I’m not one of those fanatical Laura Ingalls Wilder fans. I liked the books well enough but I don’t think I’ve read any of them more than once – not like Nancy Drews that I’ve read a million times or the Little Women books that I’ve also read a million times. The books are nice. Laura is nice. The TV, different from the books, also nice enough. But no, I’m not a Laura fangirl.
I’m not sure why I read Melissa Gilbert and Alison Arngrim’s books this year – probably because I saw them on Zandria’s reading list and decided they’d be fun… and they were. I grabbed The Wilder Life because it sounded like it would be even more fun… and when it started slowly and I found myself struggling to finish the first chapter, I got worried.
I think it started slowly because I started it right before the trip to BlogHer Food, Anderson and Gainesville. Not the right time to start such a book. Once I was home, things moved more quickly and I was a lot more interested in the trip Wendy McClure was taking. I kind of thought she was nuts – or I would have if I hadn’t immediately realized what she was looking for in the first place.
What’s really scary is that by the time McClure got to De Smet, I was ready to embark on my only little Laura tour. OK maybe not a whole tour but looking for leeches in Plum Creek and visiting the Ingall’s homestead in South Dakota would be awesome. So awesome that I’m trying to figure out how to make the trip… I really NEED to sleep in a covered wagon.
Posted via email from Life. Flow. Fluctuate.