Julia & Laura

I can't remember how old I was when I first read Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" series of books. I was probably 7 or 8. One of the reasons I identified with Laura so much was that I was close to the age she was in the first few books.

I had the whole set. They must have been a gift.

Did I read them to myself or did my parents read them to me at night? A little of both, I suspect. I read the whole series more than once.

The summer when I was 10, we drove from Arizona to Missouri for my dad's doctoral graduation ceremony. (And by "we," I mean 6 of us in one station wagon: me, my sister, my parents, and my paternal grandparents. That's a whole 'nother series of blog posts, isn't it?)

On that trip, we visited the Laura Ingalls Wilder Home in Mansfield, Mo. Unbeknownst to me, my grandma bought a pattern in the gift shop for a fabric Laura doll. Over the next several months, she made it for me as a surprise Christmas present, down to the very last detail: yarn hair, embroidered face, little shoes with laces, gathered undergarments, button fastenings, a pinafore for the dress.

The set of "Little House" books are now on the shelf full of children's books in the hallway outside Julia's room, all kept from the days they belonged to Ken and I as kids. We've recently started reading them to Julia as bedtime stories. She is entranced, and I am captivated anew.

Sometimes, like I did, after we've read her a chapter or two and tucked her into bed, she stays up a little longer and reads ahead by the glow of the hallway light.

The books are so well-worn now that the spine glue is dissolving and pages are coming loose. Tucked inside the front covers we found the paper library slips I made for them, in case my sister or a friend wanted to "check" them out.

And I found my Laura doll packed away in the basement, ready to be retrieved for another little girl to make her acquaintance, listening to the stories of her long-ago life in big woods, and wide prairies, and on the banks of Plum Creek.