or even wanted, so I asked for what I truly desired: a night out with my hubby seeing a play or a symphony or something. That’s my jam.
So we got two tickets to see My Fair Lady at the Fisher Theatre in downtown Detroit. My wonderful sister-in-law watched the kids at bedtime, I got (over)dressed in a black dress, and we enjoyed one of my favorite musicals from the vantage point of the fourth row. And afterward we hit up the McDonalds drive-thru so I could eat, like, a million chicken nuggets. I’m nothing if not classy.
The evening was a delight, and the play itself was as good as I’d hoped. Afterward I found myself contemplating one of the major themes of the play: transformation.
Pygmalion and My Fair Lady
Hopefully you’ve watched the old 1964 film of My Fair Lady starring Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison. Regardless, you’re probably familiar with the gist of the story because it shows up in various forms throughout literature and culture.
The first iteration of the story is a Greek myth. Pygmalion, a king and sculptor, carves a woman out of ivory and then falls in love with her. He prays to Aphrodite, and the goddess brings the statue to life. Pygmalion marries her and they live happily ever after. Centuries later in 1913, George Bernard Shaw wrote a play called Pygmalion. This play inspired a Broadway musical called My Fair Lady, which prompted a movie by the same name. I haven’t spent much time studying the myth, but I’ve fallen in love with every other version of the story.
The Particulars of the Plot
The play Pygmalion is not actually a retelling of the myth but a tale about transformation of another sort. Henry Higgins, a brilliant but heartless professor of phonetics, undertakes the challenge of recreating Eliza Doolittle, a coarse and uncouth London flower girl. She wants to rise above her low birth to become the kind of lady who sells flowers in a shop, not out of a basket in the street. To achieve this, she would need to overcome a lifetime of ghastly pronunciation and boorish mannerisms.
Professor Higgins boasts that he could do that and more—even pass her off as a princess within six months. His arrogance and obsession take over. He commits to her transformation, heedless of the cautions of Mrs. Pierce, his housekeeper, and Colonel Pickering, his friend and fellow linguist. The professor will do whatever it takes to recreate her.
The Characters
While the wit and humor of the script are well worth the read, it’s the characters that really make Pygmalion a classic. The play is well-named in light of the transformation that takes place not in Eliza Doolittle but in Professor Higgins. But the plot is also influenced by another one of my favorite plays—Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Professor Higgins is ruthless in his training of poor Eliza, but when the metamorphosis is complete, she emerges as an entirely new creature—one he eventually finds hard to resist. Eliza, however, is not so easily won.
As I said, the characters are the best part of the story. Specifically, I enjoy the contrast between the main men. George Bernard Shaw captures four of the most diverse and yet relatable character types and showcases their effects on poor Eliza.
Alfred P. Doolittle
First, Eliza’s father, the ingratiating drunk. He’s never done a thing for her in his life, and yet he mooches off her continually. He guilts her into sharing her hard-earned money and then immediately spends it in the bar. He has no morals, no conscience, and no true guilt. Eliza tolerates him as family but can’t love him as a father.
Freddy Eynsfor-Hill
Next comes Freddy Eynsford-Hill, the rich, silly romantic. He falls in love with Eliza at the middle of her transformation—the point where her speech is flawless but her topics are far from acceptable in high society. He finds her enchanting and hilarious. Initially, Eliza is unmoved by his devotion, but she comes around in the end.
Colonel Pickering
The third man is Colonel Pickering, a true gentleman in every sense. While he agrees to help Higgins train Eliza, he never forgets that she’s a person with feelings and a future. He is her advocate and ally, treating her like a lady even before she looks or sounds like one. Eliza flourishes under his attention. She aspires to live up to his view of her.
Henry Higgins
The last and most important man is Professor Henry Higgins, the chauvinistic narcissist. From the first moment of the story, Higgins shows himself to care nothing for other people and everything for his research. To him, Eliza is merely an embodied challenge, a chance to prove his magnificent talent as a phonetic genius. He never stops to think of her as a human soul until it’s too late. In response to his overly-demanding treatment, Eliza stiffens and digs in her heels. She refuses to be bludgeoned into change. She flourishes in her own time and her own way.
What Causes Change?
The theme of transformation gives us a chance to ask the question, what causes people to change? Eliza didn’t change as a result of Higgins’ browbeating, blustering, or bullying. Instead, she responded to respect—the respectful way Colonel Pickering treated her, the acceptance as an equal from Freddy Eynsfor-Hill and even Higgins’ own mother, and the respect with which she comes to view herself. And that’s true of us all. We may modify our behavior to avoid mistreatment, but we change for the better under loving instruction.
That’s why the ending of The Taming of the Shrew doesn’t ring true to me. When I wrote a play as a retelling of that story, I was forced to change the ending. Threats don’t produce affection; compassion does. George Bernard Shaw recognized this, and it motivated his conclusion of the play.
The Metamorphosis Is Complete
In the end, Higgins proves that he can pass Eliza off as a princess. He couldn’t have been prouder…of himself. But Eliza’s true transformation isn’t a matter of mere phonetics but of perception. The moment she’s able to scorn his dismissive opinion of her is the moment she finally “comes alive,” as did Pygmalion’s statue. Her metamorphosis gives her the confidence to change more than her dialect; she changes her expectations which changes her future.
The play really is a work of art, right down to hilarious, insightful the stage directions. Please read it. And if you aren’t in the mood to put on your fancy clothes and sit through a Broadway production, at least promise me you’ll rent the movie My Fair Lady. I know you’ll love it. You could even do one better than I did and eat your chicken nuggets during the performance. Winner winner, chicken dinner.
Canning: Reviving the Art of Survival
This week I bought twelve pounds of strawberries from Kroger and turned them into strawberry jam. So I’m pretty much a homesteader now.
Recently I wrote some posts about the Little House on the Prairie series, and I’m still surprised how much I learned from those books. For example, this week I was thinking about how often we take food for granted today. When we’re craving something specific, we don’t think twice about how impossible it would have been to get it back in the day. In fact, we can usually find a way to enjoy it within the hour. Want crisp, juicy apples in winter? Seasons are no hindrance to grocery stores. Want authentic Lebanese food in Michigan? Just Google a highly-rated restaurant nearby and hop in your car. Want fried chicken with all the fixin’s but don’t feel like leaving your couch? No problem. Have takeout delivered.
Something Gained; Something Lost
But for all our conveniences, we’ve lost some pretty important skills. I bet you know what I mean. When grocery aisles were picked over or empty in 2020, what went through your head? Did you feel a little tremor of fear when you realized you’ve rarely grown, harvested, or killed your own food before? That you have little to no knowledge of how to keep your family alive without your local grocery store? That, unless you were able to buy some packages and cans, you’d have to go foraging for acorns?
No? Just me? Well, fine. Maybe you didn’t get all worked up, and that’s great. Personally, I didn’t freak out too badly, but there were times I was definitely concerned about the lack of supplies and my own lack of skills. Ma Ingalls knew how to provide for her family day after day, all year long, even with nary a soul on the horizon. She used every part of an animal, preserved everything that came out of the ground, and utilized anything edible they could find. Granted, they were at the (sometimes severe) mercy of weather, pestilence, and blight, but they always made do.
Educated and Incompetent
And today? Today most of us have traded basic survival skills for impractical academic specialties. Now, before you get your petticoats in a wad, hear me out. I don’t mean that as an insult, and I wholeheartedly count myself among the affected. I majored in English Education with a minor in Creative Writing. If, God forbid, we ever face an actual food crisis, I’m equipped to write a touching memoir as I eat pages from my home library and slowly waste away. Not to mention that Pa Ingalls built several log cabins by hand, and I nearly lost my cool trying to assemble a toddler tent the other day. Four years of college, and I’m worse off than your average schmuck from a century ago.
That’s what I mean by “impractical” specialties—selectively helpful, yet unlikely to sustain one’s physical body without the aid of modern society. True, every job is practical in its own way, and I’m thankful for all the career options we have today. But how many of us also know how to sew, cook, build, and fix? Those skills seem “impractical” today, but they were common sense in nearly every culture until quite recently.
Dusty Old Skills
Thankfully, we live in a society that has structured itself around people like me. We can’t all stay home to tend flocks of sheep and grow lima beans. Each of us has an important role to play in keeping civilization chugging along the greasy path of progress. I’m thankful for stocked grocery stores and full pantries, and I’m thankful for my degree which provides the totally-essential skill of inwardly critiquing everyone’s grammar, both written and spoken. It’s a real bread winner, that.
But as helpful and charming as my education is, I still have vast tracts of mental and experiential land lying fallow. It seems wise to begin recovering basic skills that have been gathering dust for the past hundred years. I can’t do everything, but I can do something. I won’t be a full-time homesteader, but maybe I can plant a few more crops each year. Maybe I can practice canning store-bought produce until I’m ready to grow my own. Maybe I can slaughter a chicken.
…Nah.
But there are other non-slaughtery skills I should begin to practice now.
Yoda Meets Rambo
The good news is, I have a built-in tutor: my mother. She’s straight outta the prairie, y’all. She’s got a big ol’ garden and has been canning stuff for decades. She’s the Yoda of all things “from scratch.” Her lesson on jam making this week demystified the process and instilled canning confidence in me. Also, she’s tougher than an angry she-bear. If there’s ever an apocalypse of any kind, you can bet I’ll be hiding out in my parents’ basement as she stands guard at the front door, dressed like Rambo and armed with a pitch fork. (No joke. I’ve seen what her pitch fork can do. RIP, groundhog.)
I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen much growing up because, well, cooking with kids takes about 35 times longer than doing it yourself. Ergo, I missed out on many essential years of tutelage. But now I’m of an age to invite myself into her workspace and only make things go 23 times slower, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’m there to practice skills, take notes, make messes, and absorb wisdom. I intend to pass this wisdom on to my children and my children’s children. Because that’s how humans have thrived for millennia, and it’s how we’ll continue to thrive, regardless of grocery stores or impractical academic specialties.
Plan a Jam Session
So there it is. I’m taking tentative steps toward practicality. Interested but daunted? Not sure where to start? Try canning some strawberry jam! Trust me, it’s not as complicated as it seems. Did you know that every box of Sure Jell has a pamphlet with simple jam and jelly instructions inside? It’s so easy, even a pioneer could do it!
One more thing: when you begin to gain or hone skills like this, make sure you pass them on to your kids or friends. Have a jam session together. Find ways to involve them as you learn. Even if the grocery store shelves are always stocked, you’ll still be the richer for practicing these talents together. The memories alone are worth it.
So long for now! I’m off to enjoy some toast with a generous smattering of fresh strawberry jam. Next up: learning how to skin a rabbit!
…Just kidding. We’re going to make dill pickles.
Lessons from the Trees
Well, it’s pretty much official. We’re moving.
We aren’t going far; only about half an hour from where we currently live, but still—a move is a move. You have to leave behind everything you love…and everything you don’t love but have come to tolerate. (I’m looking at you, really weird back door entrance.) We plan, Lord willing, to build a house. And function as our own contractors for the job. While raising two little ones.
Please say a prayer for us.
What I’ll Miss
While there are tons of things I’ll miss about living here (most notably our neighbors, the memories we’ve made here, and the convenience of getting just about anywhere), one thing I’m sad to leave is our trees.
We live in an old neighborhood situated in even older woods. I’m no dendrologist, but some of the trees around here are well over a hundred years old. In fact, my favorite tree in the neighborhood is easily twice that. It’s just a few streets away, so I make sure to pass it whenever I’m out for a walk or bike ride.
I’m sure the owners of that property know my face by now. They’ve probably considered charging me with loitering and general creepiness when I slow my pace to a mere shuffle and crane my neck to a degree that would make an owl jealous. Or when I straight-up stop and take a picture of the tree. I really can’t help it. I love that tree. (It’s a white oak, for those who are curious.)
My yard may not have a centuries-old oak, but we do have several beauts. They fill our days with shade, beauty, and—in the fall—yardwork. I’m talking bags and bags and bags of oak, maple, and walnut leaves. But to me, it’s worth the effort because the trees are beautiful.
Where We’re Headed
We decided to build on a piece of land that’s been in our family for fifty years. It’s adjacent to where my sister and her family live, which makes it delightful for many reasons, one of which is cousin play time and another is my brother-in-law’s grilling skills. (I love trees, but I also love steaks.) The land used to be a clear, 3-acre tract with a few small trees and plenty of black raspberry bushes, but those days are long gone. Now the property has gone to seed, quite literally.
I beat my way through it early this spring before the leaves had begun to bud. It was slow going, the ground completely overrun with brambles, bushes, vines, and scrub trees. To my undiscerning eye, it looked like there were very few trees worth keeping. They all seemed thin, wimpy, or choked out. While I love the family legacy of our new land, I was sad to leave my beautiful, old trees behind only to level our new property and start from scratch.
The Difference Some Leaves Can Make
However.
This week we fought our way down an overgrown path through the property, and everything was different. You know that terrible dream where all your molars are loose and they keep falling out when you try to talk, but then you wake up and find your teeth are firmly intact after all? …No? Well, then insert your own phobia here. The point is, that’s the kind of relief and joy I felt when I looked up at the big, beautiful, towering trees on our new land. We won’t have to level it after all! My molars are safe!
It’s a jungle, to be sure—a jungle of maple, oak, walnut, linden, poplar, and choke cherry, with a disproportionate amount of bittersweet vines and poison ivy strangling many a stately trunk. When it comes to taming that beast, we have our work cut out for us. But I’m so willing to tackle it. You know why? Because old trees are worth the work.
After all, I’m sure you know the saying: the best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago; the second-best time is today. But if a tree sprouted fifty years ago, that’s even better.
Learning from Trees
Trees are great teachers. They’re wizened, soft-spoken, experienced. Their lessons are timeless and yet they change with the seasons. They’ve inspired countless books, poems, songs, adages, and even ancient mythology. There’s something universal in the study and love of trees.
Lately I’ve mulled over one particular truth from these leafy tutors: trees are utterly untouched by the American obsession with haste. Trees never hurry. (Just ask Treebeard the Ent.) They grow gradually, painstakingly, inch by inch, year by year. Sometimes it’s enough to drive me mad, but it’s also a rebuke to my constant busyness. I don’t do anything slowly except eat; I’d be far better off taking a leaf out of a tree’s book.
The Watched Pot Versus American Culture
We planted a few ornamental trees in our front yard three years ago. Between storm damage, deer snacking on the bark, and a certain toddler driving his tractor over two bushes, they haven’t grown very much. Even so, I check the miniscule sprouts of new growth on my lilacs several times each spring.
But no matter how many times I breathe down their tiny trunks, looking for progress, they don’t grow any faster. If anything, they probably grow more slowly just to spite me and my obsession with progress. I want results NOW. That’s what America promises us, after all. Want to be skinny NOW? Take these pills. Want to eat NOW? Throw this in the microwave. Want to get there NOW? Take a jet. Want to know NOW? Google it. We are not a patient culture.
But trees.
Slow Growth
Trees gently, patiently, quietly remind us to slow down. Set up a hammock. Look up at the kaleidoscope of leaves and sunshine. Think about how long it took that tree to grow into the magnificent monolith it is today. And then realize that, for a tree and for us, good things take time.
I’m bracing for this next season of life. Building a home will be busy, stressful, and probably unenjoyable at times. More than once I will grit my teeth (my safely-intact teeth) and wish it was already done. At times like that, I hope I will look around at the trees growing peacefully and take a deep breath. God determines our times and seasons. He causes things to grow inch by inch—trees, houses, and patience. Slow growth is strong growth, and I will choose to be thankful for that.
Now please remind me of this when I’m up to my eyeballs in construction next year. Thanks.
1,000 Books and Counting
Recently my three-year-old son, Isaiah, reached a milestone: he finished reading 1,000 books.
Well, it would be more accurate to say that my husband and I finished reading well over 1,000 books to him and managed to keep record of 1,000 of them. Nonetheless, this felt like a pretty big deal—one we were proud to celebrate with him.
THE DETAILS
Have you heard of the program called 1000 Books Before Kindergarten? It’s exactly what it sounds like: a program to track the books you read with your little person as early as birth and up until he or she starts kindergarten. It’s free, and it’s so simple that even a busy parent can do it! I have no skin in the proverbial game about whether you start using the 1000 Books program; I just thought I’d share some related (and unrelated) thoughts about it here since we enjoyed it so much.
All you have to do is start (or continue) reading to your kid and keep track of the book titles. You can track it on paper or on the app. You can read the same book five times in a row, and it counts every single time. That really boosted our progress since Isaiah often enjoys the same books again and again. And again.
A FEW QUESTIONS
As I said, joining the program isn’t a make or break at all. There are tons of ways to enjoy reading with your kids, and tracking it may not be your thing. Totally fine. If you are interested but don’t currently have a little person at home, no worries! Grandparents, babysitters, aunts and uncles, older siblings, or any other reader can pursue the program with a tot they know. Pretty cool! I’ll also be sharing some other reader tidbits along the way, so here we go: who, what, where, how, when, and why.
Who do we report to? Your local library probably participates in this program. Swing by the children’s section and ask at the circulation desk. If they’re anything like my local librarians, they’ll be able to hook you up with information and some reading logs to keep track of your books. If they’re better than my librarians, they’ll also have some personality and will encourage your child when he or she hits each 100-book milestones.
What’s my motivation here? Well, on the most basic level, your library should provide a little incentive for each 100 books read. Isaiah got to browse a special cart and pick out a book to keep each time he finished 100 books. But really, the gift you’d be giving to the child is way more significant than 10 free books: you’d help instill a lifelong love of reading. That’s how it started for me, and I’m happy to say that Isaiah is already hooked, too.
Where do you even get 1,000 children’s books? We have, like, a lot of kids books. Some were mine, some were gifts, some we bought used at bookstores or online, and some we bought brand spanking new. Also, my sister is an Usborne Books and More rep, so you can imagine we have a beautiful sampling of their books on our shelves. But we’ve really enjoyed checking out loads of new books from the library. We bring three big cloth bags, stuff them full of 50-60 books, and usually exchange them after just a couple of weeks. Sound unattainable? It’s not. I’ll tell you how.
How can you fit that much reading into an already-busy day? Pretty easily. If you think about it, reading just one book a day will get you over 1,000 within three years. And we’re not talking about chapter books here; they’re just picture books. Totally doable.
When is the best time to read to my kid? We always read to him at bedtime, and we sometimes read to him during downtime, like if the baby is napping or when we’re hanging out on the couch. We also leave alluring little stacks of books on the coffee table, on his nightstand, and in the van, so he’s in the habit of looking through books on his own. It’s super cute to find him poring over a new (or old) book all on his own, and he’ll often bring books to us and ask us to read them. As hard as it is to stop what we’re doing and read it, it’s even harder to turn down such a sweet request.
Why didn’t I learn about this program sooner? I don’t think this program is very well publicized. I happened to notice a little paper about it on the wall of our library, and I asked about it. We had already read well over 1,000 books to Isaiah without tracking them, but we figured it was better to start late than never. We gave it a shot and finished pretty quickly. Simple, fun, and oh-so-rewarding.
READING IS ALWAYS A WIN
So whether you have a little one at home or have some other small person you hang out with, I can promise you that time spent reading is always time well spent, regardless of whether you join the 1000 Books program. And I can tell you from personal experience that even the most active kids love stories. Even a theoretical six-year-old whose teacher suggests holding her back for another round of kindergarten and putting her on Ritalin to calm her down—even a child like that can learn to sit still for stories. Theoretically.
And she can fall so deeply in love with books that she grows up to write blog posts about them.
I guess anything can happen when you read.
Want to find out more? Visit the website at 1000booksbeforekindergarten.org.
Rolling Stones: Little House Part 3
You’ve no doubt heard the old adage, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” That was certainly true of the Ingalls family. I did a quick count and found that they moved at least eight times during her childhood. Many families may top that today, but I bet they aren’t riding for months with all their worldly goods in a covered wagon.
But the motivation for the Ingalls’ moves is what really gets me thinking. While I’ve already expounded on the admirable aspects of the Ingalls, I want to take a moment to share my perplexities about them, too.
ISOLATION
In the first book of the series, the Laura Ingalls and her family live in Wisconsin. Their house seems secluded, but they get to see family on special occasions like Christmas and maple-syrup-making parties. Then they move to Minnesota and it’s even lonelier. The further west they go, the fewer people they see.
I consider myself an introvert, but this is crazy. To have almost no conversations with anyone outside my own house for months on end when I used to live near family and other people…I’d start to wonder what the point was. Pa Ingalls was the deciding factor in many of these moves, and while it’s not stated explicitly, I suspect Ma started to wonder what the point was a well.
EDUCATION
Today’s instant access to a world of information is a blessing and a curse. But I’m willing to put up with the internet, news streams, and entertainment culture if it includes the ability to visit local libraries and enjoy bulging bookshelves at home. In addition to some academic primers, the Ingalls owned just two books: the Bible and “the big green book” called Wonders of the Animal World. The family pored over these for years before adding a few Christian periodicals and a book or two of poetry to the collection.
This probably wasn’t uncommon for families in their situation, but it must have been quite a strain mentally. To have very little human or written stimulation would leave one’s brain feeling anemic. That’s why Ma was determined to live close enough to town so the girls could attend “real” school, and Mary could go away to a college for the blind. Since Ma had been a teacher before she had children, you can imagine how trying it must have been for her to stay home all day, every day with no new thoughts to ponder. For all its downsides, at least society today offers a plethora of knowledge to anyone who seeks it.
MOTIVATION
The real puzzler to me is why they did all this. They had a nice home near family at the beginning of the series, and then they endured trials, tribulations, and a few triumphs for the next twenty years before settling down for good. And it was all in pursuit of the American Dream: the promise of untamed land, bountiful crops, and freedom.
Now, I’m a pretty independent person, but I don’t understand moving so far west that you’re countless miles from any supplies or other humans. I know Pa wanted good farmland and a variety of vermin to trap and eat. He felt that if he kept heading west, he’d find a second Eden eventually. But things were so untamed that much of the land was nearly unusable, and the wildlife was so wild that it decimated the crops time and again. So even though I know what they were pursuing, I guess I lack that part of the American spirit.
A PERSON’S PURPOSE
As humans, we were made for God and other people. That design has been clear since God formed Adam in Genesis. Sure, a family is made up of people, and if that’s all you have, then it is enough. But I don’t believe we’re cut out for living in isolated pockets of the prairie long term. The Ingalls’ story proves this. When they were isolated, terrible things happened, and often the presence of just one or two other people made all the difference.
They nearly died of scarlet fever, but a traveling doctor found them in their home just in time. They were nearly killed by Indians who were rightly outraged at the loss of their territory, but one Indian they had befriended protected them. They nearly starved to death during a seven-month winter, but two young men risked their lives to find grain for the town. Even Christmas day was made more special when a distant neighbor dropped in with gifts. It wasn’t the land or the freedom that came through for them again and again; it was other people.
MY TAKEAWAY
As I said in my first post of this series, I’ve really enjoyed the Little House books. They were surprisingly engaging and habit-forming. I am in awe of the skills, education, and lifestyle of the Ingalls family, and I hope to live up to some of their example.
But with all that being said, I don’t believe their hunger for new land, bountiful crops, and adventure was worth the cost. When a whole nation of Ingalls pursued the American Dream, Native Americans were bulldozed from their homes, natural resources were exhausted, the natural order was disrupted, and what was once beautiful and pure was leveled, stripped, and decimated. Add that to the isolation, and I believe was too high a price all around.
But Pa Ingalls and I clearly disagree on this point, and Laura agrees with Pa. Her sense of adventure was dauntless. Without their journey, we would have missed this priceless gem of living history, this tribute to the pioneers, and this reminder of what we’ve lost and what we’ve gained. And because of those things, I’m thankful for Little House on the Prairie.
How Beautiful the Feet
The scent of crucifixion—sweat, filth, blood—
is mixed with spikenard, perfume of a king.
Those fresh-anointed feet, now nailed to wood,
still smell as beautiful as news they bring.
The wretched masses lift their eyes above
to see the Curse now lifted up, undone.
The serpent bites His heel; eternal love
ordains a nail to crush both snake and Son.
Mary Magdalene is at His feet,
her eyes as parched as Jesus’ throat. Then He,
with final cry, declares His work complete.
Like dove from cage, He sets His spirit free.
They pierce His side and see His body bleed.
The guards report His life finished indeed.
Then Mary watches as they heap with myrrh
the body of the Lamb, now shorn of breath.
A stone secures the mouth of sepulcher.
The Sabbath lingers silent, still as death.
Before the sun can rise and shine its light,
she comes to seek the Lord among the dead.
But guards lie lifeless next to men in white
declaring He has risen as He said.
She’s dazed until the Gardener speaks her name.
That smell of myrrh and spikenard, and that voice—
She turns and clings to Jesus’ feet. A flame
of faith consumes her doubt. Mary, rejoice!
This Lion-Lamb, a Root and yet a Seed,
though slain and sown, now stands risen indeed!
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